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An Army Corps on the March.

WITH its cloud of skirmishers in advance,

With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a          whip, and now an irregular volley,

The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades          press on;

Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun—the dust-cover'd          men,

In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the          ground,

With artillery interspers'd—the wheels rumble, the          horses sweat,

As the army corps advances.

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