THE TWO SOUTHERN MOTHERS.

Heard you not the din of battle, Cannon's roar, and musket's rattle, Clash of sword, and shriek of shell, Victor's shot, and vanquished's yell? Saw you not yon scene of slaughter, Human blood poured out like water; Northern valor, Southern pride, Stern resolve on either side? Cheering on his flagging men, Rallying to the charge again, Comes a bullet, charged with grief, Strikes the brave Confederate chief. Down he falls, amid the strife, Horses trampling out his life: Scarce can his retreating force Find and save his mangled corpse. Home they bore him to his mother— He was all she had—none other: Woful mother! who can borrow Words to paint her frantic sorrow? As she mourned her slaughtered brave, Came and spake her aged slave, Came, and spake with solemn brow: 'Missis, we is even, now. 'I had ten, and you had one; Now we're even—all are gone: Not one left to bury either— Slave and mistress mourn together. 'Every one of mine you sold— Now your own lies stark and cold: To the just Avenger bow— Missis! I forgive you now.' Thus she spoke, that sable mother; Shuddering, quailed and crouched the other. Yea! although it tarry long, Payment shall be made for wrong!