Part 18 (2/2)

A WAIF OF BATTLE.

I.

Lo! at my feet, A something pale of hue; A something sad to view; Dead or alive I dare not call it sweet.

II.

Not white as snow; Not transient as a tear!

A warrior left it here, It was his pa.s.sport ere he met the foe.

III.

Here is a name, A word upon the book; If ye but kneel to look, Ye'll find the letters ”Sachal” on the same.

IV.

His Land to cherish, He died at twenty-seven.

There are no wars in Heaven, But when he fought he gain'd the right to perish.

V.

Where was he born?

In France, at Puy le Dome.

A wanderer from his home, He found a Fatherland beyond the morn.

VI.

'Twas France's plan; The cause he did not ask.

His life was but a mask, And he upraised it, martyr'd at Sedan.

VII.

And p.r.o.ne in death, Beyond the name of France, Beyond his hero-glance,-- He thought, belike, of her who gave him breath.

VIII.

<script>