THE shadows lay along Broadway,
'T was near the twilight-tide,

And slowly there a lady fair
Was walking in her pride.

Alone walked she; but, viewlessly,
Walked spirits at her side.

Peace charmed the street beneath her feet,
And Honor charmed the air;
And all astir looked kind on her,
And called her good as fair,
For all God ever gave to her
She kept with chary care.

She kept with care her beauties rare
From lovers warm and true,
For her heart was cold to all but gold,
And the rich came not to woo -
But honored well are charms to sell
If priests the selling do.

Now walking there was one more fair -
A slight girl, lily-pale;

-

THERE's something in a noble boy,
A brave, free-hearted, careless one,
With his unchecked, unbidden joy,

His dread of books and love of fun
And in his clear and ready smile,
Unshaded by a thought of guile,

And unrepressed by sadness
Which brings me to my childhood back,
As if I trod its very track,

And felt its very gladness.

And yet it is not in his play,

When every trace of thought is lost, And not when you would call him gay, That his bright presence thrills me

most.

His shout may ring upon the hill,
His voice be echoed in the hall,
His merry laugh like music trill,
And I unheeding hear it all;

For, like the wrinkles on my brow,
I scarcely notice such things now.
But when, amid the earnest game,
He stops as if he music heard,
And, heedless of his shouted name
As of the carol of a bird,
Stands gazing on the empty air
As if some dream were passing there —
'Tis then that on his face I look,
His beautiful but thoughtful face,

And, like a long-forgotten book,
Its sweet, familiar meaning trace,

Remembering a thousand things
Which passed me on those golden wings,
Which time has fettered now-

Things that came o'er me with a thrill,
And left me silent, sad, and still,

And threw upon my brow

A holier and a gentler cast,

That was too innocent to last.

We

may not see their forms again, God help 'em, should they find the

strife!

For they are strong and fearless men,
And make no coward terms for life;
They'll fight as long as Marion bids,

And when he speaks the word to shy, Then, not till then, they turn their steeds, Through thickening shade and swamp to fly.

Now stir the fire and lie at ease,

The scouts are gone, and on the brush

I see the Colonel bend his knee,

To take his slumbers too. But hush! He's praying, comrades; 't is not strange; The man that's fighting day by day May well, when night comes, take a change, And down upon his knees to pray.

Break up that hoe-cake, boys, and hand
The sly and silent jug that's there;

I love not it should idly stand

When Marion's men have need of cheer. 'Tis seldom that our luck affords

A stuff like this we just have quaffed, And dry potatoes on our boards

May always call for such a draught.

Now pile the brush and roll the log;

Hard pillow, but a soldier's head
That 's half the time in brake and bog
Must never think of softer bed.
The owl is hooting to the night,

The cooter crawling o'er the bank,
And in that pond the flashing light
Tells where the alligator sank.

What! 't is the signal! start so soon,
And through the Santee swamp so deep,
Without the aid of friendly moon,

And we, Heaven help us! half asleep!
But courage, comrades! Marion leads,
The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night;
So clear your swords and spur your steeds,
There's goodly chance, I think, of fight.

We follow where the Swamp Fox guides, We leave the swamp and cypress-tree, Our spurs are in our coursers' sides,

And ready for the strife are we. The Tory camp is now in sight,

And there he cowers within his den; He hears our shouts, he dreads the fight, He fears, and flies from Marion's men.