A Dream :: :: University of Virginia Library

As the smoke of the battle is clearing away,
Like a fog from the earth slow ascending;
As it veils dark the moon in a sad, silent gloom,
Two figures are seen in its blending.
'Tis a soldier there dying; his horse by his side,
Tightly lashed by his rein to the trooper,
Who is dying, slow dying, life's ebbing away,
As he speaks to his steed in this stupor:
“Oh, my Leo, my gallant, my faithful, good steed;
I'm dying, my Leo, I'm dying!
You have borne me through battle, through all to the end,
To the end of a soldier's last sighing!
Ever faithful and true, not because I was black
Have you scorned me or wavered in battle;
With thy long flowing mane, mid the dying and slain,
Have we charged into muskets' death-rattle.

All is over, 'tis done, we will charge there no more,
And another will ride you to-morrow.
'Neath the flag of our land will you charge once again,
And my comrades will sigh in deep sorrow.
Fare thee well, oh, my Leo, farewell! we must part,
For before me white figures are flying;
Are they angels my Leo? Oh, do angels come here?
Now I'm dying, my Leo, I'm dying!