Classic Poem

Dead courier that from battle came so fleetly
Thy bugle full of music for the land,
Thou fall'st at last so weary and so sweetly
The bells of Christmas tremble where they stand,
And draw the tuneful trumpet from thy hand.
What beauty in thine eyes and locks of raven
When youth and emulation loosed thy rein!
What tender welcome on thy lips engraven
That friendship never shall behold again!
What honor guided aye thy pen so skilful
That mercenary art can never know!
What indignations womanly and wilful
Bent every golden tendon in thy bow
Till broke thy string and winter laid thee low!