Rhode Island American, Statesman And Providence Gazette

THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE.

Yes, ye may pay your thoughtless duty,
Vain throng! to Glory's distant star,
And ye may smile when blooming beauty
Rewards the gallant Son of War;
For me, I sigh to think that Sorrow
May soon that gentle heart betide,
And soon a dark, a gloomy morrow
May dawn upon the Soldier's Bride.

Oh! were her path the scene of brightness
Pourtray'd by ardent fancy's ray;
Oh! could her bosom thrill in lightness,
When Glory's pictured charms decay
Could Hope still bless her golden slumbers.
And crown the dreams of youthful pride,
Then might ye smile, ye thoughtless numbers,
Then greet with joy the Soldier's Bride.

But when dismay'd by threat'ning dangers,
And doom'd in distant scenes to roam,
To meet the chilling glance of strangers,
And vainly mourn her peaceful home;
Oft will her tearful eye discover
The fears her bosom once defied.
Oft shall the smiles that bless'd the lover
Desert the Soldier's weeping Bride.

And when, perchance, War's stunning rattle
Greets from afar her shuddering ear,
When, yielding to the fate of battle,
Her hero meets an early bier;
Condemn'd in hopeless grief to languish,
She yields to Sorrow's gushing tide,
And tears express, in silent anguish,
The sadness of the Soldier's Bride.

What then avails the wreath of Glory?
The victor it should crown is fled;
The din of fame, the martial story,
Reach not the mansions of the dead;
She greets with sighs the dear-bought treasure,
That seems her sadness to deride,
And shuns the mimic gleam of pleasure,
That mocks the Soldier's widow'd Bride.

To me her flowery crown of gladness
Seems like the drooping cypress wreath;
Her nuptial throng—a train of sadness;
Her minstrel band—the dirge of death.
Ah! soon may Grief those blossoms sever,
Despoil that cheek with blushes dyed,
And cloud with dark despair forever
The triumph of the Soldier's Bride.