Fell well-greaved fear on the lads, and they silently watched the performance.
THE RAID.(In the manner of Sir W-r Sc-tt.)
ON Boston's spires, towers, and trees
Flitted the silent midnight breeze.
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The moon looked down, and shed her beam
On both the bridges and the stream,
From which they're called the Cam.
From Boylston Street, far on to Court,
Nay, from the distant Cambridgeport,
From Medford, Malden, Chestnut Hill,
No sound there came, all was so still:
The city was as dead,
As though in suburb, square, and street
Her giant heart had ceased to beat,
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