| |
| WHAT! shall that sudden blade | |
| Leap out no more? | |
| No more thy hand be laid | |
| Upon the sword-hilt, smiting sore? | |
| O for another such | 5 |
| The charger’s rein to clutch,— | |
| One equal voice to summon victory, | |
| Sounding thy battle-cry, | |
| Brave darling of the soldiers’ choice! | |
| Would there were one more voice! | 10 |
| |
| O gallant charge, too bold! | |
| O fierce, imperious greed | |
| To pierce the clouds that in their darkness hold | |
| Slaughter of man and steed! | |
| Now, stark and cold, | 15 |
| Among thy fallen braves thou liest, | |
| And even with thy blood defiest | |
| The wolfish foe: | |
| But ah, thou liest low, | |
| And all our birthday song is hushed indeed! | 20 |
| |
| Young lion of the plain, | |
| Thou of the tawny mane! | |
| Hotly the soldiers’ hearts shall beat, | |
| Their mouths thy death repeat, | |
| Their vengeance seek the trail again | 25 |
| Where thy red doomsmen be; | |
| But on the charge no more shall stream | |
| Thy hair,—no more thy sabre gleam,— | |
| No more ring out thy battle-shout, | |
| Thy cry of victory! | 30 |
| |
| Not when a hero falls | |
| The sound a world appalls: | |
| For while we plant his cross | |
| There is a glory, even in the loss: | |
| But when some craven heart | 35 |
| From honor dares to part, | |
| Then, then, the groan, the blanching cheek, | |
| And men in whispers speak, | |
| Nor kith nor country dare reclaim | |
| From the black depths his name. | 40 |
| |
| Thou, wild young warrior, rest, | |
| By all the prairie winds caressed! | |
| Swift was thy dying pang; | |
| Even as the war-cry rang | |
| Thy deathless spirit mounted high | 45 |
| And sought Columbia’s sky:— | |
| There, to the northward far, | |
| Shines a new star, | |
| And from it blazes down | |
| The light of thy renown! | 50 |
| |
