Written Expressly for Mr. Alf. BURNETT, by Miss Cora M. EAGER.

Never mind me, Uncle Jared, never mind my bleeding breast;
They are charging in the valley, and you're needed with the rest;
All the day through, from its dawning till you saw your kinsman fall,
You have answered fresh and fearless to our brave commander's call,
And I would not rob my country of your gallant aid to-night,
Though your presence and your pity stay my spirit in its flight.

All along that quivering column, see the death-steeds trampling down
Men whose deeds this day are worthy of a kingdom and a crown.
Prithee, hasten, Uncle Jared--what's the bullet in my breast
To that murderous storm of fire, raining tortures on the rest?
See, the bayonets flash and falter--look I the foe begins to win!
See, see our faltering comrades! God! how the ranks are closing in!

Hark! there's muttering in the distance, and a thundering in the air,
Like the snorting of a lion just emerging from his lair;
There's a cloud of something yonder, fast unrolling like a scroll;
Quick, quick! if it be succor that can save the cause a soul!
Look! a thousand thirsty bayonets are flashing down the vale,
And a thousand hungry riders dashing onward like a gale.

Raise me higher, Uncle Jared; place the ensign in my hand;
I am strong enough to wave it, while you cheer that flying band.
Louder! louder! shout for Freedom, with prolonged and vigorous breath;
Shout for Liberty, and Union, and--the victory over death!
See! they catch the stirring numbers, and they swell them to the breeze,
Cap, and plume, and starry banner, waving proudly through the trees.

Mark! our fainting comrades rally--mark! that drooping column rise;
I can almost see the fire newly kindled in their eyes.
Fresh for conflict, nerved to conquer, see them charging on the foe,
Face to face, with deadly meaning, shot, and shell and trusty blow;
See the thinned ranks wildly breaking; see them scatter toward the sun!
I can die now, Uncle Jared, for the glorious day is won.

But there's something, something pressing with a numbness on my heart,
And my lips, with mortal dumbness, fail the burden to impart.
O, I tell you, Uncle Jared, there is something, back of all,
That a soldier can not part with when he heeds his country's call.
Ask the mother what, in dying, sends the yearning spirit back
Over life's broken marches, where she's pointed out t