t some of the students
had facetiously said, "Brother Armstrong was so pious that even the
dogs would not bark at him!"

Mr. Armstrong was not at all disposed to take his tutor's advice. But
he favoured me with a copy of his poem, on condition that I would not
cause it to be printed in America,--in England I might. It contains
some turgid expressions, some halting and prosaic lines, and might be
improved by a severe revision; but, besides its interest as a
Transatlantic college-exercise, I feel it possesses sufficient merit to
relieve the tediousness of my own prose.

"'_On_--to the glorious conflict--ON!'--
Is heard throughout the land,
While flashing columns, thick and strong,
Sweep by with swelling band.
'Our country, right or wrong,' they shout,
'Shall still our motto he:
With _this_ we are prepared to rout
Our foes from sea to sea.
Our own right arms to us shall bring
The victory and the spoils;
And Montezuma's halls shall ring,
When there we end our toils.'
ON, then, ye brave' like tigers rage,
That you may win your crown,
Mowing both infancy and age
In ruthless carnage down.
Where flows the tide of life and light,
Amid the city's hum,
There let the cry, at dead of night,
Be heard, 'They come, they come!'
Mid scenes of sweet domestic bliss,
Pour shells of livid fire,
While red-hot balls among them hiss,
To make the work entire
And when the scream of agony
Is heard above the din,
_Then_ ply your guns with energy,
And throw your columns in
Thro' street and lane, thro' house and church,
The sword and faggot hear,
And every inmost recess search,
To fill with shrieks the air
Where waving fields and smiling homes
Now deck the sunny plain,
And laughter-loving childhood roams
Unmoved by care or pain;
Let famine gaunt and grim despair
Behind you stalk along,
And pestilence taint all the air
With victims from the strong
Let dogs from mangled beauty's cheeks
The flesh and sinews tear,
And craunch the bones around for weeks,
And gnaw the skulls till bare
Let vultures gather round the heaps
Made up of man and beast,
And, while the widowed mother weeps,
Indulge their horrid feast,
Till, startled by wild piteous groans,
On dreary wings they rise,
To come again, mid dying moans,
And tear out glazing eyes
_Tho'_ widows' tears, and orphans' cries,
When starving round the spot
Where much-loved forms once met their eyes
Which now are left to rot,
W