THE MAID OF THE WAR.
SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED ON THE DEPARTURE OF MISS FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE AND HER STAFF OF NURSES FOR THE CRIMEA.
When the cannon's loud rattle
Told tales of the battle,
And the nations turned pale at the rout;
When the clarion rang madly,
And maidens wept sadly,
And swords leapt with fire-flashes out;
One frail girl of beauty
Shrank not from her duty,
But raised her sweet voice 'bove the roar;
Her bright smiles of kindness
Played o'er the dark blindness:
'Twas Florence, the Maid of the War.
When thousands, down-falling,
For help were out-calling—
Neglected, on straw-pallet cast—
A fair form drew near them
To aid and to cheer them;
Her shadow they kissed as it passed, (a)
When they droopt in their sadness,
Or raved in their madness,
She left her glad home from afar
To heal up their sorrows,
And tell of bright morrows;
'Twas Florence, the Maid of the War.
(a) So impressed were some of the wounded soldiers in the hospital at the kindness and gentle treatment received at the hands of Miss Nightingale, that, unable otherwise to testify their gratitude, they kissed her shadow as it fell upon the pillow of the pallets, on which they lay. One poor fellow is said to have done this with his latest breath.