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The hope of final victory
Within my bosom burning-, Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee,
And of my fond returning. But should I ne'er return again,
Still worth thy love thou'It find me, Dishonor's breath shall never stain
The name I leave behind me. |
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READING THE LIST.
"Is there any news of the war?" she said; "Only a list of the wounded and dead,"
Was the man's reply,
Without lifting his eye To the face of the woman standing by. " 'Tis the very thing I want," she said; "Read me a list of the wounded and dead."
He read the list—'twas a sad array
Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray;
In the very midst was a pause, to tell
That his comrades asked, "Who is he, pray?"
'•The only son of the widow Gray,"
Was the proud reply
Of his Captain nigh. What ails the woman standing near? Her face has the ashen hue of fear!
" Well, well, read on; is he wounded ? quick! Oh, God ! but mv heart is sorrow sick ! |
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