THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM

The harvest-moon o'er the battle-plain

Shines dim in the filmy eyes o£ the dead, And the yellow wealth of the later grain, Ground by the millstones of death and pain, And wet with the life-blood of the slain, Is kneaded to horrible bread.

The dying by twos and threes, as night

Kisses their brows with cooling breath, Gather, with faiUng outward sight, Tp tell of the inward visions bright

That rise like a tcnder morning light Over the hills of death.

Two who hâve stood up liand in hand,

Brothers to-day as in years gone by, When, on the slopes of the Northern land, Was braided closely each separate strand Of their lives in a perfect, golden band, Close to each other lie.

.1 Tom, " says the elder, wiping slow

From his comrade's lips the crimson stain, 'I Does the thirst torment you now ? " — <' Oh no ! » Savs the other, with broken voice and low, << My wounds stoppcd, blccding an hour ago, And now I am frce from pain.

«« Don't think of my trouble, Ben, for you Are wounded far worse I know than I ;

I am only a little stiff and blue

With lying out in the cvcning dcw ;

But Ben. you are shattercd through and through : Do you think you are going to die ? »