CAVALRY SONG.

BY ROSSITER W. RAYMOND.

UR bugles sound gayly. To horse and away!
And over the mountains breaks the day;

OUR

Then ho! brothers, ho! for the ride or the fight,
There are deeds to be done ere we slumber to-night!
And whether we fight or whether we fall

By sabre-stroke or rifle-ball,

The hearts of the free will remember us yet,

And our country, our country will never forget!

Then mount and away! let the coward delight

To be lazy all day and safe all night;

Our joy is a charger, flecked with foam,

And the earth is our bed and the saddle our home;

And whether we fight, etc.

See yonder the ranks of the traitorous foe,

And bright in the sunshine bayonets glow!

Breathe a prayer, but no sigh; think for what you would fight;

Then charge! with a will, boys, and God for the right! And whether we fight, etc.

We have gathered again the red laurels of war;
We have followed the traitors fast and far;
But some who rose gayly this morn with the sun
Lie bleeding and pale on the field they have won !
But whether we fight, etc.

H

THE CAVALRY CHARGE.

ARK! the rattling roll of the musketeers,

And the ruffled drums, and the rallying cheers, And the rifles burn with a keen desire

Like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire,
And the singing shot and the shrieking shell
And the splintered fire on the shattered hell,
And the great white breaths of the cannon smoke
As the growling guns by batteries spoke;
And the ragged gaps in the walls of blue
Where the iron surge rolled heavily through,
That the Colonel builds with a breath again
As he cleaves the din with his "Close up, men!"
And the groan torn out from the blackened lips,
And the prayer doled slow with the crimsoned drips,
And the beaming look in the dying eye

As under the cloud the stars go by,

"But his soul marched on !" the Captain said, For the Boy in Blue can never be dead!

And the troopers sit in their saddles all

Like statues carved in an ancient hall,

And they watch the whirl from their breathless ranks,
And their spurs are close to the horses' flanks,
And the fingers work of the sabre hand-

Oh, to bid them live, and to make them grand!
And the bugle sounds to the charge at last,
And away they plunge, and the front is passed!
And the jackets blue grow red as they ride,
And the scabbards too, that clank by their side,
And the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod
As they gallop right on o'er the plashy red sod—
Right into the cloud all spectral and dim,
Right up to the guns black-throated and grim,
Right down on the hedges bordered with steel,
Right through the dense columns-then "Right
about wheel!"

Hurrah! a new swath through the harvest again!
Hurrah for the Flag! To the battle, Amen!

་ ་

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!"