THE VOUNG HUSSAR. I I 



Wandering through the old paths, he is treading 

 Still in the footsteps he trod as a child ; 



Clearer and clearer the picture is spreading, 

 Clearer the landscape, and graceful and wild. 



Now in the church in the park he is kneeling 

 As in his childhood, and learning to pray ; 



Placing his hand in his mother's, and feeling 

 Some of her influence lighting the way. 



Softly, still softly and sweetly, she leads him ; 



Hush ! her sweet influence guides him in death. 

 She, who has passed its dark portal, still needs him ; 



Dear to her now as he breathes his last breath. 

 ***** 



Still is the night where the watch-fires are gleaming, 

 Sleeping the men of the gallant brigade ; 



Still is the glen where the moonlight is streaming ; 

 Still are the horses that stand in the shade. 



Hush ! there's a neigh on the flank, and a tremble, 

 As a riderless horse joins his comrades again. 



A bonny dark chestnut — no need to dissemble — 

 The hand of his rider is still on the plain. 



