XVIII.
His mission o'er, with thoughtful look,
The boy sought out a shaded nook,
Apart from all—yet near
The opening where the men had laid
Their rations on the mossy glade,
Beside the swamp-marsh drear.
Silent was he, reserved and shy,
Seldom raising cap or eye;
Not many days since first his hand
Had joined him to that patriot band;
Yet none more truly did fulfill,
The duties of his arm required,
Though slight withal, and often still
When the loud signal-gun was fired,
The herald of the coming fight,
His cheek would pale like flowers at night
Beneath the autumn's chilling blight;
None knew his residence or name,
Save that of Lennard, which he told
The morn when to the camp he came,
And begged that he might be enrolled
In Huon's corps, to serve with those
Who bled to heal their country's woes;
Of late his arm had bolder grown
When in the rout and skirmish thrown,
And stronger, too, and Huon loved
The slender boy who at his side
Stood nobly when o'er War's red tide
The fiery death-shot moved.