Classic Poem

Up in the Indian hills
Of the Cutchee tribe 'tis said
That when a chieftain dies
They bind his wrists with thread:
Blue for the very brave;
But for the bravest red.

One time in Indian wars
A squad of Englishmen
Charged sixty Cutcheears
So valiantly that, when
The fight was done, of ten, not one
Ever came back again.

Long after, when the winds
Their skeletons had kissed,
A squad of Englishmen
Looked up their missing list,
And found them dead, with each a thread
Of scarlet on his wrist.

Should " North " require a sign
In honor of her dead
Who bravely stayed behind
When all the others fled, —
We can supply the proper dye
And " throw her in the thread. "