The boy, with the resolute nerve of a man,
    And a voice which he holds as serene as he can,
    Takes quietly from her the letter, and reads:—­

    “Dear Madam,—­My heart in its sympathy bleeds
    For the pain that my tidings must bear you:  may God
    Most tenderly comfort you, under His rod!

    “This morning, at daybreak, a terrible charge
    Was made on the enemy’s centre:  such large
    And fresh reinforcements were held at his back,
    He stoutly and stubbornly met the attack.

    “Our cavalry bore themselves splendidly:—­far
    In front of his line galloped Colonel Dunbar;
    Erect in his stirrups,—­his sword flashing high,
    And the look of a conqueror kindling his eye,
    His silvery voice rang aloft through the roar
    Of the musketry poured from the opposite shore: 
    —­’Remember the Valley!—­remember your wives! 
    And on to your duty, boys!—­on—­with your lives!’

    “He turned, and he paused, as he uttered the call—­
    Then reeled in his seat, and fell,—­pierced by a ball.

    “He lives and he breathes yet:—­the surgeons declare,
    That the balance is trembling ’twixt hope and despair. 
    In his blanket he lies, on the hospital floor,—­
    So calm, you might deem all his agony o’er;
    And here, as I write, on his face I can see
    An expression whose radiance is startling to me. 
    His faith is sublime:—­he relinquishes life,
    And craves but one blessing,—­to look on his wife!”

    The Chaplain’s recital is ended:—­no word
    From Alice’s white, breathless lips has been heard;
    Till, rousing herself from her passionless woe,
    She simply and quietly says—­“I will go.”

    There are moments of anguish so deadly, so deep—­
    That numbness seems over the senses to creep,
    With interposition, whose timely relief,
    Is an anodyne-draught to the madness of grief. 
    Such mercy is meted to Alice;—­her eye
    That sees as it saw not, is vacant and dry: 
    The billows’ wild fury sweeps over her soul,
    And she bends to the rush with a passive control.

    Through the dusk of the night—­through the glare of the day,
    She urges, unconscious, her desolate way: 
    One image is ever her vision before,
    —­That blanketed form on the hospital floor!

    Her journey is ended; and yonder she sees
    The spot where he lies, looming white through the trees: 
    Her torpor dissolves with a shuddering start,
    And a terrible agony clutches her heart.

    The Chaplain advances to meet her:—­he draws
    Her silently onward;—­no question—­no pause—­
    Her finger she lays on her lip;—­if she spake,
    She knows that the spell that upholds her, would break.