“Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—'tis she, My brother's young bride, and the fallen dragoon Was her husband.-Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's

decree,

We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!

"But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;
War is a virtue—weakness a sin ;
There's a lurking and lowing around us to-night,
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in !

THE WALKER OF THE SNOW

S

PEED on, speed on, good master!
The camp lies far away;

We must cross the haunted valley
Before the close of day.

How the snow-blight came upon me
I will tell you as we go,-
The blight of the Shadow-hunter,
Who walks the midnight snow.

To the cold December heaven

Came the pale moon and the stars,

As the yellow sun was sinking
Behind the purple bars.

The snow was deeply drifted
Upon the ridges drear,
That lay for miles around me

And the camp from which we steer.

'Twas silent on the hillside,
And by the solemn wood
No sound of life or motion
To break the solitude,

Save the wailing of the moose-bird
With a plaintive note and low,
And the skating of the red leaf
Upon the frozen snow.

And said I,-"Though dark is falling,
And far the camp must be,

Yet my heart it would be lightsome,
If I had but company."

And then I sang and shouted,
Keeping measure as I sped,

To the harp twang of the snow-shoe
As it sprang beneath my tread;

Not far into the valley

Had I dipped upon my way,
When a dusky figure joined me,
In a capuchon of gray,

Bending upon the snow-shoes,
With a long and limber stride;
And I hailed the dusky stranger,
As we traveled side by side.

But no token of communion
Gave he by word or look,
And the fear chill fell upon me
At the crossing of the brook.

For I saw by the sickly moonlight,

As I followed, bending low,
That the walking of the stranger
Left no footmarks on the snow.

Then the fear-chill gathered o'er me,
Like a shroud around me cast,
As I sank upon the snowdrift

Where the Shadow-hunter passed.

And the otter-trappers found me,
Before the break of day,

With my dark hair blanched and whitened
As the snow in which I lay.

But they spoke not as they raised me;

For they knew that in the night

I had seen the Shadow-hunter,
And had withered in his blight.

Sancta Maria speed us!

The sun is falling low,— Before us lies the valley

Of the Walker of the Snow!

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN (1751-1816)

DRINKING SONG

ERE'S to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Here's to the widow of fifty;

Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean, And here's to the housewife that's thrifty: Chorus. Let the toast pass,

Drink to the lass,

I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here's to the charmer, whose dimples we prize,
And now to the maid who has none, sir,
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to the nymph with but one, sir.
Let the toast pass, etc.

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
And to her that's as brown as a berry;
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the girl that is merry :
Let the toast pass, etc.

For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And let us e'en toast them together :
Let the toast pass, etc.

SONG

AD I a heart for falsehood framed,
I ne'er could injure you ;

For, tho' your tongue no promise claimed, Your charms would make me true;

Then, lady, dread not here deceit,

Nor fear to suffer wrong,

For friends in all the aged you'll meet,
And lovers in the young.

But when they find that you have blessed
Another with your heart,
They'll bid aspiring passion rest,
And act a brother's part.
Then, lady, dread not here deceit,
Nor fear to suffer wrong,

For friends in all the aged you'll meet,
And brothers in the young.

I

SONG

NE'ER could any lustre see

In eyes that would not look on me;
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,

But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose, untouched by art?
I will own the color true,

When yielding blushes aid their hue.
Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.