I hear the war-cry on the distant field! I see the dust, by charging squadrons cart; The cannon’s blaze, the flash of burnished steel; Bright banner’s wave, the rapid march and wheel, Where every step may be, perhaps, the last A soldier e’er may take. Closely, more closely, still I see them sweep, Their wings are furled, and eagerly, they tread, Yet silently, as one who walks in sleep, Swiftly, as tyrant monsters of the deep Rush on their helpless prey, which seems to dread Far, far too much to fly. Ye whom I loved, my brethren of the sword, With whom I left my distant mountain-home, Come, come to me. Alas! no single word I speak will ever by your ears be heard, Where battle cries, the trump and stirring drum, Salute your victory. Was it for this I left my mother’s side, And bade to her I loved a last adieu, The dark-eyed girl I won to be my bride? Was it to watch this warm, empurpled tide Of life come gurgling, like a fountain, through My rent and gaping breast? Wounded, alone, upon the field of strife, The shouts of victory upon mine ear, My comrades joyous, or bereft of life, Martyrs, with fame and glory ever rife— I do not dread to die alone e’en here, As yon brave men have died. But oh, great God! I would not feel the beak Of yon dark vulture tear away my heart; Not that I wish my failing strength to eke— A soldier’s death it was my joy to seek, Wounded, alone, I have no other art To save me. Let me die. * * * * * HISTORY OF THE COSTUME OF MEN, DURING THE EIGHTEENTH AND THE BEGINNING OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. BY FAYETTE ROBINSON. (_Continued from page 198._) Nor does the following present a much greater difference, and, but for the ear-rings and knee-breeches, would pass muster even now amid our infinite varieties of _palelots_, _sacks_ and _Hongroises_. The boot-black represented in the cut is a miniature _bonnet-rouge_. [Illustration]