University of Virginia Library

‘The war-yell roused me from repose,
I sprang forth like a frightened deer—
I heard the hot shots sharp and clear,
And shoutings of my friends—or foes—
Upon the crested mountain wall.
I heard the war chief's rallying call
In words of wildest eloquence,
And seen the warriors marshalled all.
And you?” she cried—an instant—then
I led in the van of the tallest men.
I plunged in the fight with the fiery zeal
That only the young and impulsive feel.
I leapt in the fight with a fierce delight—
I led where the bravest quailed to follow,
And plunging down a dense pine hollow
Was mingled with my flying foes,
And felled, and bound, and borne away,
Their only trophy of the fray.

‘The bore me bound for many a day
Through fen and wild, by foamy flood,
From my dear mountains far away,
To where an adobe prison stood,
Beside a sultry, sullen town,
With iron eyes and stony frown;
And in a dark and narrow cell,
So hot it almost took my breath,
And seemed but an outpost of hell,
They thrust me; as if I had been
The fiercest monster ever seen.
I cried aloud, I courted death—
I called unto a strip of sky—
The only thing beyond my cell
That I could see; but no reply
Came but the echo of my breath.
I paced—how long I cannot tell,
My reason failed, I knew no more,
And swooning, fell upon the floor.

‘Then months went on, till deep one night,
When long thin bars of lunar light
Lay shimmering along the floor,
My senses came to me once more.

‘My eyes looked full into her eyes—
Into her soul so true and tried.
I thought myself in paradise
And wondered when she too had died.
And then I seen the stripèd light
That struggled past the prison bar,
And in an instant, at the sight,
My sinking soul fell just as far
As could a star
Loosed by a jar
From out the setting in the ring—
The purpled, semi-circled ring
That seems to circle us at night.
She seen my senses had returned,
Then swift to press my pallid face—
Then as if spurned
She sudden turned
Her sweet face to the prison wall;
Her bosom rose—her hot tears fell
Fast, as drip moss-stones in a well,
And then, as if subduing all
In one strong struggle of the soul,
Be what they were of vows or fears,
With kisses and hot scalding tears,
There in that deadly, loathsome place,
She bathed my bleached and bloodless face.
I was so weak I could not speak,
Or press my thin lips to her cheek,
I only looked my wish to share
The secret of her presence there.

‘Then looking through her falling hair—
A look of tenderest despair—
Still sadder—so her sweet face still appears
Seen through the tears
And blood of years—
Than burning Sappho bathed in tears,
She pressed her finger to her lips—
Sweeter than sweets the brown bee sips—
Sadder than a grief untold—
Stiller than the milk-white moon,
She turned away, I heard unfold
An iron door, and she was gone.

‘If all could die who death invite,
And all could live who seek to live,
'Twere doubtful if the world would give
A life list greater than to-night.