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AT THE BREACH.
ALL over for me
The struggle, and possible glory !
All swept past,
In the rush of my own brigade.
Will charges instead,
And fills up my place in the story ;
Well —'tis well,
By the merry old games we played.
There's a fellow asleep, the lout ! in the shade of the hillock yonder ;
What a dog it must be to drowse in the midst of a time like this !
Why, the horses might neigh contempt at him ; what is he like, I wonder ?
If the smoke would but clear away, I have strength in me yet to hiss.
