’Twas strange the strength and love of life that standard seemed to give!
I gazed around: far down the vale I saw a camp-fire’s glow.[508]
With wandering step I ran that way,—I recked not friend or foe.
Though stumbling now o’er heaps of dead, now o’er a stiffened horse,
I heeded not, but watched the light, and held my onward course.
But soon that flash of strength had failed, and checked my feverish speed;
Again my throat was all ablaze, my wounds began to bleed.
I knew that if I fell again my chance of life was gone.
So, leaning on the standard pole, I still kept struggling on.
At length I neared the camp-fire: there were scarlet jackets round,