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alma.
Alma.
Yes! the battle was real—the tumult and terror—
The roaring of cannon—the shrieks of despair—
The frenzy and slaughter, and soul-chilling horror—
Too sadly bore witness that warfare was there.
The roaring of cannon—the shrieks of despair—
The frenzy and slaughter, and soul-chilling horror—
Too sadly bore witness that warfare was there.
But where was the tinsel, the tissue of glory,
The pen of romance o'er the battle-field spread?-
It shone not where thousands lay gasping and gory,
And the vulture's wing shadow'd the brows of the dead.
It cheer'd not a soldier who, bleeding and jaded,
Sank helpless and faint on the red sward to die.
With battle-won fame's bright delusions all faded—
Death's ice at his heart, and its film on his eye.
The pen of romance o'er the battle-field spread?-
It shone not where thousands lay gasping and gory,
And the vulture's wing shadow'd the brows of the dead.
It cheer'd not a soldier who, bleeding and jaded,
Sank helpless and faint on the red sward to die.
With battle-won fame's bright delusions all faded—
Death's ice at his heart, and its film on his eye.
Far distant flew thought to his dear native valley,
Where the soldier's proud trappings first met his glad sight,
When gay martial music rang through the green alley,
Awaking wild visions, as baseless as bright;
No laggard heart beat in the breast of the dying,
Still foremost where hottest the contest was held;
But truth touch'd the chaplet for which men were trying,
And its halo, and all but the blood-stains dispell'd.
Where the soldier's proud trappings first met his glad sight,
When gay martial music rang through the green alley,
Awaking wild visions, as baseless as bright;
No laggard heart beat in the breast of the dying,
Still foremost where hottest the contest was held;
But truth touch'd the chaplet for which men were trying,
And its halo, and all but the blood-stains dispell'd.
