If thou art wise as well as brave, return with store of gold."
"Perchance thou'rt right!" and now he turned to his sister young
and fair,
Braiding with skill a glossy tress of his own raven hair.

"'Tis now thy turn, sweet sister mine, breathe thy heart's wish
to me,
If I've the power, 'twill be fulfilled, ere I return to thee."
The maiden blushed and whispring low, "I prize not wealth or
pride,
But, brother, to thy future home bring back a gentle bride."

The merry smile her words had raised fled, as with falt'ring
voice,
He asked of her, the best beloved, "Mother, what is _thy_
choice?"
"My son! my son!" she softly said, "hear my wish ere we part--
Return as now thou goest forth, with true and guileless heart!"

* * * * *

The years sped on with rapid flight, and to his home once more
The soldier came: he walked not with the buoyant step of yore;
The eagle eye was sunken, dim, the curls of glossy hair
Fell careless round an aching brow, once free from shade of care.

His soiled and shattered crest he laid low at his father's feet,
And sadly said, "'Tis all I have--is it an off'ring meet?
In battle's front I madly fought, till dead on dead were heaped,
Want, weariness and pain I've borne, and yet no fame I've reaped.