May  troops  of  friends  be  ever  near,

May  tender  lips  caress  thee  ;
May  ev'ry  weal  that  mortals  know

Be  ever  nigh  to  bless  thee.
May  noble  thoughts  and  righteous  aims

In  kindly  deeds  employ  thee,
And  never  sad  or  secret  fear

With  sombre  hand  annoy  thee.
May  wealth  throw  round  thy  pathway  fair

Its  jewels  without  number,
And  restless  thoughts  of  other  days

In  ceaseless  quiet  slumber.
May  health  weave  round  thy  happy  home
100


AT  THE  ALTAR.  101

A  cordon  for  thy  blessing,
And  genial  words  and  gentle  smiles,

Of  truest  love  confessing,
Be  ever  thine  to  make  thy  life

A  journey  strewn  with  roses,
Nor  ever  Fortune  teach  thee  where

A  single  grief  reposes.
POEMS   OF  CAMP  AND
FIELD.
1862-1865.
OFF  TO  THE  WARS.
A  DIEU,  sweet  maids  of  honor  frail,
•*--*•     And  charms  too  fair  to  last ;
Adieu,  each  dear  and  sunny  vale,

Where  happiest  hours  have  passed ;
Where  sweeps  Destruction's  lurid  gale

My  future  lot  is  cast.
106


A  CASUAL  REFLECTION.
'T^HE  special  talents  that  secure  a  rope

Are  also  requisite  to  win  a  star ;
And  to  rob  a  scoundrel  of  his  future  hope,

And  send  him  howling  to  his  Maker's  bar,
Is  but  to  teach  the  ribald  crowd

That  gathers  round  your  scaffold  base,
That  had  you  fled  the  hangman's  shroud

You  might  have  led  in  Glory's  god  -like  chase.
To  cut  a  throat,  or  fire  a  town,

Or  lead  battalions  down  to  death,
Are  but  varied  routes  ta  fair  renown, —

That  empty  bubble  of  mortal  breath.
106


IN  LINE  OF  BATTLE.
T  SIT  beside  the  flowing  stream,
A      And  Fancy's  hand  is  weaving  fast
The  fabric  of  a  happy  dream
Too  deep  with  joy  to  last.
