I remember, with feelings of pleasure and pride,
How gently, yet firmly, my wish was denied;
Saying, " Dearest, I love you—you know that I do—
And all, save my honour, I'd forfeit for you;
But now, when my regiment is thus called away,
You would not—you could not—desire me to stay."
"No, dearest," I answered, "I feel that you're right,
With a woman's best blessing go forth to the fight,
And join as you should the brave spirits that go,
To curb the pretensions of Albion's proud foe,
On, on, to the conquest, and should I repine,
I deserve not to have an affection like thine."
"Adieu!" cried the soldier—the war trumpet's blare,
With the tramp of the war-steed, rang loud thro' the air,
He's away to the battle, and lost to her view—
He, loyal and tender; she, faithful and true.
The Best Picture.
In search of a Matsys' why wander—
After Claude, Cuyp, and Rembrandt why roam—
Our time and our money why squander,
When we've far better Pictures at Home?
For alike when the joy-lights are gleaming
In palace, gay castle, or hall,
Or the cotter's bright ingle is gleaming,
'Tis the "Shadow of Friends on the Wall!"
