With nothing,--not even a cracker to eat;
But now, as I rest by the bivouac fire,
Whose blaze leaps up merrily, higher and higher,
Impatient as Roland, who neighs to be fed,--
For Caleb to bring me my bacon and bread,--
I'll warm my cold heart, that is aching and lone,
By thinking of you, love,--my Alice,--my own!

"I turn a deaf ear to the scream of the wind,
I leave the rude camp and the forest behind;
And Beechenbrook, wrapped in its raiment of white,
Is tauntingly filling my vision to-night.
I catch my sweet little ones' innocent mirth,
I watch your dear face, as you sit at the hearth;
And I know, by the tender expression I see,
I know that my darling is musing of me.
Does her thought dim the blaze?--Does it shed through the room
A chilly, unseen, and yet palpable gloom?
Ah! then we are equal! _You_ share all my pain,
And _I_ halve your blessedness with you again!

"Don't think that my hardships are bitter to bear;
Don't think I repine at the soldier's rough fare;
If ever a thought so unworthy steals on,
I look upon Ashby,--and lo! it is gone!
Such chivalry, fortitude, spirit and tone,
Make brighter, and stronger, and prouder, my own.
Oh! Beverly, boy!--on his white steed, I ween,
A princelier presence has never been seen;
And as yonder he lies, from the groups all apart,