106
I went to battle—met
A foe—and now I die:
To her I worshipped—yet
I turn my dying eye.
I sit upon my tomb,
My friends are far away:
And ere they know my doom,
The worm will seize its prey.
Then grave a grave for me,
Within yon grassy wood,
For there my love shall be,
In evening's solitude.
O! if that angel hie
With gentlest greetings there
I ask no tear—no sigh—
But one—one hallowed prayer.