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"BALACLAVA"
The word is "Charge," the meaning "Death,"
Yet, welcome falls the sound
On every ear in the listening host,
Whose pennons flutter, zephyr-tossed,
That messenger around.
Among them Nolan reins a steed
Frost-white with gathered foam,
And pale and stern points to the foe,
In heavy mass, receding slow—
"Charge, comrades, charge them home!"
There rides one with fearless brow,
By time and sorrow scarred.
For him life knows no tale untold,
But empty names, love, hope, and gold,—
Cool player of Fate's last card!
Beside him, he whose golden youth
Is in its pride and bloom.
His thoughts are with a dear old home.
Its loved ones, and that other one,
And will she mourn his doom?
