Back! through that deadly dale!
Scattered and few!

Long shall the memory last
Of that fierce ride and fast,
When through the carnage past
England's brave sons.

Centuries hence shall tell
How, in that fatal dell,
Riding to death they fell,
Heroic ones!

THE BAYONET CHARGE.

NATHAN D. URNER.

Not a sound, not a breath!

And as still as death,

As we stand on the steep in our bayonet's shine: All is tumult below

Surging friend, surging foe;

But, not a hair's breadth moves our adamant line: Waiting so grimly.

The battle smoke lifts

From the valley, and drifts

Round the hill where we stand, like a pall for the world;

And a gleam now and then

Shows the billows of men,

In whose black, boiling surge we are soon to be

hurled,

Redly and dimly.

There's the word! "Ready all!"

See the serried points fall

The grim horizontal so bright and so bare!
Then the other word-Ha!

We are moving! Huzza!

We snuff the burnt powder, we plunge in the

glare,

Rushing to glory!

Down the hill, up the glen,

O'er the bodies of men.

Then on with a cheer to the roaring redoubt!
Why stumble so, Ned?

No answer: he's dead!

And there's Dutch Peter down, with his life leaping out,

Crimson and gory!

On! on! Do not think

Of the falling; but drink

Of the mad, living cataract torrent of war!
On! on! let them feel

The cold vengeance of steel!

Catch the Captain-he's hit! 'Tis a scratchnothing more! Forward forever!

Huzza! Here's a trench!

In and out of it! Wrench

From the jaws of the cannon the guerdon of Fame!

Charge! charge! with a yell

Like the shriek of a shell

O'er the abatis, on through the curtain of flame! Back again! Never!

The rampart! 'Tis crossed-
It is ours! It is lost!

No-another dash now and the glacis is won!
Huzza! What a dust!

Hew them down. Cut and thrust!

A T-i-g-a-r! brave lads, for the red work is doneVictory! Victory!