ASTRA CASTRA 361 
At the sound of that bugle each comrade shall 
spring , 
Like an arrow released from the strain of the 
string ; 
The courage, the impulse of youth shall come 
back 
To banish the chill of the drear bivouac, 
And sorrows and losses and cares fade away 
When that life-giving signal proclaims the new 
day. 
Though the bivouac of age may put ice in our 
veins, 
And no fibre of steel in our sinew remains ; 
Though the comrades of yesterday’s march are 
not here, 
And the sunlight seems pale and the branches 
are sere, — 
Though the sound of our cheering dies down 
to a moan, 
We shall find our lost youth when the bugle is 
blown. 
ASTRA CASTRA 
SOMEWHERE betwixt me and the farthest star, 
Or else beyond all worlds, all space, all 
thought, 
