_One of the victims of the Southern Prisons._


Sit by me comrade, thou and I have stood
Shoulder to shoulder on the battle-field,
And bore us there like men of British blood,
But comrade this is death, and I must yield.

You have been leal, my friend, and true and tried
In battle, in captivity of me;
Since we went up to worship side by side
O'er the green hills I never more shall see.

From this dread prison pen, thou shalt go forth;
But I, I know it, never more shall rise,
Nor see my home in the cool pleasant North,
Nor see again my wife's dark mournful eyes.

Nor see my children, every shining head
And merry eye, for what know they of grief;
'Twill still their play to know that I am dead;
But childhood's woe, thank God, is always brief.

Try to cheer Annie in her widowed woe;
Let her hear words of comfort at thy mouth;
But, friend, I charge thee, do not let her know
Aught of the tender mercies of the South.

Tell her that I have never been alone,