 | Shifting Scenes and Other Poems |  |
109
THE HERO'S WIDOW.
He clomb the heights of danger
To deathless fame, they said,—
The bullets hurtling round him,
The banner o'er his head,
Defiance in his wild shout,
Jove's thunder in his hand,
And in his eye the lightning
That bickered o'er his brand!
With his plume i' the bellowing tempest
High tossing o'er the rest;
And where War's lance was keenest
His breast the foremost breast,
And where the cannon shouted
Fire-tongued in their own might,—
Where'er the fight was deadliest
He deadliest in the fight!
For he fought for holy freedom
And England's old renown,
And where he stood a victor
He found a martyr's crown!
To deathless fame, they said,—
The bullets hurtling round him,
The banner o'er his head,
Defiance in his wild shout,
Jove's thunder in his hand,
And in his eye the lightning
That bickered o'er his brand!
With his plume i' the bellowing tempest
High tossing o'er the rest;
And where War's lance was keenest
His breast the foremost breast,
And where the cannon shouted
Fire-tongued in their own might,—
Where'er the fight was deadliest
He deadliest in the fight!
For he fought for holy freedom
And England's old renown,
And where he stood a victor
He found a martyr's crown!
I only know, she answered,
He is not at my side;
My breast is not his pillow,
I am no more his bride.
Red War's loud roar still thunders,
But it does not pale my brow;—
I have ceased my prayer—He is not there,
I do not tremble now!
He is not at my side;
110
I am no more his bride.
Red War's loud roar still thunders,
But it does not pale my brow;—
I have ceased my prayer—He is not there,
I do not tremble now!
Amid the clash and clangour
Where reddest ran the flood,
Where swords were wildly leaping
To the hilt in foemen's blood,
Where the storm of plumes was thickest,
And the bayonets hid the sun,
Where the rattling shots leapt out in fire
From many a smoking gun,
Where the legions swung like billows
On a mad and tossing sea,
And the tug and strife for right and life
Swelled high war's anarchy;
Amid the murky darkness
He burst like a shock of flame,—
His name shall aye be deathless
Who went through death to fame!
For he fought for holy freedom
And England's old renown,
And where he stood a victor
He found a martyr's crown!
Where reddest ran the flood,
Where swords were wildly leaping
To the hilt in foemen's blood,
Where the storm of plumes was thickest,
And the bayonets hid the sun,
Where the rattling shots leapt out in fire
From many a smoking gun,
Where the legions swung like billows
On a mad and tossing sea,
And the tug and strife for right and life
Swelled high war's anarchy;
Amid the murky darkness
He burst like a shock of flame,—
His name shall aye be deathless
Who went through death to fame!
For he fought for holy freedom
And England's old renown,
And where he stood a victor
He found a martyr's crown!
I only know, she answered,
He is not at my side;
My breast is not his pillow,
I am no more his bride.
Red War's loud roar still thunders,
But it does not pale my brow;—
I have ceased my prayer—He is not there,
I do not tremble now!
He is not at my side;
111
I am no more his bride.
Red War's loud roar still thunders,
But it does not pale my brow;—
I have ceased my prayer—He is not there,
I do not tremble now!
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