Such is the death the soldier dies: —
He falls, — the column speeds away;
Upon the dabbled grass he lies,
His brave heart following, still, the fray.
The smoke wraiths drift among the trees,
The battle storms along the hill;
The glint of distant arms he sees,
He hears his comrades shouting still.
A glimpse of far-borne flags, that fade
And vanish in the rolling din:
He knows the sweeping charge is made.
The cheering lines are closing in.
Unmindful of his mortal wound,
He faintly calls and seeks to rise;
But weakness drags him to the ground: —
Such is the death the soldier dies.