Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/73

ALICE OF MONMOUTH A year of his better years the best;

And the plea of a voice, remembered well,

Deep in his secret hearing fell.

And as week by week its records brought

Of heroes fallen as they fought,

There little by little awakenèd

In the lawyer's heart a shapeless dread,

A fear of the tidings which of all

On ear and spirit heaviest fall,—

Changeless sentence of mortal fate,

Freezing the marrow with—Too Late!

XIII

1

,—when ended the morning tramp,

And the regiment came back to camp,

And the Colonel, breathing hard with pain,

Was carried within the lines again,—

Thus a Color-Sergeant told

The story of that skirmish bold:

2

We were all asleep, you know,

Save the officer on his rounds,

And the guard-relief,—when sounds

The signal-gun! once—twice—

Thrice! and then, in a trice,

The long assembly-call rang sharp and clear,

Till 'Boots and Saddles' made us scamper like mice.

No time to waste

In asking whether a fight was near;

Over the horses went their traps in haste;

Not ten minutes had past

Ere we stood in marching gear, 43