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AN ARMY 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 resistless advances.