To the mustc of rustling leaves kickad by my ■ feet, for 'twas autumn, I marked at tho foot of a tree the grave of a soldier. Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat (easily all could I underatatod), The halt of a midday hour, when np! no time to lose, yeí thts sign left, On a tablet aorawled and nailed on the tree by the grave, Bold. oautióua. true, and my loving comrade. Long. long I mase, then on my vray go wandering, Hany a changeftu aeason to follow, and many a scène of llfe, Yet at times through changeful season and acene, abrupt, alone, or in the crowded Street, Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave. comes the inauription rude In Virginia' woods, Bold, cautious, true, and my lovinc comrade.