A WOUNDED warrior knelt apart,
On the battle-field knelt he;
There was anguish in his iron heart,
And tears bedimm'd his ee.

And wept he for the blood that flow'd
In torrents from his side;
Or thought he of death's dreary road,
Or of a distant bride?

No selfish fears that warrior felt,
No blooming bride had he;
Beside a brother's corpse he knelt,
And tears bedimm'd his ee.

The dreams of boyhood's hours awoke,
That long had silent slept;
Old memories their fetters broke,
And o'er his spirit swept,
He bowed beneath grim sorrow's stroke--
He bowed his head and wept.

The tears of youth are like the dews
That fertilizing fall;
Let hope a single beam diffuse,
That sunbeam drinks them all.

The tears of manhood, when they flow,
Flow not like common rain;
Peace, reason, hope, they overthrow,
A deluge of the brain.

He gazed upon the pallid brow,
Once smiling pleasure's throne;
Those eyes how fixed and ghastly now,
Their joyous spirit flown!

Those ringlets, once a mother's pride,
Stained all with dust and gore;
The snow-white neck in purple dyed,
She ne'er shall clasp it more!

'Oh, may I ne'er survive,' he said,
'My brother's fate to tell;
Why should I live when he is dead?
I'll fall as Edwin fell.'