Sunbury American. [volume] (Sunbury, Pa.) 1848-1879, 1848-06-03
From the Amulet.]
THE SUNSET OF BATTLE,

"The shadows Of evening are thickening.
Twilight closes, and the thin mists are RI
sing in the valley. The last charging
squadron yet thunders in the distance; but
it presses only on the foiled and scattered
foe. For this day the, fight is over!
And those who rode foremost in its
field at morning-where are they now?-
On the bank of yon little stream, there lies
Knight-hls life blood is ebbing faster,
than its tide. His shield is rent, and his
lance isbroken. Soldier why faintest thou?
the blood that wells from that deep wound
shall answer.
1t was this morning that the sun rose
bright his hopes-it sets upon his grave
This day he led the foremast rank of spears,
that, in their long row leveled-when
they had crossed the foes dark line--death
shouted in the onset 1t was the last blow
that reached him. He has conquered,
though he shall not triumph in the victory.
His breast plate is dinted. His helmet
has the trace Of well dealt blows. The scarf
on his breast. She would shrink but to
touch it now, who placed it there! Sol
der, what will thy mistress say9 She will
say that her Knight died worthily.
Aye, rouse thee-for the fight yet chafes
in the distance! Thy friends are shouting
thy pennon floats on high. Look on
yon crimsoned field, that seems to mock the
purpled clouds above it ! PROSTATE they
lie-drenched in their dark red pool-thy
friends and enemys-the dead, and dying !
The veteran, with the stripping of day
The nameless trooper, and the leader of an
hundred hosts. Friend lies by friend. The
steed with his rider. And foes-linked in
their long embrace--their first, and last
the grippe of death.
Far o'er the field they lie, a gorgeous
prey to ruin. while plume, and steel mori-
on; salve and ataghan; crescent and cress !;
rich vest and bright corselet-we came to
the fight, as we had come to feasting-
glorious and glittering, even in death, each
shining warrior lies.
His last glance still seeks that Christian
banner! The cry that shall never be re-
peated cheers on its last charge. Oh but
for strength to reach the field once more
to die in the foes front Peace, dreamer /!
Thou hast done well. Thy place in the
close rank is filled-and yet another waits
for his who holds it. Knight! hast thou
yet though bend it on heaven! The
past is gone; the future lies before thee
Gaze on yon gorgeous sky-thy home
should lie beyond it!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS pass to him
that gave them. Pride-that came on like
oceans billows-see--roundt thee how it lies
mute and passive. The wealthy here are
poor. The high born have no precedence.
The strong are powerless; the mean con-
tent. The fair and lovely have no follow
ers. Soldier. She who sped thee on thy
course to day-her blue eye shall seek thee
in the conquering ranks to morrow, but it
shall seek thee in vain! Well. thus it is
thou should'st have died with all to live
for. Wouldst thou be base TO have thy
death blessing! Proud necks shall mourn
for thee. Bright eyes shall weep for thee
They that live envy thee. Death glory
takes out thy sting.
The shades of night are drawing on
soldier, thine eyes are darkening. A last
rim of the sun lies yet upon the distant hill
even as he sinks, thy soul shall follow
him See how thy steed feeds beside thee
His dark eye falls mildly on his MASTER
and he pauses. Poor wretch thine instinct
sees some wrong, yet knows it not. Brouse
on; and heaven-which guards its meanest
creatures-send thee kind protector.
Warrior aye, the stream of that ril
flows cool but thy lips no more shall taste
it. The moonlight that silvers its white
foam, shall glitter on thy corselet, wher
thy eye is closed and dim. Lo now the
night is coming. The mist is gathering on
the hill. The fox steals forth to seek hi,
quarry and the grey owl sweeps whirline
by, rejoicing in the stiffness. Oh, soldier
how sweetly now sounds thy lady''
lute-how fragrant are the dew sprinklet
flowers that twine round the easement from
which she leans That Lutte shall enchan
thee-those flowers shall delight thee--nc
more.
One other charge soldier, it may no
be. To thy saint and thy lady commend
thee! Hark to the low trumpet that sounds
the recall Hark to its long note-swee
is that sound in the ear of the spent ant
routed foe.
The victor hears it not. When tn,
breath rose that blew that note, he lived
its peal has rung, and his spirit has depart
ed. Heath thou should'st be soldier
pillow. Moon! let thy cold light thi
night fall upon him. But, morning thy
soft dews shall tempt HIM not-the soldie
must wake no more. He sleeps in th'
sleep OF honour. His cause was his coun
trys freedom, and her faith. He is dead
The cross of christian knight is on hi
breast: his lips are pressed to his LADY,
token soldier, farewell"
TITUS.