“ The corse of a comrade supporting his head!
"My Henry!"—the sorrowful parent exclaimed,
"Has fate rudely withered thy laurels so soon?"
The youth ope'd his eyes as he heard himself named,
And awoke for awhile from his death-boding swoon.
He gazed on his father, who knelt by his side,
And seizing his hand, pressed it close to his heart;
"Thank heaven, thou art here, my dear father!" he cried;
"For soon! ah, too soon, we for ever must part!
"Though death early calls me from all that I love! ”