Or the "bulls-eye," the missile flew
Into its centre straight and true,
In the old days when practiced eye
Was light, shade and trajectory.
Does your keen eye obey your will,
Is your hand quite as steady still
As when you knocked the turkey's o'er,
At twenty rods in days of yore?
My blessing day and night upon
The memory of the time that's gone.
And Sergeant Major Ritchie, there
He stands before my vision, where
In youth I used to see him stand
On Barrack Hill with cane in hand.
For many a year ere death's disaster
He held the post of Barrack Master,
And amongst people who reflected
Most highly always was respected.
I had almost forgotten one
Who's name should not be left alone
In dark oblivion's envious shade
While I the silent past invade--
To light up the forgotten gloom;
To rescue from time's early tomb
And touch with friendly hand, and give
To fading memories power to live.
'Mongst men of enterprising fame,
I can't pass George Buchanan's name;
He built our first old timber slide,
Down which the red pine cribs did glide;