Woman On The Field Of Battle

Where hath not a woman stood,

Strong in affection's might?—a reed, upborne

By an o'er mastering current!——

GENTLE and lovely form,

What didst thou here,

When the fierce battle-storm

Bore down the spear?

Banner and shiver'd crest

Beside thee strown,

Tell, that amidst the best,

Thy work was done!

Yet strangely, sadly fair,

O'er the wild scene,

Gleams, through its golden hair,

That brow serene.

Low lies the stately head,–

Earth-bound the free;

How gave those haughty dead

A place to thee?

Slumberer! thine early bier

Friends should have crown'd,

Many a flower and tear

Shedding around.

Soft voices, clear and young,

Mingling their swell,

Should o'er thy dust have sung

Earth's last farewell.

Sisters, above the grave

Of thy repose,

Should have bid violets wave

With the white rose.

Now must the trumpet's note,

Savage and shrill,

For requiem o'er thee float,

Thou fair and still!

And the swift charger sweep

In full career,

Trampling thy place of sleep–

Why camest thou here?

Why?–ask the true heart why

Woman hath been

Ever, where brave men die

Unshrinking seen?

Unto this harvest ground

Proud reapers came,–

Some, for that stirring sound,

A warrior's name;

Some, for the stormy play,

And joy of strife;

And some to fling away

A weary life;–

But thou, pale sleeper, thou,

With the slight frame,

And the rich locks, whose glow

Death cannot tame;

Only one thought, one power,

Thee could have led,

So, through the tempest's hour,

To lift thy head!

Only the true, the strong,

The love, whose trust

Woman's deep soul too long

Pours on the dust!