Hark, yet again!—and from his hand,
What grasp hath wrench’d the blade?
—Oh, single midst a hostile band,
Young soldier! thou’rt betray’d!
“Silence!” in under-tones they cry—
“No whisper—not a breath!
The sound that warns thy comrades nigh
Shall sentence thee to death.”
Still, at the bayonet’s point he stood,
And strong to meet the blow;