So he is dead. A strange, sad story clings
About the memory of this mindless man;
A tale that strips war's tinsel off, and brings
Its horrors out, as only history can.
Within a peaceful town he dwelt in youth,
His sister's hero and his mother's pride—
The soul of honor, the abode of truth,
Beloved and reverenced on every side.
He had a sweetheart, lovely as the day,
A gentle maid, who knew not half his worth,
Who loved the sunshine, and who shrank away
From sorrow, and forever followed mirth.
They were but young, and hope's mirage upreared
In their warm hearts its rosy palaces;
They deemed them real, and longing, only feared
Life was too short for all the promised bliss.
And then came war, blood-spattered, cruel as hell,
And clamored with its iron voice for life—
Mother and sister and the wedding-bell.
The hero left, and hastened to the strife.
In vain he struck for liberty, and fell
A captive, in his earliest affray;
Then, threatening death, fierce Haynau bade him tell
Where and how strong the patriot forces lay.
"I will not tell," he cried, with eyes aflame,
"Do what thou wilt with me, I will not bring
Doom to my land, and soil my honored name:
From these sealed lips thou shalt no secret wring."
His captor only laughed. "He croweth well,
Go, bring his mother and his sister here,
And they shall die, if he refuse to tell!"
The hero answered not, but paled with fear.
The brutal soldiers to the brutish court
Dragged the weak women, and they stood o'er-awed,
Each to the other clinging for support,
And praying in her misery to God.
The fell decree the shrinking creatures heard,
And long in vain essayed to make reply,
For their weak speech could find no fitting word
To bear the burden of their agony.