he field with his dead boys around him,
All waiting for Earth to recover her own,
Fortune hath missed him, but Glory hath found him,
While fighting a thousand fierce foemen alone.

Custer's the right wing, the left and the center,
Himself is his only reserve and supply.
This is a battle for Spartans to enter,
Where One makes an army to conquer or die.

Straight on his steed doth he meet the grim battle,
The red line of danger grows deadly and large,
Loud from the hills rings the rifleman's rattle,
But Custer is ready, so forward and charge!

Firing with left hand, and fencing with right,
The reins in his teeth, like a handless young Hun,
What is his fate in the terrible fight?
The thousands hath slain him, yet Custer hath won.

His foemen still seek him in terror and wonder,
Alive in the tempest that darkens the vale;
His charge they still fear in the echoing thunder,
His sword in the lightning, his voice in the gale.

THE AMERICAN GIRL.

The maid for man to love,
All other forms above,
Is she whose home adorns the loam of this fair land of mine:
American in sire,
She's born of love and fire,
And dominates the heart of man as by a right divine.

By rhyming swain pursued,
She meets the puling dude,
Whose hopes to win are centered in his pale Platonic plan;
American in heart,
She spurns his petty part,
Then, speeds him to the army mess to prove himself a man.

With tact burned in the bone,
She stands herself, alone,
The peer of peers of ancient years, for highest functions fit;
American in head
Who woos her, she _may_ wed,
If he hath grace, and wit, and worth, and sense, and soul and grit.

Alive, alert and sweet,
In rounded poise, complete,
Come any day what will or may, she meets the world at par;
American in soul,
She brooks no man's control,
But brings to _one_ a crystal love as stainless as a star.

Who wins, she weds, retains,
She lives, she loves, she reigns
Through home and hall, and over all the sovereign of the scene;
American in dower,
She knows her native power,
And holds the heart of him she loves, a Woman and a Queen.

THE GOOD SHIP "OHIO."

Swift o'er the lee when the wind flies free,
Follows the ship "Ohio,"
With skies o'ercast she bends to the blast,
Like a billowy bird she can fly, O,