V.

The Angel of Death came down with the night,
Came down with the gathering gloom;
God pity the little dark-eyed girl,
Alone in the lonely room.

But still by his side his brother kneels,
Chill horror has frozen his veins;
He heeds not the glancing shower of shells,
That with red fire glitters and rains.

And he heeds not the fiery cavalry charge,
That sweeps like a billow on
To death, oh, the bravest and saddest sight,
That man ever gazed upon!

The last shot! What is one life
To the battle's gory gain?
But, alas, for the little blue-eyed maid
Away on the hills of Maine!



AWEARY.


The clouds that vex the upper deep