The summer day grew cool and late,
He went for the cows when his work was done,
But down the lane, as he opened the gate,
He saw them coming, one by one.
Brindle and Ebony, Speckle and Bess,
Tossing their horns in the evening wind,
Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,
But who was it following close behind?
Loosely swung in the idle air
The empty sleeve of army blue,
And worn and pale through its crisped hair
Looked out a face that the father knew.
For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn
And yield their dead to life again,
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
In golden glory at last may wane.
The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes,
For the hearts must speak when the lips are dumb,
And under the silent evening skies
Together they followed the cattle home.
KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.
To and fro,
See us go!
Up so high,
Down so low;
Now quite fast,
Now real slow.
Singing,
Swinging,
This is the way,
to get
fresh air
In a
pleasant
way.
THE BABY'S KISS.
AN INCIDENT OF THE CIVIL WAR.
Rough and ready the troopers ride,
Pistol in holster and sword by side;
They have ridden long, they have ridden hard,
They are travel-stained and battle-scarred;
The hard ground shakes with their martial tramp,
And coarse is the laugh of the men of the camp.
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