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the standard bearer's letter.
Thy dying, and dead, on that twilight plain
In ghastly heaps lay scattered round:—
One, near his stead whose silky mane
Trailed down, trod o'er the gory ground.
In ghastly heaps lay scattered round:—
One, near his stead whose silky mane
Trailed down, trod o'er the gory ground.
Where grass is trampled, and crushed the flower,
There long hath raged the fray;
The winding road, that marked for hours
The last hope of that fatal day!
There long hath raged the fray;
The winding road, that marked for hours
The last hope of that fatal day!
There he laid alone, by that sad road side,
With upturned face to the evening skies,
And so deeply stained by life's crimson tide;
The letter within his cold hand lies!
With upturned face to the evening skies,
And so deeply stained by life's crimson tide;
The letter within his cold hand lies!
He holds it firm in his chill cold grasp,
Not even in death to part;—
Thoughts of home must have nerved that clasp
Ere pulseless lay that loving heart
Not even in death to part;—
Thoughts of home must have nerved that clasp
Ere pulseless lay that loving heart
Oh! it speaks of her whose fair young face,
By many a bitter tear is marred;—
His child, whose tiny hand hath traced
The message which is dearer far!
By many a bitter tear is marred;—
His child, whose tiny hand hath traced
The message which is dearer far!
