For the first breath of Summer’s dew,

And the lilac bloom will soon wed.

{34}

{34}

MEMORIES.

The aged sire in thoughtful mood,

Sits by the hearth stone bright,

And seems to see with pensive glance,

In soaring flames of light

The old camp ground with tents outspread,

Where comrades good and true,

Are waiting for the bugle call,

The call they all well knew.

Ere the notes die o’er the valley,

And smould’ring fires grow dim,

To arms, to arms, attention all,

He hears with strength and vim,

Then forward march, away they go,

The enemy to meet,

Through fire and smoke he sees them fall,

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