It was duty!

Some things are worthless, and some others so good
That nations who buy them pay only in blood.
For Freedom and Union each man owes his part;
And here I pay my share, all warm from my heart:
It is duty.

Dying at last!

My mother, dear mother! with meek, te
Farewell! and God bless you, forever an i
Oh, that I now lay on your pillowing breed.
To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first presti
Dying at last!

I am no saint;

But, boys, say a prayer. There's one that begins,
"Our Father," and then says, "Forgive us our sins:
Don't forget that part, say that strongly, and then
I'll try to repeat it, and you'll say, "Amen!"
Ah! I'm no saint!

Hark! there's a shout!

Raise me up, comrades! We have conquer'd, I know! – Up on my feet, with my face to the foe!

Ah! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright, The promise of glory, the symbol of right!

Well may they shout!

I'm muster'd out.

O God of our fathers, our freedom prolong,
And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong!
O land of earth's hope, on thy blood-redden'd sod,
I die for the nation, the Union, and God!

I'm muster'd out.

COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD.

"The King of Aragon now entered Castile, by way of Soria and Osma, with a powerful army; and, having been met by the queen's forces, both parties encamped near Sepulveda, and prepared to give battle.

This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, de la Espina, is one of the most famous of that age. The dastardly Count of Lara fled at the first shock, and joined the queen at Burgos, where she was anxiously awaiting the issue; but the brave Count of Candespina (Gomez Gonzalez) stood his ground to the last, and died on the field of battle. His standard-bearer, a gentleman of the house of Olea, after having his horse killed under him, and both hands cut off by sabre-strokes, fell beside his master, still clasping the standard in his arms, and repeating his war-cry of 'Olea!'"-Annals of the Queens of Spain.

CARCE were the splinter'd lances dropp'd,

Sc

Scarce were the swords drawn out,

Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear,

Had wheel'd his steed about:

His courser rear'd, and plunged, and neigh'd,
Loathing the fight to yield;

But the coward spurr'd him to the bone,
And drove him from the field.

Gonzalez in his stirrups rose:

"Turn, turn, thou traitor knight! Thou bold tongue in a lady's bower, Thou dastard in a fight!”

But vainly valiant Gomez cried
Across the waning fray:
Pale Lara and his craven band
To Burgos scour'd away,

"Now, by the God above me, sirs,
Better we all were dead,

Than a single knight among ye all
Should ride where Lara led!

"Yet ye who fear to follow me,
As yon traitor, turn and fly;
For I lead ye not to win a field:
I lead ye forth to die,

"Olea, plant my standard here —
Here on this little mound;
Here raise the war-cry of thy house,
Make this our rallying ground,

"Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace,
The last care I shall have
Will be to hear thy battle-cry,
And see that standard wave."

Down on the ranks of Aragon
The bold Gonzalez drove,
And Olea raised his battle-cry,
And waved the flag above.

Slowly Gonzalez' little band

Gave ground before the foe;

But not an inch of the field was won
Without a deadly blow;

And not an inch of the field was won
That did not draw a tear

From the widow'd wives of Aragon,
That fatal news to hear.

Backward and backward Gomez fought,
And high o'er the clashing steel,
Plainer and plainer rose the cry,
"Olea for Castile!"

Backward fought Gomez, step by step,

Till the cry was close at hand, Till his dauntless standard shadow'd him; And there he made his stand.

Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail,
Yet he moved not where he stood,
Though each gaping joint of armor ran
A stream of purple blood.

fell,

As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell, The standard caught his eye,

And he smiled, like an infant hush'd asleep, To hear the battle-cry.

Now one by one,the wearied knights

Have fallen, or basely flown;

And on the mound where his post was fix'd

Olea stood alone.

"Yield up thy banner, gallant knight!
Thy lord lies on the plain;

Thy duty has been nobly done;
I would not see thee slain."

"Spare pity, King of Aragon;

I would not hear thee lie:

My lord is looking down from heaven
To see his standard fly."

"Yield, madman, yield! thy horse is down, Thou hast nor lance nor shield;

Fly!—I will grant thee time." "This flag Can neither fly nor yield!"

They girt the standard round about,

A wall of flashing steel;

But still they heard the battle-cry,

"Olea for Castile!"

And there, against all Aragon,

Full-arm'd with lance and brand,

Olea fought until the sword

Snapp'd in his sturdy hand.

Among the foe, with that high scorn
Which laughs at earthly fears,

He hurl'd the broken hilt, and drew
His dagger on the spears.

They hew'd the hauberk from his breast,
The helmet from his head;

They hew'd the hands from off his limbs;
From every vein he bled.

Clasping the standard to his heart,
He raised one dying peal,
That rang as if a trumpet blew -
"Olea for Castile!"

OUR

OUR DEFENDERS.

flag on the land, and our flag on the ocean, An angel of peace wheresoever it goes:

Nobly sustain'd by Columbia's devotion,

The angel of death it shall be to our foes!

True to its native sky,

Still shall our eagle fly,

Casting his sentinel glances afar;

Though bearing the olive-branch,

Still in his talons staunch

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Hark to the sound! There's a foe on our border A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom; Freemen are rising and marching in order, Leaving the plough, and the anvil, and loom. Rust dims the harvest-sheen

Of scythe and of sickle keen;

The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar; Veteran and youth are out,

Swelling the battle-shout,

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!