298 THE SOLDIER'S SWEETHEART.

Betwixt me and the bright stars above;
And the form in its fold,

Like the shape under mould,
Was the form of the angel I love.

Would that I were a flower,

Born of sunshine and shower;
I would grow on the grave of the dead.
I would sweeten the air

With the perfume of prayer,
Till my soul on its incense had fled.

And I never would fade

In the delicate shade

Of the tree in whose shadow she lies.

There my petals should bloom,

By her white rural tomb,

When the stars closed their beautiful eyes.

Now I see her in dreams

On the banks of the streams,
In the dear land of exquisite bliss,
Where the sweep of her wings,
And the song that she sings,

Oft awake me to sadness in this.

High on the mountains

The new day is dawning;

Soon in the valleys

Shall break the glad morning.
Cambridge, Mass.

J. N. M.

THE CAVALRY CHARGE.

301

THE CAVALRY CHARGE.

BY EDMUND C. STEDMAN.

OUR good steeds snuff the evening air,
Our pulses with their purpose tingle;
The foeman's fires are twinkling there;
He leaps to hear our sabres jingle !
HALT!

Each carbine sent its whizzing ball:
Now, cling! clang! forward all,
Into the fight!

Dash on beneath the smoking dome:
Through level lightnings gallop nearer!
One look to Heaven! No thoughts of home:
The guidons that we bear are dearer.
CHARGE!

Cling! clang! forward all!

Heaven help those whose horses fall:
Cut left and right!

They flee before our fierce attack!

They fall! they spread in broken surges. Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, And leave the foeman to his dirges. WHEEL!

302

THE WIDOWED SWORD.

The bugles sound the swift recall :
Cling! clang! backward all!
Home, and good-night!

THEY

THE WIDOWED SWORD.

ANONYMOUS.

HEY have sent me the sword that my brave boy wore

On the field of his young renown,

On the last red field, where his faith was sealed,

And the sun of his days went down.

Away with the tears

That are blinding me so;

There is joy in his years,

Though his young head be low;

And I'll gaze with a solemn delight, evermore,
On the sword that my brave boy wore.

"T was for Freedom and Home that I gave him away, Like the sons of his race of old;

And though, aged and gray, I am childless this

day,

He is dearer a thousandfold.

There's a glory above him