CHARLEY OF MALVERN HILL
A war-worn soldier, bronzed and seamed
By weary march and battle stroke;
'Twas thus, while leaning on his crutch,
The wounded veteran spoke,—
By weary march and battle stroke;
'Twas thus, while leaning on his crutch,
The wounded veteran spoke,—
"The blue-eyed boy of Malvern Hill!
A hero every inch was he,
Though scarcely larger than the child
You hold, sir, on your knee.
A hero every inch was he,
Though scarcely larger than the child
You hold, sir, on your knee.
"Some mother's darling! On that field
He seemed so strangely out of place,
With his pure brow, his shining hair,
His sweet, unconscious grace.
He seemed so strangely out of place,
With his pure brow, his shining hair,
His sweet, unconscious grace.
"But not a bearded warrior there
Watched with a more undaunted eye
The blackness of the battle-cloud,
As the fierce storm rose high.
Watched with a more undaunted eye
The blackness of the battle-cloud,
As the fierce storm rose high.
"That morn—ah! what a morn was that!—
We thought to send him to the rear;
We loved the lad—and love, you know,
Is near akin to fear.
We thought to send him to the rear;
We loved the lad—and love, you know,
Is near akin to fear.
"We knew that many a gallant soul
Must pass away in one long sigh,
Ere nightfall. On that bloody field,
'Twas not for boys to die.
Must pass away in one long sigh,
Ere nightfall. On that bloody field,
'Twas not for boys to die.
