II.
Within the recess of the wood
That on the river's margin stood,
Encamped beneath the shade
Of solemn pine and cypress tree,
And tulip soaring high and free,
A patriot band had made
Their pillows of the moss and leaves,
Through which the moaning south-wind grieves
When day forsakes the glade.
And all save one slept hushed as night
Beneath the starry Infinite—
That one a boy in years,
Whose daring arm and flashing eye,
When death and danger hovered nigh,
Belied the trembling fears
And shrinking dread that seemed to speak,
From quivering lip and pallid cheek
At sight of war's array;
The first the fearful strife to bide,
Forever at his captain's side,
Was Lennard in the fray;
Yet strange to tell, though oft beside
That captain's form he dared to bide
The cannon's fiery blast,
His hand no human blood had shed,
Beneath his steel no foe had bled,
When in the battle cast.
So said his comrades tried and cold,
Who marveled that a heart so bold,
Should beat in pitying breast.
And now beside the smouldering fire,
He marked its flickering flames expire,
And watched his leader's rest.