Wild, clarion catches,--now flute-like and low;
--Would you like me to give you their Song of the Snow?

Halt!--the march is over!
Day is almost done;
Loose the cumbrous knapsack,
Drop the heavy gun:
Chilled and wet and weary,
Wander to and fro,
Seeking wood to kindle
Fires amidst the snow.

Round the bright blaze gather,
Heed not sleet nor cold,--
Ye are Spartan soldiers,
Stout and brave and bold:
Never Xerxian army
Yet subdued a foe,
Who but asked a blanket
On a bed of snow.

Shivering midst the darkness
Christian men are found,
There devoutly kneeling
On the frozen ground,--

Pleading for their country,
In its hour of woe,--
For its soldiers marching
Shoeless through the snow.

Lost in heavy slumbers,
Free from toil and strife;
Dreaming of their dear ones,--
Home, and child, and wife;
Tentless they are lying,
While the fires burn low,--
Lying in their blankets,
Midst December's snow!

Come, Sophy, my blossom! I've something to say
Will chase for a moment your gambols away:
To-day as we climbed the steep mountain-path o'er,
I noticed a bare-footed lad in my corps;
"How comes it,"--I asked,--"you look careful and bold,
How comes it you're marching, unshod, through the cold?"

"Ah, sir! I'm a poor, lonely orphan, you see;
No mother, no friends that are caring for me;
If I'm wounded, or captured, or killed, in the war,
'Twill matter to nobody, Colonel Dunbar."

Now, Sophy!--your needles, dear!--Knit him some socks,
And send the poor fellow a pair in my box;
Then he'll know,--and his heart with the thought will be filled,--
There is _one_ little maiden will care if he's killed.

The fire burns dimly, and scattered around,
The men lie asleep on the snow-covered ground;
But ere in my blanket I wrap me to rest,
I hold you, my darling, close,--close, to my breast:
God love you! God grant you His comforting light!
I kiss you a thousand times over!--Good night!

V.

"To-morrow is Christmas!"--and clapping his hands,
Little Archie in joyful expectancy stands,
And watches the shadows, now short and now tall,
That momently dance up and down on the wall.

Drawn curtains of crimson shut out the cold night,
And the parlor