14 SEPTEMBER 1878, Page 16

POETRY.

THE COMRADES.

(FROM THE GERMAN OF OHLAND.j

I HAD a mate in the regiment, A better man ne'er stepped. The bugle blew to battle, And 'mid the roar and rattle One step, one heart, we kept.

"Art thou, or am I, the billet Of that bullet whistling here ?

Ah ! poor old mate, 'tis thee it's found !"

He fell beside me on the ground,- 'Twas a part of myself lay there.

" Dost stretch thy hand towards me ? I must load, and one more shot try. I've ne'er a hand for thee, old chum. Peace be with thee in kingdom-come,-

Good-bye, my mate, good-bye P' C. S. M.