Classic Poem

I SAW afar a dark and bloody field;
The evening sun was setting on the brave,
Who, pierc'd with gashes never to be heal'd,
Lay in their glory, reckless of a grave.
They did not murmur, tho' the damp of death
Was rising cold on every noble brow;
Nor deem it sorrow to resign their breath,
While freedom's spirit drank their dying vow.
And when the thoughts of home with anguish crept
Over their senses, and those broken ties—
Those thoughts, which in the battle-field had slept,
With well-known faces rose before their eyes—
They did not weep;—but to their babes bequeath'd
Their glorious cause—the strife of liberty;
A ruddy sword, for her to be unsheath'd,
The same glad fearlessness for her to die.
And to their wives they left their living fame,
Their country's gratitude; and the last glow,
Which o'er their pallid cheek in fondness came,
Ere the destroying pang had laid them low.
—Yet there was one to life who closely clung,
As wanting that which made departing sweet;
When, as he turn'd, a soft form o'er him hung,
And all he lov'd his dying sight did meet!
That tender face with transient rapture flush'd
To find him living, and some tremulous sound
Rose to her lips,—but soon the voice was hush'd,
And she stretch'd by him on the bloody ground.
She laid his head upon her breaking heart;
Yet in that anguish'd moment both were blest;
Each smil'd a look which said “we do not part,”
And the next sunbeam shone upon their rest.

I SAW afar a dark and bloody field;
The evening sun was setting on the brave,
Who, pierc'd with gashes never to be heal'd,
Lay in their glory, reckless of a grave.
They did not murmur, tho' the damp of death
Was rising cold on every noble brow;
Nor deem it sorrow to resign their breath,
While freedom's spirit drank their dying vow.
And when the thoughts of home with anguish crept
Over their senses, and those broken ties—
Those thoughts, which in the battle-field had slept,
With well-known faces rose before their eyes—
They did not weep;—but to their babes bequeath'd
Their glorious cause—the strife of liberty;
A ruddy sword, for her to be unsheath'd,
The same glad fearlessness for her to die.
And to their wives they left their living fame,
Their country's gratitude; and the last glow,
Which o'er their pallid cheek in fondness came,
Ere the destroying pang had laid them low.
—Yet there was one to life who closely clung,
As wanting that which made departing sweet;
When, as he turn'd, a soft form o'er him hung,
And all he lov'd his dying sight did meet!
That tender face with transient rapture flush'd
To find him living, and some tremulous sound
Rose to her lips,—but soon the voice was hush'd,
And she stretch'd by him on the bloody ground.
She laid his head upon her breaking heart;
Yet in that anguish'd moment both were blest;
Each smil'd a look which said “we do not part,”
And the next sunbeam shone upon their rest.