We'll bear them upon honour's bier,
To sleep in honour's bed.

The maiden, with her hurried breath
And rapture-beaming eye,
Shall all forget the field of death
To bless the victory.

The child, O! he will bless his sire,
The mother bless her son,
And God, He will not frown in ire,
When such a field is won.


"Good!" exclaimed Kinnison, when the song was done. "That is a war-song
of '76, I know."

"It is," replied the singer; "and judging from what I have heard you
say, it expresses in it the feeling of the period."

"A truce to songs and music," said Davenport. "I never was fond of any
kind of music but that of the fife and drum, and I never needed that to
put me in a condition to stand fire."

"You are too gloomy," said Kinnison.

"I have had cause enough for gloominess," said Davenport.

"But I wanted to talk to you about something--and that was my reason for
checking you. You talk so much about the treason of Arnold, and say that