184
EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO.
The dark brown locks so low in the dust,
The scarf with a crimson stain—
Oh, Sybil, poor little Sybil,
He will not come back again.
The scarf with a crimson stain—
Oh, Sybil, poor little Sybil,
He will not come back again.
IV.
Right gallantly and well he fought
Hand to hand with as brave a foe,
Their faces hid by the nodding plumes,
And the dense clouds hanging low.
Hand to hand with as brave a foe,
Their faces hid by the nodding plumes,
And the dense clouds hanging low.
Did they think, these hot-blooded captains,
That Death was so close by their side,
When Howard has fallen, the bravest—
Rung out on the air far and wide.
That Death was so close by their side,
When Howard has fallen, the bravest—
Rung out on the air far and wide.
"Howard?" His foeman kneels by his side,
And raises his head to his knee—
Oh, God! that brothers should part in youth,
And thus should their meeting be.
And raises his head to his knee—
Oh, God! that brothers should part in youth,
And thus should their meeting be.
Unheard is the deafening battle roar,
Unseen is that dying look;
He hears but the sound of a childish laugh,
And the song of a Northern brook.
Unseen is that dying look;
He hears but the sound of a childish laugh,
And the song of a Northern brook.
