OME look from the window with me,

Charley love,

They are marching this way thro' the

gloom;

With clatter of steel,

And echoing peal,

And a ringing reverb'rating hum

As they come;—

'Tis the tuck of the Volunteer drum!

'Tis the tuck of the Volunteer drum,

Charley love.

Our own Volunteers, Caro mine,—

See, now their arms glance!

"Front form!—left—advance!"—

As the long column wheels into line

It's divine

To watch how their bayonets shine.

From village and town they have drawn,

Charley love,

They've gather'd from lowland and height,—

Their lasses have braced

The swords to their waist,

And armed them for England and Right,

and to fight

For the banner that's waving to night.

Gallant hearts! they are bound to our own,

Charley love,

They are link'd by each tie that endears,—

By hopes and by pray'rs—

By smiles and by tears—

Long, long ring those shouts in our ears!

Hark, three cheers—

Three times three for our brave Volunteers!

Adieu! the bright pageant grows dark,

Charley love,

Their ranks are beginning to fade—

The last glimmer dies—

There's a mist in my eyes!—

Their voices come faint thro' the shade,

I'm afraid

That's good night to our Rifle Brigade!