THE BRAVE.
BY J. G. BROOKS.
Where have the valiant sunk to rest, When their sands of life were numbered? On the downy couch? on the gentle breast Where their youthful visions slumbered?
When the mighty passed the gate of death, Did love stand by bewailing? No! but upon war's fiery breath Their blood-dyed flag was sailing!
Not on the silent feverish bed, With weeping friends around them, Were the parting prayers of the valiant said, When death's dark angel found them.
But in the stern and stormy strife, In the flush of lofty feeling, They yielded to honour the boon of life, Where battle's bolts were pealing;
When the hot war-steed, with crimsoned mane Trampled on breasts all stained and gory, Dashed his red hoof on the reeking plain, And shared in the rider's glory.
Or seek the brave in their ocean grave, 'Neath the dark and restless water; Seek them beneath the whelming wave, So oft deep dyed with slaughter.
There sleep the gallant and the proud, The eagle-eyed and the lion-hearted; For whom the trump of fame rang loud, When the body and soul were parted.
Or seek them on fields where the grass grows deep, Where the vulture and the raven hover; There the sons of battle in quiet sleep: And widowed love goes there to weep, That their bright career is over.