Still—all is still around; I hear the sound of streams, That through the long grass singing flow Beneath the starlight beams Thus let my soul repose, Serene ’mid earthly woes, Till death shall come and bid its longings cease, Till I quench this weary thirst, Where immortal fountains burst, And heavenly voices welcome me to peace. * * * * * BALLADS OF THE CAMPAIGN IN MEXICO. BY HENRY KIRBY BENNER, U. S. A. [Illustration: PALO ALTO.] THE army lay in quiet rest: for many a weary league Had we marched in battle order, combating with fatigue; But when Point Isabel arose between us and the sun, And the evening gun exploded, we felt our toil was done, And we laid us down in silence, and we slept without alarm, Each soldier resting on the ground, with his head across his arm. But when the gray of morning made twilight in the east, Like shadows, from the prairie arose both man and beast; And the soldiers stretched their arms, and the steeds with neigh and stamp, With the rattling rolling reveillé put motion in the camp; And the sunrise-gun boomed loudly, when, as its sound declined, A dull, funereal response rolled heavily down the wind. The soldiers paused and listened, each with questions in his eyes, As round and red the tropic sun walked, Mars-like, up the skies;— It was no echo; never yet made echo sound like that, For echo lives in the mountain glen, and not on the prairie flat: We clasped our muskets closer as we hurried to parade, Our beating hearts replying to the distant cannonade. Not a word had yet been spoken, though, still, the cumbrous sound Came rolling, like a tumbril, over the damp and dewy ground; But beetling brows and heaving breasts and half-suspended sighs Spoke the anger of the passionate hearts whose lightning lit our eyes; Then a murmur rose along our ranks no discipline could drown, And the burthen of the chorus was the syllables—“Fort Brown!” Just then our gallant general, on his favorite white horse, Rode slowly and serenely, like a father, through his force; But as the ranks “presented arms,” another murmur ran— “God bless old Rough and Ready,” loud and deep, from man to man. The brave old heart looked gratified, but his eyes sunk slowly down, For he thought of his companions who were battling at Fort Brown. But scarcely had they fallen, when the air became so still We heard the campanero[2] cry a league off, on the hill. The old man’s gray eyes glistened, and his horse reversed his ears, And stamped his hoofs, and neighed aloud, as laughing at our fears: We stood like statues, listening, when TAYLOR made a sign, And WALKER left his Rangers, riding quickly down the line.