Letitia Elizabeth Landon

“ The Sword. By L. E. L.
’Twas the battle-field, and the cold pale moon
Look'd down on the dead and dying,
And the wind pass'd o'er, with a dirge and a wail,
Where the young and the brave were lying.
With his father's sword in his red right hand,
And the hostile dead around him,
Lay a youthful chief; but his bed was the ground,
And the grave's icy sleep had bound him.
A reckless rover, 'mid death and doom,
Pass'd a soldier, his plunder seeking:
Careless he stept where friend and foe
Lay alike in their life-blood reeking. ”