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For her sweet promises, without the showers That are their comrades in life's after hours. They parted trustingly; they did not know The vanity of youthful trust and vow; And each believed the other,—for each read In their own hearts the truth of what each said. The dews are drying rapidly:—away, Young warrior! those far banners chide thy stay. Hark! the proud trumpet swells upon the wind,— His first of fields, he must not be behind. The maiden's cheek flush'd crimson, and her eye Flash'd as the martial music floated by. She saw him spring upon his snow-white steed,— It dash'd across the plain with arrowy speed. The beat of heart, the flush of cheek, are gone, but felt she was alone.