however, no longer be any
doubt in the minds of candid and loyal men, that the freedmen who are
able to bear arms will prove themselves valiant soldiers, jealous
defenders of their own and their country's liberties, and a terror to
their enemies, who have so madly attempted to destroy both 'Liberty and
Union.'

A SPIRIT'S REPROACH.

I stood beside the altar with a friend,
To hear him plight his faith to a young bride,
A rosy child of simple heart and mind.
Yet two short years before, on that same spot,
I heard the funeral chant above the bier
Of a first wife--a woman bright as fair,
Or blessed or cursed with genius, full of fire--
Who loved him with a passion high and rare;
Whom he had won from paths of fame and art
To walk unknown life's quiet ways with him.
My mind was with the past, when the loud swell
Of music rose to greet the childlike bride,
The organ quivering as with solemn joy:
Alas! another voice breathed through it all,
Reproachful, haughty, wild, but very sad;
Near, though its tones fell from that farthest shore,
Where the eternal surge beats time no more!
Sadly I gazed upon my friend, to mark
If his new joys were quelled by the weird strains:
He heard it not--he only saw the face,
Blushing and girlish, 'neath its bridal veil;
Saw not the stronger spirit standing by,
With immortelles upon its massive front,
And drooping wings adown its snowy shroud,
And sense of wrong dewing its starry eye;
Nor heard the chant of agony, reproach,
Chilling the naive joy of the marriage song.

* * * *

'Say, canst thou woo another for thy bride,
Whilst I am living--ever near thee still!
Renounce the faith so often pledged to me,
Forget me, while I dream of thee in heaven!
When the word _love_ first fell upon my ear,
I was a dreamer wrapped in pleasant thoughts,
Dwelling in themes apart from common life,
Nor needed aught for bliss save my still hours,
My studies, and the poet's golden lyre.
The stars revealed to me their trackless paths,
The flowers whispered me their secrets sweet,
And science oped her ways of calm and light.
Yet love, like ancient scroll, was closely rolled;
I had no wish to read its mystic page;
Its wooing wakened in me wondering scorn,
Its homage insult to my virgin pride;
If lovers knelt, 'twa