Under a burning tropic sun, With comrades around him lying, A trooper of the sable Tenth Lay wounded, bleeding, dying. First in the charge up the fort-crowned hill, His company's guidon bearing, He had rushed where the leaden hail fell fast, Not death nor danger fearing. He fell in the front where the fight grew fierce, Still faithful in life's last labor; Black though his skin, yet his heart as true As the steel of his blood-stained saber. And while the battle around him rolled, Like the roar of a sullen breaker, He closed his eyes on the bloody scene, And presented arms to his Maker. There he lay, without honor or rank, But, still, in a grim-like beauty; Despised of men for his humble race, Yet true, in death, to his duty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RETRIBUTION by FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU TO COLIN CLOUT by ANTHONY MUNDAY A RECIPE FOR SALAD by SYDNEY SMITH QUATRAIN: AMONG THE PINES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH OLD LADY NECESSITY by BERTON BRALEY POETS AND POETS by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |