We saw him gallop toward the foe, and our passions thrilled us, when We viewed him ride along their lines and coolly count their men, And turn and gallop backward, and grasp our general’s hand, Then silently resume his place, and head his little band: We paused, when, rushing, roaring, whirling, whistling, wildly by, Came the iron rain of Battle, while his thunder shook the sky. Like a cloud the smoke closed round, and like steeds to frenzy lashed The black eyes of our batteries their deadly fury flashed: We were maniacs; we were furies; we were fiends, not mortal men, And each one fought as if his arm contained the strength of ten; But the smoke grew denser round us, for, like a funeral pyre, The prairie blazed before our eyes—a sea of surging fire. It was a fearful sight, but we fought for life and fame, And incessantly and dauntlessly we answered flame with flame, When, breaking from the enemy’s left, a thousand lancers dashed, A human avalanche, on us; but our batteries fiercely flashed, And we drove them back like deer; but our brains went round and round, When RINGOLD, staggering on his steed, fell, dying, to the ground! But RIDGELY took the hero’s place, and, wheeling to the right, Plunged with his light artillery in the thickest of the fight; And DUNCAN, wheeling to the left, poured in his shot like rain, While our never-ceasing muskets, like a hurricane swept the plain. One moment, like a herd of wolves, they stood, then broke and fled, As our army dashed in swift pursuit o’er the dying and the dead! But the sun was setting fast, and darkness slowly fell, Like a pall, above the fallen who had fought so long and well; And we heard our leader’s summons, and our trumpets, call us back, To refreshment and repose in our lonely bivouac; And we laid us down in silence, surrounded by the slain, And slept the sleep of conquerors on Palo Alto’s plain. ----- [2] The _Campanero_, a Mexican bird: so called from its cry, which resembles the clang of a bell. * * * * * THE WILKINSONS. A TRUE STORY BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER.