"Her blood!" I thrilled with sudden pain,
As one myself in dread of death,
While she resumed the tale again,
With saddened mein and bated breath.
Yet there was much that caught my ear,
Like martial airs blown over sea,
And stirred my soul in spite of fear
With waves of joyful poesy;—
The theme was grand, the story laid
In colors Homer might have spread.
'Tis told in history now; but hear
The tale her poppies brought to mind:
"'Twas in the springtime of the year,
And twenty years ago, I find
On looking back. My boy was then
A babe—a lovely babe in truth—
This year he takes his place with men—
Thus time glides by and steals our youth.
Yes, twenty years ago today,
I gave those poppy seeds away.
"Our post was on the Papillion,
That feeds the Platte—a half day's ride
Beyond the Council Bluffs, among
Smooth hills that closed on every side
The view of other hills and vales,
41
