 | Poems |  |
251
THE HERO'S GRAVE.
A group of boys in playful strife—
A soldier old and faded,—
The fresh and glowing morn of life,—
The eve serenely shaded.—
A soldier old and faded,—
The fresh and glowing morn of life,—
The eve serenely shaded.—
“Ah! play not there, my children!
I pray you play not there!”
He spoke with tears,—that weary one,—
The man with silver hair.
I pray you play not there!”
He spoke with tears,—that weary one,—
The man with silver hair.
“And why?” the thoughtless children said,—
“The grass is fresher here,
We love upon the mound to tread,
And what have we to fear?”
“The grass is fresher here,
252
And what have we to fear?”
“Nay, come away!” he raised his voice,
Wild flash'd his faded eyes,
“Ye sport upon a hallow'd grave,
For there a hero lies!”
Wild flash'd his faded eyes,
“Ye sport upon a hallow'd grave,
For there a hero lies!”
| Poems | |