VICTOR GALBRAITH.

UNDER the walls of Monterey

At daybreak the bugles began to play,
Victor Galbraith!

In the mist of the morning damp and gray, These were the words they seemed to say: "Come forth to thy death,

Victor Galbraith!"

Forth he came, with a martial tread;

Firm was his step, erect his head;

Victor Galbraith,

He who so well the bugle played, •

Could not mistake the words it said:

"Come forth to thy death,

Victor Galbraith!"

He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky,
He looked at the files of musketry,

Victor Galbraith!

And he said, with a steady voice and eye, "Take good aim; I am ready to die!"

Thus challenges death

Victor Galbraith.

Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red,

Six leaden balls on their errand sped;

Victor Galbraith

Falls to the ground, but he is not dead;

His name was not stamped on those balls of lead,

And they only scath

Victor Galbraith.

14*

Three balls are in his breast and brain,
But he rises out of the dust again,

Victor Galbraith!

The water he drinks has a bloody stain;
"O kill me, and put me out of my pain!"
In his agony prayeth

Victor Galbraith.

Forth dart once more those tongues of flame,

And the bugler has died a death of shame,
Victor Galbraith!

His soul has gone back to whence it came,
And no one answers to the name,

When the Sergeant saith,

"Victor Galbraith!"

Under the walls of Monterey

By night a bugle is heard to play,
Victor Galbraith!

Through the mist of the valley damp and gray The sentinels hear the sound, and say,

MY LOST YOUTH.

Often I think of the beautiful town

That is seated by the sea;

Often in thought go up and down

The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song

Is haunting my memory still :

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."