Page:Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.djvu/159

Rh And such a heart! like mountain-pool

Where no man passes by.

He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone;

And Ashby dead in pale disdain;

And Stuart with the Rupert-plume,

Whose blue eye never shall laugh again.

He hears the drum; he sees our boys

From his wasted fields return;

Ladies feast them on strawberries,

And even to kiss them yearn.

He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim,

The rifle proudly borne;

They bear it for an heir-loom home,

And he—disarmed—jail-worn.

Home, home—his heart is full of it;

But home he never shall see,

Even should he stand upon the spot;

'Tis gone!—where his brothers be.