COLONEL BRERETON.
Through the still midnight—hark'—that startling sound
Tells of deed of blood! a soldier's hand
With aim too true himself hath reft of life!
* * * Beneath that roof
For many days none had heard sounds of gladness.
He was distressed—each fond retainer then
Softened his voice to whispers—each pale face
Did but reflect the sadness fixed in his:
Save where the two—two fair and lovely ones,
Too young for guilt or sorrow, or to know
Such words as wordlings know them—save where they,
Pranking in childhood's headlong gaiety,
Sent the loud shout—like laughter through the tomb—
And mocked his anguish, with their joyousness.
Oh, that in sleep, some cry of joy or pain
From forth those lips had bursten piercingly,
When that sad Man his daring hand had lain,
Maddened with hours of musing, on his death!
Then would great Nature, o'er the soldier's heart
Her power have all recovered; his seared soul
With gushing tears enflooded, been restored;
Mistaken Honour, false chivalric Pride,
Flown with the Tempter;—life have been preserved,—
And unendangered an immortal soul.
Gentleman's Magazine.