The Contrast

To his gallant horse the warrior sprung,—
They called, but he would not stay;
And the hoof of his hurrying charger rung,
As to battle he rushed away.
She stood aloft on the warder's tower,
And she followed him over the plain,
And she watched through many a silent hour,
But she heard not his tramp again.

They came, when the morning was cold and pale,
With a warrior on his bier,
And his banner, rent like a tattered sail,
Showed he died not the death of fear.
They brought him in pride and sorrow back
To the home he had left so gay,
When he gallantly flew on glory's track,
And to battle rushed away.
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