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THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE.
T last the dread cloud that hung over the gorges Has sailed to the west and extinguished the sun;At last, mid the mountains, war's thunderbolt-forges Have ceased their loud labor; all fighting is done."My dearest, shrink not!" murmured he, when we parted, "But pray that Jehovah our freemen may shield;And if I should perish, be not heavy-hearted." In haste, then, he kissed me and sped to the field.
So I have been calm, never weeping nor sighing, While, yonder, my love rode in martial array;The battle-tide breasting, or wounded, or dying; With cheers sweeping on, or borne down in the fray.
