The Cavalier's Glee.

SPUR on! spur on! we love the bounding
Of barbs, that bear us to the fray:
"The charge" our bugles now are sounding
And our bold Stuart leads the way!
The path to honor lies before us;
Our hated foemen gather fast!

At home, bright eyes are sparkling for us,
And we'll defend them to the last!

Spur on! spur on! we love the rushing
Of steeds that spurn the turf they tread;
We'll through the northern ranks go crushing,
With our proud banner overhead!
The path to honor lies before us,
Our hated foemen gather fast!

At home, bright eyes are sparkling for us,
And we'll defend them to the last!

Spur on! spur on! we love the flashing
Of blades that battle for the free!
"Tis for our sunny south they're clashing-
For household gods and liberty!

The path to honor lies before us;

Our hated foemen gather fast!

At home, bright eyes are sparkling for us, And we'll defend them to the last!

The River.

THEY slept on the field that their valor had won!
But arose with the first early blush of the sun,
For they knew that a great deed remained to be
done,

When they passed o'er the river.

They rose with the sun, caught new life from his light

Those giants of courage, those Anaks in fightAnd they laughed out aloud in the joy of their might,

Marching swift for the River.

On! on like the rushing of storms through the hills

On! on! with a tramp that is firm as their willsAnd the one heart of thousands grows buoyant and thrills,

At the thought of the River.

On! the sheen of their swords! the fierce gleam of

their eyes!

It seemed as on earth a new sunlight would rise, And king-like, flash up to the sun in the skies, O'er the path to the River.

But their banners, shot-scarred, and all darkened with gore

On a strong wind of morn streaming wildly beforeLike the wings of Death-angels, swept fast to the shore,

The green shore of the River.

As they march-from the hill-side, the hamlet, the

stream

Gaunt throngs, whom the foeman had manacled,

teem,

Like men just aroused from some terrible dream, To pass o'er the River.

They behold the broad banners, blood-darkened, yet fair,

And a moment dissolves the last spell of despair, While a peal, as of victory, swells on the air,

Rolling out to the River.

And that cry, with a thousand strange echoings

spread,

Till the ashes of heroes seemed stirred in their bed, And the deep voice of passion surged up from the dead

Ay! press on to the River.

On! on! like the rushing of storms through the hills

On! on! with a tramp that is firm as their wills, And the one heart of thousands grows buoyant and thrills

As they pause by the River.

Then the wan face of Maryland-haggard and wornAt that sight, lost the touch of its aspect forlorn, As she turned on her foemen, full statured in scorn, Pointing stern to the River.

And Potomac flowed calm, scarcely heaving her breast,

With her low-lying billows kissed warm by the

west;

For the hand of the Lord lulled the waters to rest

Of the far rolling River.