269
‡ BY A MOUNTAIN STREAM AT REST.
By a mountain stream at rest,
We found the warrior lying,
And around his noble breast
A banner, clasp'd in dying:
Dark and still
Was every hill,
And the winds of night were sighing.
Last of his noble race,
To a lonely bed we bore him;
'Twas a green, still, solemn place
Where the mountain heath waves o'er him.
Woods alone
Seem to moan,
Wild streams to deplore him.
