Classic Poem

BY JAMES H. PERKINS .

Oh! was ye ne'er a schoolboy!
And did you never train,
And feel that swelling of the heart
You cannot feel again?
Didst never meet, far down the street,
With plumes and banners gay,
While the kettle, for the kettle-drum
Played your march, march away?

It seems to me but yesterday,
Nor scarce so long ago,
Since we shouldered our muskets
To charge the tearful foe.
Our muskets were of cedar wood,
With rainrod bright and new;
With bayonet forever set,
And painted barrel too.

We charged upon a flock of geese,
And put them all to flight,
Except one sturdy gaiuder
That thought to show us fight:
But, ah! we knew a thing or two;
Our captain wheeled the van —
We routed him, we scouted him,
Nor lost a single man.

Our captain was as brave a lad
As e'er commission bore;
All brightly shone his tin sword,
And a paper cap he wore;
He led us up the hill-side,
Against the western wind,
While the cockerel plume, that decked his head,
Streamed bravely out behind.

We shouldered arms, we carried arms,
We charged the bayonet;
And wo unto the mullen stalk
That in our course we met.
At two o'clock the roll was called,
And till the close of day,
With our brave and plumed captain
We fought the numic fray, —
When the supper bell, we knew so well,
Came stealing up from out the dell,
For our march, march away.