His mission o'er, with thoughtful look, The boy sought out a shaded nook, Apart from all--yet near The opening where the men had laid Their rations on the mossy glade, Beside the swamp-marsh drear. Silent was he, reserved and shy, Seldom raising cap or eye; Not many days since first his hand Had joined him to that patriot band; Yet none more truly did fulfill, The duties of his arm required, Though slight withal, and often still When the loud signal-gun was fired, The herald of the coming fight, His cheek would pale like flowers at night Beneath the autumn's chilling blight; None knew his residence or name, Save that of Lennard, which he told The morn when to the camp he came, And begged that he might be enrolled In Huon's corps, to serve with those Who bled to heal their country's woes; Of late his arm had bolder grown When in the rout and skirmish thrown, And stronger, too, and Huon loved The slender boy who at his side Stood nobly when o'er War's red tide The fiery death-shot moved. XIX. 'Twas midnight, as with silent tread, Like one who bears the coffined dead, His valiant troopers Marion led Through long and dark defile; And on they marched till morning light With streaks of crimson touched the night; Then, unannounced by trumpet-clang, Fell on the slumb'ring foe; Swift to his post each warrior sprang, Above, around, below; And soon in close and eager strife, As o'er the tomb meet Death and Life, The hostile forces stood; The sabre flashed in day's bright eye, The whizzing shot, death-winged, swept by, The turf grew red with blood; And where the charge was hottest made, Where boldest fell the flashing blade, Was Huon foremost there; And ever near his daring hand The youngest, gentlest of his band, Stood Lennard on that day; Fierce raged the conflict o'er the dead, Until, o'erpowered, the vanquished fled; Yet ere they left the fray One aimed the bloody lance he bore At Huon's heart--a moment more, And Lennard fell, his life-blood o'er The green turf welling fast; The blade that sought his leader's breast His hand aside had cast; Swift to his aid his comrades prest; The death-hue on his forehead lay As Huon flung both sword and lance With quivering lip away, And met in Lennard's dying glance The smile of Morna Grey. XX.