3. And he,—who saw how she still represt A drear foreboding within her breast, And, by her wifehood’s nearest right, Ever more closely through the night Clave unto him whose quickened breath Came like a waft from the realm of Death,— He felt what a secret, powerful tie Bound them in one, mysteriously. He studied her features, as she stood Lighting the shades of that woful place With the presence of her womanhood, And thought—as the dying son had thought When her beauty first his vision caught— “I never saw a fairer face; I never heard a sweeter voice!” And a sad remembrance travelled fast Through all the labyrinth of the past, Till he said, as the scales fell off at last, “How could I blame him for his choice?” Then he looked upon the sword, which lay At the headboard, under the night-lamp’s ray; He saw the coat, the stains, the dust, The gilded eagles worn with rust, The swarthy forehead and matted hair Of the strong, brave hero lying there; And he felt how gently Hugh held command,— The life how gallant, the death how grand; And with trembling lips, and the words that choke, And the tears which burn the cheek, he spoke: “Where is the father who would not joy In the manhood of such a noble boy? This life, which had being through my own, Was a better life than I have known; O that its fairness should be earth, Ere I could prize it at its worth!” “Too late! too late!”—he made his moan— “I find a daughter, and her alone. He deemed you worthy to bear his name, His spotless honor, his lasting fame: I, who have wronged you, bid you live To comfort the lonely—and forgive.” 4. Dim and silvery from the east The infant light of another morn Over the stirring camps was borne; But the soldier’s pulse had almost ceased, And there crept upon his brow the change— Ah, how sudden! alas, how strange! Yet again his eyelids opened wide, And his glances moved to either side, This time with a clear intelligence Which took all objects in its sense, A power to comprehend the whole Of the scene that girded his passing soul. The father, who saw it, slowly drew Nearer to her that wept anew, And gathered her tenderly in his hold,— As mortals their precious things enfold, Grasping them late and sure; and Hugh Gazed on the two a space, and smiled With the look he wore when a little child,— A smile of pride and peace, that meant A free forgiveness, a full content; Then his clouding sight an instant clung To the flag whose stars above him hung, And his blunted senses seemed to hear The long reveillée sounding near; But the ringing clarion could not vie With the richer notes which filled his ear, Nor the breaking morn with that brighter sky. XVII. 1. Wear no armor, timid heart; Fear no keen misfortune’s dart, Want, nor scorn, nor secret blow Dealt thee by thy mortal foe.