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248
THE WARRIOR.
It came upon the morning wind
One loud and thrilling tone,
And distant hills sent forth their voice,—
The trumpet-call was blown.
And sterner grew each stately brow
As that war-blast pass'd by,
And redder grew each warrior cheek,
Brighter each warrior eye.
But other cheeks grew pale to hear,
And other eyes grew dim;
Woman shares not man's battle joy—
That joy is all for him.
The same blast lights the glance of flame,
Darkens the martial frown;
At which a woman's rose-lip fades,—
At which her heart sinks down.
