IX.

Oh, sleepless eyes and aching foreheads tell In homes far distant how those lives are prized, Which now are diced away, though loved so well-- On Glory’s shadowy altar sacrificed! The heart-wrung sob at parting undisguised, The silent hall and the deserted bower, The tender charge of Beauty idolized, And curléd babes, forgot in this wild hour,-- To Gorgons grim consigned is Manhood’s chosen flower!