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Show . The. Old Soldier's Death v.--. " Tho veteran sits In Ills cnay chnlr on his porch at tho hour of noon, And looks thro1 tho clouds ot Ills long, stemmed plpo o'er tho bountiful meadows of June, j Till tho Ilro dies out of tho odorous leaves that under their nshes nre hid, And tho lire Is quenched In his yet keen eye by the drop of Its tremendous Then hr nods and he dreams forgetful ot nil tho mortcnee, tho crops, and tho rnln; , , For tho busies nnd diuins of tho lono ago aro echoing loud In his bruin. Let the bugles and drums call on, call on, shrill blist nnd voluminous roll; For they sound to tho ronlllct ciuictcd ngtiln on tho Held of the slumberer's soul. . , Although In tho trenches they've mouldered mould-ered away for many nnd many a year. In rank upon rank, resplendent with arms, the men nnd their leaders appear ap-pear ' Tor nhantnsy mnrBliiils those squadrons of ghosts that sweep o'er the hoof-cut hoof-cut plain. And the keen. brlRht swords of the long ngo are (lashing anew In his brain Let the bugles and drums play on, piny on. tho BClntlllant sword blades wheel; The battlo runs riot In tempests of lead nnd terrible whirlwinds of steel. And onward tho riders thro' columns cl smoke sweep down In tho hcurt of tho fiay. Tho ctcrnn borne In tho midst of tho charge on the back of his strenuous Bray , Dut ho falls lrom his saddle, still clutching clutch-ing nt air, and tho battlo Is over ngnln: Ily the bullet thnt wounded l.im long ago, to-day lie Is stretched with the slain The bugles and drums have ceased, havn censed, the cannon roar not on the hill; The stillness of noon has been broken nlone by tho pipes of tho locust shrill; He slips from tho nrms of his easy chair nnd lies outstretched on tho floor. As hn fell from his horso In his younger days, nnd lay In tho dust und tho gore. The doctor will come and mutter "his heart " but never n doctor can know He was killed by the bullet that wounded him once In n. battlo of long ago. Liverpool (Eng.) Mercury. |
