Poems (Denver)/The Silent Warrior

by Mary Caroline Denver

THE SILENT WARRIOR.

A haughty scorn is in thine eye,
 Dark as the stormy night,
Warrior! the battle-hour is nigh,
 Go, mingle in the fight!
The trumpet's voice is bearing near
 The cry of War's alarms,
The groans that rend the dying ear,
 The glittering blaze of arms.

Why dost thou linger with the slain,
 Nor heed thy chieftain's call?
The cloud of smoke rolls o'er the plain,
 And shrouds the face of all;
A thousand steeds are rushing there;
 A thousand sabres drawn;
A thousand voices fill the air;—
 On to the battle, on!

Thy sword once bravely turned the fight-
 Why has it ceased to glow?
Thy voice once dared the foe to fight—
 Why is it silent now?
Thy hand still firmly grasps the blade,
 But all its strength is gone;
Thy form has sought the silent shade,
 Cold, breathless, and unknown.

The banner fluttering in the wind,
 The warrior's proud desire,
No more shall waken in thy mind,
 Ambition's ardent fire.
To gain the glory of a name,
 Thou hast grasped a bloody wreath;
Hast grasped the warrior's crown of fame,
 And found a warrior's death.