Loathing such scene, I stepped into the air.
Just then the moon broke through the clouds and showed me
There at my feet a soldier on the ground
Writhing, the rattle in his throat. ’Twas he,
The sentry whom my saber had transpierced.
Touched with compassion sudden and supreme,
I stopped, to offer him a helping hand--
But, with choked voice, ‘It is too late,’ he said,
I must needs die----you are an officer--
A gentleman, perchance’[perchance’], ‘Yes; tell me quick;