THERE leaned against a gravestone
Upon a mountain steep,
A fair-haired youth of gallant mien,
Who mused in sorrow deep.

His eyes now sought the heavens,
And now the earth below.
Son of the hills and valleys,
Why dost thou sorrow so ?

Dost thou desire, to soothe thee,
A vast and stormy sea,
Whose ranks of wind-stirred billows
Shall sing to comfort thee ?

Or heaven’s immense and wondrous vault,
Star-strewn, thine eyes to greet ?
Or smiles from nature’s fairest things,
The flowers, the zephyrs sweet ?

Or dost thou yearn for solace
All other joys above, —
A gentle mother’s kisses,
A sweetheart’s tender love?

To cure thy heart’s deep sorrow
What wouldst thou have, oh, what?
“ My longing is for powder,
For powder and for shot!”