Beneath whose shade, as ebbing life retired,
The wounded sought a shelter—and expired.[77]
Lonely, and lost in thoughts of other days,
By the bright windings of the stream he strays,
Till, more remote from battle’s ravaged scene,
All is repose and solitude serene.
There, ’neath an olive’s ancient shade reclined,
Whose rustling foliage waves in evening’s wind,
The harass’d warrior, yielding to the power,
The mild sweet influence of the tranquil hour,