Whenever ‘"Pelican,"’ the talented correspondent of the New Orleans Picayunes, desires to throw off his burden of poetic fancies, we hope there are a thousand channels open to him better than scribbling upon the walls of a deserted house. In our peregrinations yesterday, we stopped at one of the deserted farm-houses on our lines, and, among other suffusions, recognized the well-known hand of ‘" Pelican"’ upon the walls, as follows:
Impromptu. ‘ Through this deserted cottage now
by a soldier.
No gentle footsteps fall;
These silent walls, they echo not
with childhood's merry call!
Where are the hearts so light and gay--
The loved ones fond and true--
Who sought to fill each passing day
with brighter hopes anew?
Fled, as wintering exiles, now,
Who sad and silent roam--
Fled from all that life holds dear--
A peaceful; happy home!
Oh, God! is this their gloomy fate?
Shall this, their native land,
Be given to a plundering horde?--
A vile and ruthless band?
No! Thou art a god of justice still !
We trust alone in Thee,
To save our brave and Valliant sons,
Now struggling to be free!
We feel that o'er our fallen foes.
Our banners yet shall wave--
That Peace and Plenty soon shall crown
The noble, true, and brave!
The wandering exiles shall return
To hail their homes with joy,
Nor fear again the ruthless horde
Who seek but to destroy!
Yes, fires shall brightly burn again
On this deserted hearth--
These silent walls echo the strain
Of childhood's welcome mirth.
’ ‘"Pelican."’ Second Reg't La. Vols., June 8th, 1862.