University of Virginia Library


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VIII. THE SENTRY

Along his path the sentry paces slow;
Above the field of battle soars the moon:
The night is silent, save for wailing low
Of wounded men who will be silent soon.
The sentry stands
With ready hands
And eyes that peer far out into the gloom.
The hostile hosts,
Like groups of ghosts,
Upon the distant shadowy hill-tops loom.
But not on these the soldier's gaze is set;
His heart is gazing elsewhere than his eyes.
He sees a garden sweet with mignonette;
He hears a voice that to his own replies.
O'er leagues of sea
In thought flies he;

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He stands beside a window wreathed with rose.
Sweet eyes of blue,
Pure, soft, and true,
Gaze in his own, till his heart overflows.
Ha! guns flash out. The dream is over then.
The vision vanishes. It melts away.
Lo! plumes, and neighing steeds, and throngs of men,
And rattling rifles, in the morning grey.
No cottage door—
Mad guns that roar!
No tender glance from maiden's loving eyes.
Yet pity not
A soldier's lot:
He well has loved, who for his country dies.