Brute as thou art, 'tis not for thee to trace,
The cause whence flows the rugged soldier's tear;
And yet thou know's it flows not from disgrace,
For, thou hast borne me thro' the war's career.
When my bright scabbard bounded by thy side,
And shouts of victory our toils repaid,
The stately curvet, and the pacing stride,
None of our troops so gracefully displayed.
When charg'd by treble numbers we have fled,
Oppress'd, and spent, the glance of thy quick eye
Has cheer'd my drooping soul, as if it said,
We'll live together, or together die.
And once (the time to memory is dear)
Plung'd from thy back in the contentious strife,
No brother comrade to assist me near
Thy friendship, brutal friendship, saved my life.
Keen was the frost, the drifting snow fell thick
Upon the plain, where late the battle rag'd.
Benumb'd with cold, my heart was deathly sick,
When my pale looks thy fostering care engag'd,
Thy body thou didst gently bend to earth,
And pressing to my breast its glowing heat.
I felt the vital current gain new birth—
I felt the chilly hand of death retreat.
The memory of that unnerves my hand;
'Tis that enforces the unmanly tear!
To singly charge the foe be their command,
I know a soldier's duty to revere.
If on the "hope forlorn" I am doom'd to go,
Still 'tis my duty, and I'll not repine!
But I must perish, ere forget to know,
Thy body fed the vital spark in mine.