Heaven bless the boys! " the old man said,
" I hear their distant drumming, —
Young Arthur Bruce is at their head,
And down the street they're coming.

" And a very noble standard too
He carries in the van;
By the faith of an old soldier, he
Is born to make a man! "

A glow of pride passed o'er his cheek,
A tear came to his eye;
" Hurra, hurra! my gallant men! "
Cried he, as they came nigh.

" It seems to me but yesterday
Since I was one like ye,
And now my years are seventy-two,
Come here, and talk with me! "

They made a halt, those merry boys,
Before the aged man;
And " Tell us now some story wild
Young Arthur Bruce began;

" Of battle and of victory
Tell us some stirring thing! "
The old man raised his arm aloft,
And cried, " God save the King

" A soldier's is a life of fame,
A life that hath its meed —
They write his wars in printed books,
That every man may read.

" And if you'd hear a story wild,
Of war and battle done,
I am the man to tell such tales,
And you shall now have one.

" In every quarter of the globe
I've fought — by sea, by land:
And scarce for five and fifty years
Was the musket from my hand.

" But the bloodiest wars, and fiercest too,
That were waged on any shore,
Were those in which my strength was spent,
In the country of Mysore.

" And oh! what a fearful, deadly clime
Is that of the Indian land,
Where the burning sun shines fiercely down
On the hot and fiery sand!

" The life of man seems little worth,
And his arm hath little power;
His very soul within him dies,
As dies a broken flower.

" Yet spite of this, was India made
As for a kingly throne:
There gold is plentiful as dust,
As sand the diamond stone;

" And like a temple is each house,
Silk-curtained from the sun;
And every man has twenty slaves,
Who at his bidding run.

" He rides on the lordly elephant,
In solemn pomp; — and there
They hunt the gold-striped tiger,
As here they hunt the hare.

" Yet it is a dreadful clime! and we
Up in the country far
Were sent, — we were two thousand men,
In a disastrous war.

" The soldiers died in the companies
As if the plague had been;
And soon in every twenty men,
The dead were seventeen.

" We went to storm a fort of mud —
And yet the place was strong —
Three thousand men were guarding it,
And they had kept it long.

" We were in all three hundred souls,
Feeble and worn and wan;
Like walking spectres of the tomb
Was every living man.

" Yet Arthur Bruce, now standing there,
With the ensign of his band,
Reminds me of a gallant youth,
Who fought at my right hand

" Scarce five and twenty years of age,
And feeble as the rest,
Yet with the bearing of a king,
That noble soul expressed.

" But a silent grief was in his eye,
And oft his noble frame
Shook like a quivering aspen leaf,
And his color went and came.

" He marched by my side for seven days,
Most patient of our band;
And night and day he ever kept
Our standard in his hand.

" They fought with us like tigers,
Before that fort of mud;
And all around the burning sands
Were as a marsh with blood.

" We watched that young man, — he to us
Was as a kindling hope;
We saw him pressing on and on,
Bearing the standard up.

" At length it for a moment veered —
A ball had struck his hand,
But he seized the banner with his left,
Without a moment's stand.

" He mounted upward to the wall;
He waved the standard high, —
But then another smote him! —
And the captain standing by

" Said. " Of this gallant youth take care,
He hath won for us the day!"
I and my comrades took him up,
And bore him thence away.

" There was no tree about the place,
So 'neath the fortress shade
We carried him, and carefully
Upon the red sand laid.

" I took the feather from my cap,
To fan his burning cheek:
I gave him water, drop by drop,
And prayed that he would speak.

" At length he said, " Mine hour is come!
My soldier-name is bright;
But a pang there is within my soul,
That hath wrung me day and night;

" " I left my mother's home without
Her blessing; — she doth mourn,
Doth weep for me with bitter tears, —
I never can return!

" " This bowed my eagle-spirit down,
This robbed mine eye of rest;
I left her widowed and alone: —
Oh that I had been blessed!"

" No more he said, — he closed his eyes,
And yet he died not then;
He lived till the morrow morning came,
But he never spoke again. "

This tale the veteran soldier told,
Upon a summer's day; —
The boys came merrily down the street,
But they all went sad away.