North Branch Democrat

[From The Luzerne Union]

LAST YEAR.

BY STELLA, OF LACKAWANNA.

The lamps are lit in the parlor,
The stars are lit in the sky
And the little ones gather closer,
When the coals pile red and high
But each merry face grows saddened—
For over the parlor floor
The loved and the absent father
Hasteth to them no more.

The lamps are lit in the parlor—
The stars in the quiet sky ;
But the fierce March breezes, blowing,
Echo a lingering sigh :
And the voices of childish pratlers,
Gone to a low, soft prayer
And their tender and yearning glances
Rest on a vacant chair.

Last year, when the mad March tempest
Over the house top swept,
Two or three gold-haired darlings
Close to the old chair crept.
Oh ! how they tussled and tumbled
Over the father's knee —
Now 'mong the distant camp-fires,
Desolate must he be.

Far from his gold-haired darlings—
Far from his home to-night,
He dreams of a lighted parlor,
Then sighs in a camp-fire's light
The music of laughing pratlers,
That clampered upon his knee,
Is sweeter to him, and dearer,
Than the morning's reveille.

To-morrow : ah. to-morrow !
No time will there be to dream,
Of a nook 'mong the northern mountains
For bright will the bayonets gleam ;
And the sweep of a mighty army
Must banish the rising sigh,
And the lances of gay-plumed horsemen
Kindle the heavy eye

To morrow -ah, to-morrow!
A fearful day 'twill be,
For the cry of a murderous battle
Shall reach to the wailing sea,
And the weapons that gleam the brightest,
Ere the morrow's sun be set,
Shall lie on the ground unheeded,
With many a heart's blood wet.

Last year, when the mad March tempest
Swept through the leafless trees ;
His home was as full of music
As a hive of honey-bees;
But to-night are the merry faces
Sad, in the lamps' soft glare,
Silent the song and laughter
At sight of the vacant chair.