The arms spread out for him—the tears that burst,
(’Twas Julia’s, ’twas his sister’s, met him first:)—
Their pride to see war’s medal at his breast,
And all their rapture’s greeting, may be guessed.
“Ere long, his bosom triumphed to unfold
A gift he meant their gayest room to hold,—
The picture of a friend in warlike dress;
And who it was he first bade Julia guess.
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘’twas he, methought in sleep,
When you were wounded, told me not to weep.’