"Why, Miss Delilah, do you have skunks out here?" inquired the Doctor.
"_Yaas, lots on 'em up the gut out thar._"
And Recited by Mr. Alf BURNETT, at the Benefit of the Ladies' Soldiers' Aid Society of Cincinnati, Saturday Evening, January 31st, 1863.
In other days, as it has oft been told By those who sleep beneath the grave's dank mold, In this, our loved, but now distracted land, Men dwelt together as a household band; Brothers they were, but not alone in name, Sons of Columbia and Columbia's fame-- They loved the land, the fairest 'neath the sun, Home of the brave--the land of Washington!
Peaceful the rivers as they flowed along The plenteous fields, where swelled the harvest song; Peaceful the mountains, as they reared on high Their snow-capped peaks unto the azure sky-- Peaceful the valleys, where contentment smiled, Blessing alike the parent and the child-- Peaceful the hearts which owned a country blest, And owned their God, who gave them peace and rest!
The happy matron and the joyous maid Alike were blest--the unknown traveler stayed His weary limbs beneath their roof-tree's shade, While home from toil the husbandman returned, His honest hands the honest pittance earned, Willing to share his humble meal with one Whether from Winter's snows or Southern sun.
No North--no South, in those the better days-- Our starry flag o'er all--its genial rays Glistened amid New England's dreary snows, Or shone as proudly where the south wind blows: One flag, one nation, and one God we claimed, And traitors' lips had never yet defamed The land for which our fathers fought and bled-- Hallowed by graves of honored patriot-dead!
Fruitful the earth, and fair the skies above; The days were blissful, and the nights were love; We were at peace--our land and freedom gained-- Our fair escutcheon with no blot e'er stained-- But all did honor to the fair young State Who made herself both glorious and great; Our Eagle--emblem of the happy free-- Was free to soar o'er foreign land or sea!
But darkness came, and settled like a pall Funereal, on our hearts; o'er one and all It cast its blighting, withering wing, A horrid, shapeless, and revolting thing-- While dove-eyed Peace bowed down its gentle head And wept for those, though living, worse than dead; And blood, like rivers, flowed from hill to plain 'Till land and sea knew not their ghastly slain.