114 RICH AND POOR.
O er its grave. But, so sad was the emblem it bore, Arabella went thither to meet it no more.
��Away, far away, from the Falls and the fountains, They clambered and froze on the chilly White Moun tains,
Where fat men were fain very often to stop, And the limbs that were longest were soonest at top. Where, lungs over-burdened, declared it a bore, And, chary of breath, would encounter no more ; Where a stout alpen-stock proved a right trusty friend, And weary ones wondered when climbing would end ; Till, grumbling, and panting, with scramble and hop, They stood on the summit the famous Tip-Top.
Looking off and away, Arabella stood gazing, With a power of vision most truly amazing, For all that she saw was a tent and a soldier Beside the Potomac ; and then, growing colder, She came to her mother and asked to go home, Like a poor little maiden too tired to roam.
��What arrows, sharp pointed with quivering pain, Are the dumb printed letters in the lists of the
slain ! How they bear on their shafts to the eyes up above
them Strange, solemn good-byes from soldiers who loved
them !
�� �
