HARK! HARK! I HEAR A DISTANT DRUM.
I
Hark! hark! I hear a distant drum;—
The tramp of the steeds,—they come! they come!
With weapons bright and banners gay,
They pass along in proud array;
We view the pomp of war alone,
Its gloom is gone:
And sweet to-night their dreams will be
Of Love, and Joy, and Victory.
II
But yon fair girl, in mute despair,
Looks round for one—who is not there;
She watches them till all are past,
And scarce believes she sees the last.
She lingers still—yet all are gone—
She stands alone!
Her Edward comes not,—where is he?
Alas! can this be Victory?
