alma.
171
The veil in which war had her features invested,
Outrivall'd the silver-veil'd prophets of old;
Which, when from her brow by reality wrested,
Expos'd a dire visage, all horrors untold.
Outrivall'd the silver-veil'd prophets of old;
Which, when from her brow by reality wrested,
Expos'd a dire visage, all horrors untold.
How mournfully radiant rose home recollections,
Contrasting with all that lone dark hour displayed!
How dear, now, the distant! how prized their affections
From whom he had wandered to follow a shade!
How sad, in the hush of his heart's desolation,
His mother's wail rang when the death tidings fell!
A tear wet his cheek, as that heart's last pulsation
Sent voiceless o'er seas, its last fervent farewell.
Contrasting with all that lone dark hour displayed!
How dear, now, the distant! how prized their affections
From whom he had wandered to follow a shade!
How sad, in the hush of his heart's desolation,
His mother's wail rang when the death tidings fell!
A tear wet his cheek, as that heart's last pulsation
Sent voiceless o'er seas, its last fervent farewell.
Ah, what to the mourners for those in death's slumber,
The tidings that Alma was gloriously gain'd—
That the foes of the Pasha fell countless in number,
When its slopes with their own lost ones' life-blood are stained?
There the soldier lies heedless of battle and danger,
With thousands who hopefully crossed the wild wave.
Peace, peace to their dust, in the land of the stranger,
And solace to those who weep far from their grave!
The tidings that Alma was gloriously gain'd—
That the foes of the Pasha fell countless in number,
When its slopes with their own lost ones' life-blood are stained?
There the soldier lies heedless of battle and danger,
With thousands who hopefully crossed the wild wave.
Peace, peace to their dust, in the land of the stranger,
And solace to those who weep far from their grave!
