Page:Poems Davidson.djvu/131

But whose is the figure dimly seen
 By the trembling moonbeam's light?
'Tis the form of the weeping Wilhelmine,
 And she kneels by the slaughtered knight.

Weep not for the dead, for he died 'mid the din,
 And the rapturous shouts of strife,
And the bright sword hath ushered his soul within
 The portals of future life.

Weep not for the dead! who would not die
 As that gallant soldier died?
With a field of glory whereon to lie,
 And his foeman dead beside.

A year passed by, and a simple tomb
 Rose up 'neath a willow tree;
'Twas decked with flowers in vernal bloom
 As fresh as flowers could be;

And oft as the twilight's dusky gleam
 O'er the scene was gently stealing,
The form of the sorrowful maid was seen
 By the grave of her lover kneeling.

But wild is the glance of her dove-like eye,
 And her cheek, O how pale and fair
And the mingled smile, and the deep-drawn sigh,
 Show that reason's no longer there.