On Guard

On gnard to-raght; 'tig a lonely place, And for two long honra I must wearily pace To and fro 'mid the tall old pines Fringed with moss and clinj;ing vines. Scarce smües a star throtrgh the clouds aloft, And the ocean breeze is damp and soft That fans my frvered cheek and brow, While I ihink of home and its loved ones now. On gaard to-night 'tis a lonely beat, And. with heavy heart and weary feet, Amid the gloom i.nl the dark I 'tread' For I'm watching o'er the uuburied déad Ah ! yestcr morn how lightly throbbecl Ful! many a heart that death has robbed Of its pulse warm ; and catfketa lie As cold as winter's starless sky. TIow sad the thouL;ht that another day Will bring again the battle fray ; And, ere the close of to-morrow's light, I, too, may slcei like those to-night. Past midnight hou-, and I long to hear The step to the soldier's hnart so dear, A sound that banishes all his grief, Tlie welcomo tread of the " next relief." Ah, here they come, and now I can keep My next ftmr hours in the land of sleep, And dream of home and loved ones therc Who never may know of a soldier's care. S It is all very well for prosperous men to prato of the vioc of their unfortunate brethren. A dock that marks the most exact timo will, if yon tilt it the lenst on one fith, po al! wrong or suddenly stop going at all. E A poet has comnienced a new cpic, which tegins well. It opens with an nvntion to the niño muses, bursting : forth with these word?, " Ye femininea I"