Another of the men of yore;
I gazed, as the dim shadow neared,
And then before my sight appeared
The recollection of a name,
'Twas Commissary Ashworth came.
And not far off, with business look
And pen in hand o'er ponderous book,
I see another friend of youth
Noted for probity and truth;
'Tis Thomas Donelly, worthy man!
Whom now with memory's eye I scan.
Still as the mist of memory clears,
I meet the men of other years;
Another page I now unfold,
And Captain Bolton I behold,
Or Major Bolton, if you will,
Who lived upon the "Major's Hill,"
Which got his rank and bears it still.
It used to be in days gone by,
"The Colonel's Hill," a rank more high,
And worthy of the ancient trees,
Whose foliage rustled in the breeze,
Where pigeons, in their annual flight,
Were wont by thousands to alight,
O! many a fusilade I've seen,
Of flint locks in its bowers green;
It got the name recorded here,
From Colonel By, who first lived there;
'Twas then a grove of thickest shade,
What civilization's hand hath made,