 | The forest minstrel |  |
THE DYING SOLDIER.
Night gathers slowly round me; the long night
Of darkness and of death. Within mine eye
The light of life is fading, as the day
Is slowly melting from the darkening sky.
Of darkness and of death. Within mine eye
The light of life is fading, as the day
Is slowly melting from the darkening sky.
See, from the wood that borders this foul plain,
Creep slowly forth the shadows; night is there,
And her dim hosts march slowly—slowly on,—
So silently—Oh, terrible they are!
Creep slowly forth the shadows; night is there,
And her dim hosts march slowly—slowly on,—
So silently—Oh, terrible they are!
All forms of darkness, doubt, and mystery,
Sad, hideous, and fantastic, form that wreath
Of cold black horror. Oh, I feel it now!
It stifles my warm soul,—it cramps my breath;
Sad, hideous, and fantastic, form that wreath
Of cold black horror. Oh, I feel it now!
It stifles my warm soul,—it cramps my breath;
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The red blood flows no longer from my wound,—
I feel the warm tide trickle down no more;
There is no pain, but oh, an iciness,
A horrid stiff'ning of the curdling gore,
I feel the warm tide trickle down no more;
There is no pain, but oh, an iciness,
A horrid stiff'ning of the curdling gore,
More terrible than all the agonies
That have convulsed me since I weltered here;
It is not ease or sleep. Oh, Death! thou soul
Of darkness—thou embodiment of fear—
That have convulsed me since I weltered here;
It is not ease or sleep. Oh, Death! thou soul
Of darkness—thou embodiment of fear—
How nature doth abhor thy cold embrace,
And cling to life's warm bosom. Life! oh, life!
Though thou art passion, weariness, and pain,
We cling to thee with agonizing strife.
And cling to life's warm bosom. Life! oh, life!
Though thou art passion, weariness, and pain,
We cling to thee with agonizing strife.
I would prolong thy parting bitterness;
I gasp to taste once more thy warm sweet breath;
But icy daggers pierce my vitals through,—
My brain grows torpid with the weight of death.
I gasp to taste once more thy warm sweet breath;
But icy daggers pierce my vitals through,—
My brain grows torpid with the weight of death.
Yet I shall live for ever in the light
Of my proud country's glory! and my grave
Shall be a holy altar, where the free
Shall celebrate the worship of the brave.
Of my proud country's glory! and my grave
Shall be a holy altar, where the free
Shall celebrate the worship of the brave.
And this is death in glory! with the wreath
Of victory's laurel fresh upon my brow;
Oh, ardently I sought for such a death;
Life! life!—oh for thy humblest station now!
Of victory's laurel fresh upon my brow;
Oh, ardently I sought for such a death;
Life! life!—oh for thy humblest station now!
Oh, for the blessings I have thrown away,—
Warm being, with its pulses of delight,
Its tendrils of delicious sympathy,
Embracing all the beautiful and bright.
Warm being, with its pulses of delight,
Its tendrils of delicious sympathy,
Embracing all the beautiful and bright.
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Its clinging thrilling loves. Oh, Geraldine,
The blissful bands that hold thee to my heart,
Now shivering with intensest agony
Of painful tension, cannot, cannot part.
The blissful bands that hold thee to my heart,
Now shivering with intensest agony
Of painful tension, cannot, cannot part.
Death hath no power to rend those holy ties;
The bonds of our communion must remain,
To change the blessed intercourse of bliss
Which has been ours, to cold and lingering pain.
The bonds of our communion must remain,
To change the blessed intercourse of bliss
Which has been ours, to cold and lingering pain.
Our hearts are wedded, and for ever more
Must nestle to each other. Wo to thine,
Doomed in its young warm tenderness to bear
The icy and death-stricken weight of mine.
Must nestle to each other. Wo to thine,
Doomed in its young warm tenderness to bear
The icy and death-stricken weight of mine.
The mysteries of love are now revealed,
The preciousness of life, the priceless worth
Of its enjoyments.—Oh, for warmth, for light,
For strength, once more to range the glorious earth!
The preciousness of life, the priceless worth
Of its enjoyments.—Oh, for warmth, for light,
For strength, once more to range the glorious earth!
Oh, for the hope of immortality,
The humble Christian's hope of life to come!
Of friendship, love, and joy, all purified,
And bound in wreaths of never-fading bloom.
The humble Christian's hope of life to come!
Of friendship, love, and joy, all purified,
And bound in wreaths of never-fading bloom.
The veriest slave who feels that blessed hope,
Hath life eternal flowing round his heart;
Round mine now closes black and crushing ice—
Doubt, horror!—Death! oh, terrible thou art!
Hath life eternal flowing round his heart;
Round mine now closes black and crushing ice—
Doubt, horror!—Death! oh, terrible thou art!
| The forest minstrel | |