from The Webster Times, Saturday Morning Sept. 27, 1862, (Volume IV # 29),
Poetry For the Times.

The battlefield is steeped in human gore,
Brave one’s have fallen, their last battle o’er;
They offered all for country and the right,
And now are lost forever from our sight.

That heroes died as hero’s only die,
Gave earth life freely for a home on high.

O let us glance o’er you vast burial plain,
Dear ones are there we fain would meet again;
Yes, Frank* who went from us with manly tread,
Lies pale and cold, lies numbered with the dead.

He left kind friends and went at country’s call,
“Our Flag” his motto, let him stand or fall;
He’s sealed devotion with our warm life blood,
And soon will sleep beneath the sod.

He doubtless went from us with hopeful heart,
Determined there to act a noble part,
Then “home again” with laurels justly won,
And prove, as e’re before, a noble son.

But, ah! those hopes are blighted, nevermore
He’ll look on mother, sister, as of yore;
He’ll n’ere behold his childhood home again,
For friends, deep sorrow, but for him pure gain.

O let me speak of our brave drummer boy,
Who filled our hearts with so much light and joy;
His beaming smile! oh, who that loved it not?
Who says that Marcus** e’re will be forgot?

We gladly welcomed home our Webster Band,
But, oh, we missed a form, a nimble hand!
And aching hearts bear witness to the truth,
That Marcus was a loved and honored youth.

Pease to their ashes!, wrap around their dust
Our honored flag, the idol of their trust!
Then leave them in a loving father’s care,
They bear no war cry, know no sorrow there.

But those brave ones who now such anguish know,
By brothers hands near deaths dark door laid low,
O how they sigh for “mother’s” gentle care!
Or sister dear they’d gladly welcome there.

O Heaven ! look down on them with pitying eye,
For there’s no mother there, no sister nigh;
Be to them more than all on earth, they prize;
In mercy spare them, hear, O hear our cries!

O Liberty, thy altars deeply dyed
With blood of heroes, once our hope and pride:
Thy goddess o’re us know with tear-rimmed eyes
Accepts the gifts and bears them to the skies.

But all the honor’s e’re by victory won
Will not give Webster back her valiant sons;
they’re gone, their names we ever shall revere,
Sacred on mem’ry’s tablets they appear.

And yet, if war still rages in our land,
We’d offer more to swell the patriot band!
We cannot have one star of glory dimmed,
If life blood freely poured will justice bring!

M. E. L.

* Lieut. F. S. Corbin, Co. I 15th Mass Regt. killed in battle at Sharpsburg, Md. Sept. 17, 1862
** Marcus M. Corbin, 21st Mass. Regt. died at Newbern, N. C., May 11, 1862