POETRY.
TO RIFLE NO. 424170.
[The riftes issued to the Volunteers are now being called in by Ike autheritiee.1 Wm., it is hard to part, although 'Twos fate's design for you and me To fire no shot, to strike no blow 'Gainst an invading enemy: But we were ready, after all, Per roll of drum or bugle's call.
At first you were a direful friend: You skinned my knuckles, galled my hand, Played tricks upon me without end, Did things I couldn't understand; Then all at once you dropped your pranks—
And grew obedient in the ranks.
We sloped, presented, trailed and changed, We 'abused together, stood at ease; We faced the targets, dimly ranged, In flogging rain and biting breeze:
And if the scoring didn't shine,
The fault, my friend, was wholly mine.
And now our ways divide; you pass To some grim armoury unknown, And I, who loved you well, alas: Must go, dis-lifled and alone, To dream, in memory's deepening shades, Of old companions, old parades.
C. BENKETT BURROW.
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