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The bitterness of her despair. It passed— That moment of wild anguish; he knelt down; That sunbeam shed its glory over one, Young, proud, and brave, nerved in deep energy; The next fell over cold and bloody clay....

There is a deep-voiced sound from yonder vale Which ill accords with the sweet music made By the light birds nestling by those green elms, And a strange contrast to the blossomed thorns. Dark plumes are waving, and a silent hearse Is winding through that lane. They told it bore A widow, who died of a broken heart: Her child, her soul's last treasure,—he had been Shot for desertion!