THE DYING SOLDIER BOY.
By A. B. Cunningham, of Louisiana.
Air—“Maid of Monterey.”
|Upon Manassas’ bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying!|
The gentle winds above his form in softest tones were sighing;
The god of day had slowly sank beneath the verge of day,
And the silver moon was gliding above the milky way.
The stars were shining brightly, and the sky was calm and blue,
Oh, what a beautiful scene was this for human eyes to view!
The river roll’d in splendor, and the wavelets danc’d around,
But the banks were strew’d with dead men, and gory was the ground.
But the hero-boy lay dying, and his thoughts were very deep,
For the death-wound in his young side was wafting him to sleep;
The thought of home and kindred away on a distant shore,
All of whom he must relinquish, and never see them more.
And as the night-breeze passed by, in whispers o’er the dead,
Sweet memories of olden days came rushing to his head;
But his mind was weak and deaden’d, so he turned from where he lay,
As the Death-angel flitted by, and call’d his soul away!