Page:Felicia Hemans in The Monthly Magazine Volume 3 1827.pdf/6



didst fall in the field with thy silver hair, And a banner in thy hand; Thou wert laid to rest from thy battles there, By a proudly mournful band.

In the camp, on the steed, to the bugle's blast, Thy long bright years had sped; And a warrior's bier was thine at last, When the snows had crown'd thy head.

Many had fallen by thy side, old chief! Brothers and friends, perchance; But thou wert yet as the fadeless leaf, And light was in thy glance.

The soldier's heart at thy step leaped high, And thy voice the war-horse knew; And the first to arm when the foe was nigh Wert thou, the bold and true!

Now mayest thou slumber—thy work is done— Thou of the well-worn sword! From the stormy fight in thy fame thou'rt gone, But not to the festal board.

The corn-sheaves whisper thy grave around, Where fiery blood hath flowed;— Oh! lover of battle and trumpet-sound! Thou hast won thee a still abode!

A quiet home from the sunbeams glare, And the wind that wandereth free— Thou that didst fall with thy silvery hair, For this men toil like thee!F. H.