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THE CAVALRY CHARGE.

With an undaunted eye

Marches the sentinel.

Low, to his trusty gun
Eagerly whispers he,
“Wait, with the morning sun
March we to victory.
Fools, into Satan's clutch
Leaping ere dawn of day:
He who would fight must watch,
He who would win must pray."

Pray for the night hath wings;
Watch! for the foe is near;
March! till the morning brings
Fame-wreath or soldier's bier.
So shall the poet write,

When all hath ended well,
"Thus through the nation's night
Marched Freedom's sentinel."

THE CAVALRY CHARGE.

BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE.

WITH bray of the trumpet

And roll of the drum,

THE CAVALRY CHARGE.

And keen ring of bugle,
The cavalry come.

Sharp clank the steel scabbards,
The bridle-chains ring,

And foam from red nostrils
The wild chargers fling.

Tramp! tramp! o'er the greensward
That quivers below,
Scarce held by the curb-bit
The fierce horses go!
And the grim-visaged colonel,
With ear-rending shout,
Peals forth to the squadrons
The order -"Trot out!"

One hand on the sabre,
And one on the rein,
The troopers move forward
In line on the plain.
As rings the word " Gallop!"

The steel scabbards clank,

And each rowel is pressed

To a horse's hot flank:

And swift is their rush

As the wild torrent's flow, When it pours from the crag On the valley below.

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30

66

THE CAVALRY CHARGE.

Charge!" thunders the leader:

Like shaft from the bow
Each mad horse is hurled
On the wavering foe.
A thousand bright sabres
Are gleaming in air;
A thousand dark horses
Are dashed on the square.

Resistless and reckless

Of aught may bètide,
Like demons, not mortals,
The wild troopers ride.
Cut right! and cut left! —
For the parry who needs ?
The bayonets shiver

Like wind-shattered reeds.
Vain vain the red volley

That bursts from the square,
The random-shot bullets

Are wasted in air.

Triumphant, remorseless,
Unerring as death,

No sabre that's stainless
Returns to its sheath.

The wounds that are dealt

By that murderous steel

SNOW SCULPTURE.

Will never yield case

For the surgeon to heal.
Hurrah! they are broken —
Hurrah! boys, they fly-
None linger save those
Who but linger to die.

Rein up your hot horses

And call in your men,
The trumpet sounds " Rally
To color" again.

Some saddles are empty,

Some comrades are slain,

And some noble horses

Lie stark on the plain,

But war's a chance game, boys,
And weeping is vain.

SNOW SCULPTURE.

BY GEORGE W. BUNGAY.

ON hills and forests bare and brown,

I see the silent snow come down,
So soft and white,

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SNOW SCULPTURE.

Like showers of blossoms winds have blown

From flowers of light.

Faster and faster fall the flakes,

On the dim woods and silver lakes,
From stormy skies,

Like soft words on a heart that breaks
When pity sighs.

Ye wailing winds that sadly sigh,
Above the graves where heroes lie,
In sorrow blow,

And build white columns, broad and high,
Of stainless snow.

Let pyramids of spotless hue

Point to the bending arch of blue
Without a stain,

And mark the place where sleep the true,
In battle slain.

Ye unseen sculptors in the air,
Go carve designs in beauty there,
And grave the name

Of BAKER, deep in letters fair

As wreaths of fame.