“Her younger brother, sixteen summers old, And much her likeness both in mind and mould, Had gone, poor boy! in soldiership to shine, And bore an Austrian banner on the Rhine. ’Twas when, alas! our Empire’s evil star Shed all the plagues, without the pride, of war; When patriots bled, and bitterer anguish crossed Our brave, to die in battles foully lost. The youth wrote home the rout of many a day; Yet still he said, and still with truth could say, One corps had ever made a valiant stand,— The corps in which he served—Theodric’s band. _His_ fame, forgotten chief, is now gone by, Eclipsed by brighter orbs in glory’s sky; Yet once it shone, and veterans, when they show Our fields of battle twenty years ago, Will tell you feats his small brigade performed, In charges nobly faced and trenches stormed. Time was, when songs were chanted to his fame, And soldiers loved the march that bore his name: The zeal of martial hearts was at his call, And that Helvetian, Udolph’s, most of all. ’Twas touching, when the storm of war blew wild, To see a blooming boy,—almost a child,— Spur fearless at his leader’s words and signs, Brave death in reconnoitring hostile lines, And speed each task, and tell each message clear, In scenes where war-trained men were stunned with fear. “Theodric praised him, and they wept for joy In yonder house,—when letters from the boy Thanked Heaven for life, and more, to use his phrase, Than twenty lives—his own Commander’s praise. Then followed glowing pages, blazoning forth The fancied image of his Leader’s worth, With such hyperbolés of youthful style As made his parents dry their tears and smile: But differently far his words impressed A wondering sister’s well-believing breast;— She caught the illusion, blest Theodric’s name, And wildly magnified his worth and fame; Rejoicing life’s reality contained One, heretofore, her fancy had but feigned, Whose love could make her proud;—and time and chance To passion raised that day-dream of Romance. “Once, when with hasty charge of horse and man Our arrière-guard had checked the Gallic van, Theodric, visiting the outposts, found His Udolph wounded, weltering on the ground:— Sore crushed,—half-swooning, half-upraised, he lay, And bent his brow, fair boy! and grasped the clay. His fate moved e’en the common soldier’s ruth— Theodric succoured him; nor left the youth To vulgar hands, but brought him to his tent, And lent what aid a brother would have lent. “Meanwhile, to save his kindred half the smart The war-gazette’s dread blood-roll might impart, He wrote the event to them; and soon could tell Of pains assuaged and symptoms auguring well, And last of all, prognosticating cure, Enclosed the leech’s vouching signature.