Evenings we knew,
Happy as this;

Faces we miss,

Pleasant to see.

Kind hearts and true,

Gentle and just,

Peace to your dust!
We sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun,
Lurks at the gate:
Let the dog wait;
Happy we 'll be!
Drink, every one;
Pile up the coals,
Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree!

Drain we the cup.-
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid

In the Red Sea.

Mantle it up;

Empty it yet;

Let us forget,

Round the old tree.

Sorrows, begone!
Life and its ills,

Duns and their bills,
Bid we to flee.

Come with the dawn,

Blue-devil sprite,

Leave us to-night,

Round the old tree.

THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS

"A surgeon of the United States' army says, that on inquiring of the Captain of his company, he found that nine-tenths of the men had enlisted on account of some female difficulty." - Morning Paper.

Y

E Yankee volunteers!

It makes my bosom bleed
When I your story read,
Though oft 't is told one.
So in both hemispheres
The women are untrue,
And cruel in the New,

As in the Old one!

What-in this company
Of sixty sons of Mars,

Who march 'neath Stripes and Stars,
With fife and horn,
Nine-tenths of all we see

Along the warlike line

Had but one cause to join
This Hope Forlorn?

Deserters from the realm
Where tyrant Venus reigns,
You slipp'd her wicked chains,
Fled and out-ran her.

And now, with sword and helm,

Together banded are

Beneath the Stripe and Star

Embroider'd banner!

And is it so with all
The warriors ranged in line,
With lace bedizen'd fine

And swords gold-hilted

Yon lusty corporal,

Yon colour-man who gripes The flag of Stars and Stripes Has each been jilted?

Come, each man of this line,
The privates strong and tall,
"The pioneers and all,"
The fifer nimble
Lieutenant and Ensign,
Captain with epaulets,
And Blacky there, who beats
The clanging cymbal -

O cymbal-beating black,
Tell us, as thou canst feel,
Was it some Lucy Neal

Who caused thy ruin?

O nimble fifing Jack,
And drummer making din
So deftly on the skin,

With thy rat-tattooing

Confess, ye volunteers,
Lieutenant and Ensign,
And Captain of the line,
As bold as Roman-
Confess, ye grenadiers,
However strong and tall,
The Conqueror of you all
Is Woman, Woman!

No corselet is so proof
But through it from her bow
The shafts that she can throw
Will pierce and rankle.
No champion e'er so tough,
But's in the struggle thrown,
And tripp'd and trodden down
By her slim ankle.

Thus always it was ruled:
And when a woman smiled,
The strong man was a child,
The sage a noodle.

Alcides was befool'd,

And silly Sampson shorn,

Long, long ere you were born, Poor Yankee Doodle!