The Volunteer

“ AT dawn,” he said, “ I bid them all farewell,
To go where bugles call and rifles gleam.”
And with the restless thought asleep he fell,
And glided into dream.

A great hot plain from sea to mountain spread, —
Through it a level river slowly drawn.
He moved with a vast crowd, and at its head
Streamed banners like the dawn.

There came a blinding flash, a deafening roar,
And dissonant cries of triumph and dismay ;
Blood trickled down the river’s reedy shore,
And with the dead he lay.

The morn broke in upon his, solemn dream ;
And still, with steady pulse and deepening eye,
“ Where bugles call,” he said, “ and rifles gleam,
I follow, though I die ! ”

Wise youth! By few is glory’s wreath attained ;
But death or late or soon awaiteth all.
To fight in Freedom’s cause is something gained,—
And nothing lost, to fall.