Did they think, these hot-blooded captains,
That Death was so close by their side,
When Howard has fallen, the bravest—
Rung out on the air far and wide.
"Howard?" His foeman kneels by his side,
And raises his head to his knee—
Oh, God! that brothers should part in youth,
And thus should their meeting be.
Unheard is the deafening battle roar,
Unseen is that dying look;
He hears but the sound of a childish laugh,
And the song of a Northern brook.
He sees two white forms kneeling
In the twilight sweet and dim,
One low couch angel-guarded,
By a mother's evening hymn.
V.
The Angel of Death came down with the night,
Came down with the gathering gloom;
God pity the little dark-eyed girl,
Alone in the lonely room.
But still by his side his brother kneels,
Chill horror has frozen his veins;
He heeds not the glancing shower of shells,
That with red fire glitters and rains.
And he heeds not the fiery cavalry charge,
That sweeps like a billow on
To death, oh, the bravest and saddest sight,
That man ever gazed upon!
The last shot! What is one life
To the battle's gory gain?
But, alas, for the little blue-eyed maid
Away on the hills of Maine!