“Their answers, on whose pages you might note That tears had fallen, whilst trembling fingers wrote, Gave boundless thanks for benefits conferred, Of which the boy, in secret, sent them word, Whose memory Time, they said, would never blot; But which the giver had himself forgot “In time, the stripling, vigorous and healed, Resumed his barb and banner in the field, And bore himself right soldier-like, till now The third campaign had manlier bronzed his brow, When peace, though but a scanty pause for breath,— A curtain-drop between the acts of death,— A check in frantic war’s unfinished game, Yet dearly bought, and direly welcome, came. The camp broke up, and Udolph left his chief As with a son’s or younger brother’s grief: But journeying home, how rapt his spirits rose! How light his footsteps crushed St. Gothard’s snows! How dear seemed e’en the waste and wild Shreckhorn, Though wrapt in clouds, and frowning as in scorn Upon a downward world of pastoral charms; Where, by the very smell of dairy-farms, And fragrance from the mountain-herbage blown, Blindfold his native hills he could have known![66] “His coming down yon lake,—his boat in view Of windows where love’s fluttering kerchief flew,— The arms spread out for him—the tears that burst, (’Twas Julia’s, ’twas his sister’s, met him first:)— Their pride to see war’s medal at his breast, And all their rapture’s greeting, may be guessed. “Ere long, his bosom triumphed to unfold A gift he meant their gayest room to hold,— The picture of a friend in warlike dress; And who it was he first bade Julia guess. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘’twas he, methought in sleep, When you were wounded, told me not to weep.’ The painting long in that sweet mansion drew Regards its living semblance little knew.