Spur fearless at his leader's words and signs,

Brave death in reconnoitring hostile lines,

And speed each task, and tell each message clear,

In scenes where war-train'd men were stunn'd with

fear.

THEODRIC praised him, and they wept for joy In yonder house,—when letters from the boy Thank'd Heav'n for life, and more, to use his phrase, Than twenty lives-his own Commander's praise. Then follow'd glowing pages, blazoning forth

The fancied image of his Leader's worth,

With such hyperboles of youthful style

As made his parents dry their tears and smile:
But differently far his words impress'd

A wond'ring sister's well-believing breast ;

She caught th' illusion, blest THEODRIC's name,

And wildly magnified his worth and fame;

Rejoicing life's reality contain'd

One, heretofore, her fancy had but feign'd,

A

Whose love could make her proud; and time and

chance

To passion raised that day-dream of Romance.

Once, when with hasty charge of horse and man Our arrière-guard had check'd the Gallic van, THEODRIC, visiting the outposts, found His UDOLPH wounded, weltering on the ground:Sore crush'd,-half-swooning, half-upraised, he lay, And bent his brow, fair boy! and grasp'd the clay. His fate moved ev'n the common soldier's ruthTHEODRIC SUCcour'd him; nor left the youth

To vulgar hands, but brought him to his tent
And lent what aid a brother would have lent.

Meanwhile, to save his kindred half the smart The war-gazette's dread blood-roll might impart, He wrote th' event to them; and soon could tell Of pains assuaged and symptoms auguring well; And last of all, prognosticating cure,

Enclosed the leach's vouching signature.

Their answers, on whose pages you might note

That tears had fall'n, whilst trembling fingers wrote,

Gave boundless thanks for benefits conferr'd,

Of which the boy, in secret, sent them word, Whose memory Time, they said, would never blot;

But which the giver had himself forgot.

In time, the stripling, vigorous and heal'd, Resumed his barb and banner in the field,

And bore himself right soldier-like, till now

The third campaign had manlier bronzed his brow; When peace, though but a scanty pause for breath,— A curtain-drop between the acts of death,

A check in frantic war's unfinish'd game,

Yet dearly bought, and direly welcome, came. broke up, and UDOLPH left his chief

The camp

As with a son's or younger brother's grief:

But journeying home, how rapt his spirits rose!
How light his footsteps crush'd St. Gothard's snows!
How dear seem'd ev'n the waste and wild Shreckhorn,
Though wrapt in clouds, and frowning as in scorn
Upon a downward world of pastoral charms;

Where, by the very smell of dairy-farms,

And fragrance from the mountain-herbage blown,

Blindfold his native hills he could have known!

His coming down yon lake,-his boat in view Of windows where love's fluttering kerchief flew,The arms spread out for him--the tears that burst,— ('Twas JULIA's, 'twas his sister's met him first :)

Their pride to see war's medal at his breast,

And all their rapture's greeting, may be guess'd.

Ere long, his bosom triumph'd to unfold A gift he meant their gayest room to hold,— The picture of a friend in warlike dress;

And who it was he first bade JULIA guess. "Yes," she replied, " 'twas he methought in sleep,

When you were wounded, told me not to weep."