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.

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.

"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.

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.

He sees two white forms kneeling
In the twilight sweet and dim,
One low couch angel-guarded,
By a mother's evening hymn.