THE DEAD TRUMPETER.

TO ILLUSTRATE A CELEBRATED FRENCH PICTURE.

_(For the Mirror.)_


'Tis evening! the red rayless sun
Glares fiercely on the battle plain;--
_Morn_ saw the deadly fray begun,
Morn heard _thy_ bugle wake a strain,
Poor soldier! and its warning breath
Call'd _thee_, and myriads to death!

_Thou_ wert thy mother's darling, thou,
Light to thy father's failing eyes;
Thou wert thy sisters' _dearest!_ now
What _art_ thou? something to despise
Yet tremble at; to hide, and be
_Forgot,_ but by _their_ misery!

Thou _wert_ the beautiful! the brave!
Thou wert all joy, and love, and light;
But oh! thy grace was for the _grave,_
Thy dawning day, for mornless night!
And thou, so loving, so carest
Hast sunk--unpitied--unblest!

Yes, warrior! and the life-stream flows