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We need no serried lines, to show
A gallant bearing to the foe.
We need no trumpet to awake The thirst,
which blood alone can slake.
What is it that can stop our course,
Free riders of the Arab horse?
Go--brave the desert wind of fire;
Go--beard the lightning's look of ire;
Drive back the ravening flames, which leap
In thunder from the mountain steep;
But dream not, men of fifes and drums,
To stop the Arab when he comes:
Not tides of fire, not walls of rock,
Could shield you from that earthquake shock.
Come, brethren, come, too long we stay,
The shades of night have rolled away,
Too fast the golden moments fleet,
Charge, ere another pulse has beat;
Charge--like the tiger on the fawn--
Before another breath is drawn.


MY LADY'S LEAP.
BY CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN.

My lady's leap! that's it, sir,--
That's what we call it 'ere;--
It's a nasty jump for a man, sir,
Let alone for a woman to clear.


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