The Abbeville banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1847-1869, 1860-01-12
THE SUNSET OF BATTLE.

twilight closes, and the thin mists are rising
i'll the valley; the last charging squadron
yet thunders in the distance, but it presses
only on foil..,l and scattered foe. For this
day, the fight is over
And those who rode foremost in its
fields at morning, where are they now {?
On the banks of yon little stream there
lies knight-his life blood is ebbing
faster than It's tide. Ills shield is rent, and
his lance is broken. Soldier, why faintest
thou? The blood that swclIs from that
deep wound shall answer.
1t was tEis morning that the sun rose
bright upon his hopes-it sets upon his
grave. This day he led the foremost rank
OF spears, that were in their long row lev
e'lcd. When they had crossed the foes
dark line, death shouted in the onset It
was the last blow that reached him. lie
has conquered, though he shall not tri-
unph in the victory.
His hrcastplate is din,el-his helmet
has the trace of well.lea|t blows. The
scarf on his breast-she who placed it
there would shrink to touch it now Sol
dier, what will thy mistress say She
will say that her knight died worlhiIy.
Ay, rouse thee-fnr the fight yet chafes
in the distance Thy friends ale shouting
thy pennon floats on high. Look on
yon crimsoned field, that seems to mock
the purple clouds above it!-pros,rac it they
lie. drcnched in their dark red pool-,hv
friends and cncmiGs-thc dead and diving !
The veteran, With the stripping of day.
The name!ess troops, and tie leader of n
hundred hosts. Friend lies by friend, tho
steed with his rider, and foes linked in their
long cmbrace-thcir first and last-the
grip of death.
Far Ger the field they lie, gorgeous
prey to ruin? White plume and steel
morton; sabre and ataghan crescent aud
cross !; rich vest and bright corselet-we
came to the fight, as we had come to 4
ie"sting- glorious and glttcring, even in
death, each shining warrior lies.
His last glance still seeks that Christian
banner. The cry that shall never he re-
peated cheers on its last Charge. Oh, but
tor strength to reach the field once more
to die in the foes trout? Peace, dream
ers Thou hast done well. Thy place in
the close rank is fiIlcd--and Yet another
waits for lii; who holds it.
Knight, has, thou yet thought-bcnd
1t on Heaven! The past is gone; the fu.
ture lies before thee. Gaze or yon cor.
geous sky-home should lie beyond il,
Lile-honor-love-lhey pass to Him
that gave them. Prile-tlat came on
! like ocean 5 billows-see around thee. how
it lies mute and passive. The wealthy here
are poor. The highborn have no prece-
dence. The strong are powcrless; the
mean, content The fair and lovely have
nv followers. Soldier, she who sped thee
on thy course to'day-her blue eye shall
seek thee in the conquering ranks lo-mor-
row, but it shall seek thee in vain! We'll
tins it is thou shoudst have died ?-witll
all to live for. Wou!dst thou he base, to
have thy death n blessing? Proud necks
shall mourn for thee-bright eyes shall
weep for thee. They that live shall envy
thee. Death glory takes out thy sting.
The shades Of night are drawing on
soldier, thine eyes are darkenng. A last
ray of the sun yet lies upon the distant
r hll-=even as lie sinks, thy soul shall fol-
low him! See how thy stecd feeds Lcside
thee. His dark eye falls mildly on his
master-and he pauses. Poor wretch
thine instinct sees some wrong, yet knows
lit not. Browse on, and Heaven, which
guards its meanest creatures, send thee a
f kind protector!
: Warrior!-ay, the stream of that rill
fio's cool; bat thy lip no more shall
taste 1t. The moonlight that siIvers its
white foam shall glitter on thy corselet
when Tue eye is closed and dim. Lo now
the night is coming-tbe mist is gathering
on the hif-the fox steals forth to seek his
quarry-and the gray owl sweeps wIiiriing
! b., rejoicing i'll the stiness.. O. soldier =
how sweelIy now sounds thy lady's Lutte
how fagrant are the dew-sprinkIed flowers
that twine round the easement from
which, she lean! ! That lu:e shall enclant
thee, those flowers shall delight thee no
more. ~ :; t.%:r -
One other charge Soldier, it may, not
be. To thy saint and thy lady commend
Isshee! Hark to the low trumpet that
sounds tho recalI! Hark toits long note
sweet is that sound in the ear of the
spent and routed foe I! - !.
The victor hears at mot. When the
breath rose that blew that note, lie lived