T’escape her tongue’s continued strife,
I’d dare the field of blood.
But soon the turf will wrap my grave.
And all my friends will say:—
He thought her young—and died—Good lack!
When he found her locks were grey!
Louisa H. Sheridan.
From The Comic Offering for 1832, London: Smith, Elder & Co.
——:o:——
The Soldier’s Fear.