OUR bugles sang truce, -- for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground over- powered, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw. By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain; At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track: 'T was autumn, -- and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant flelds traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. "Stay, stay with us, -- rest, thou art weary and worn;" And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; -- But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RICHARD BONE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS FAITH AND DESPONDENCY by EMILY JANE BRONTE BIRD AND BROOK by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE HILL WIFE: THE IMPULSE by ROBERT FROST THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A BLACKBIRD by WALLACE STEVENS MONICA'S LAST PRAYER by MATTHEW ARNOLD OVID TO HIS WIFE: IMITATED FROM DIFFERENT PARTS OF TRISTIA by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |