For he looked so like you as he lay on his back,
That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.
"But I snatched off the trinket-this locket of gold;
An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.”

"Ha! Rifleman, fling me the locket!—'t is she,
My brother's young bride, and the fallen dragoon
Was her husband-Hush! soldier, 't was Heaven's

decree;

We must bury him here, by the light of the moon! "But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; War is a virtue-weakness a sin; There's lurking and loping around us to-night; Load again, Rifleman, keep your hand in!” CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY.

D

OWN the picket-guarded lane
Rolled the comfort-laden wain,
Cheered by shouts that shook the plain,

Soldier-like and merry:

Phrases such as camps may teach,

Sabre-cuts of Saxon speech,

Such as "Bully!""Them's the peach!" "Wade in, Sanitary!"

Right and left the caissons drew
As the car went lumbering through,
Quick succeeding in review

Squadrons military;

Sunburnt men with beards like frieze, Smooth-faced boys, and cries like these,"U. S. San. Com." "That's the cheese!" "Pass in, Sanitary!"

When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground,

He rode down the length of the withering column,

And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound; He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of our powder,His sword waved us on and we answered the sign: Lond our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder,

"There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole line!"

How he strode his brown steed! How we saw his blade brighten

In the one hand still left, and the reins in his teeth!

He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath.

Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, Asking where to go in,-through the clearing or pine?

"O, anywhere! Forward! "T is all the same, Colonel: You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line!"

O, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly,

That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried! Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's.

pride!

Yet we dream that he still,-in that shadowy region Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drum

mer's sign,

Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion,
And the word still is Forward! along the whole
line.
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

P from the South at break of day
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

And wider still those billows of war.
Thundered along the horizon's bar;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold,
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway leading down;

And there through the flush of the morning lig',
A steed as black as the steeds of night
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight.
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with his utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South
The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster.

The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battlefield calls;

Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.

Under his spurning feet, the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind,

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire.
But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire;
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.

The first that the General saw were the groups
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;
What was done,-what to do,-a glance told him
both,

And striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,