LAST night, among his fellow roughs,
He jested, quaff'd, and swore;
A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never look'd before.
JULY 9th, 1856.
YES, they return--but who return?
The many or the few?
Clothed with a name, in vain the same;
Right on our flank the crimson sun went down,
The deep sea rolled around in dark repose,
When, like the wild shriek from some captured town,