BALLAD.
I.
Hark! the trumpet's note through all our valleys;—
Red, the plains are weeping with the strife;
The song and dance have fled our peaceful alleys,
And the young warrior leaves the drooping wife;
But will she cling to homes by love forsaken?—
Not long she droops when from her side he goes;
In boyhood's guise, the weapon she hath taken,
And, all unknown, she fights against his foes!—
She hears the cry, “To arms!”
No fear her soul alarms,
As still, with lance in rest, she seeks the thick array;
Beside him, as he flies
From foe to foe, she plies
The eager steel, and shares the glory of the fray!
II.
Hark! the trumpet's note from fight recalling,
Night is in the deep with solemn eye;
Sad the starlight on the red plain falling,
Shows the wounded soldier where to die!
In the mournful bivouac beside him
She hath crouch'd in silence,—not to sleep;
But, above the slumbers not denied him,
With fond thought, a patient watch to keep!
Is it her name she hears,
That, borne to eager ears,
Glides from his sleeping lips her soul to bless?—
Ah! with what idle part
Would she subdue her heart!
Love triumphs still, and he awakes in her caress.
