| Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | Twilight Hours.
III. At the Breach | | By Sarah Williams (“Sadie”) (1841–1868) |
| | (From “Songs of Comrades”)
ALL over for me | |
| The struggle, and possible glory! | |
| All swept past, | |
| In the rush of my own brigade. | |
| Will charges instead, | 5 |
| And fills up my place in the story; | |
| Well,—’tis well, | |
| By the merry old games we played. | |
| |
| There’s a fellow asleep, the lout! in the shade of the hillock yonder; | |
| What a dog it must be to drowse in the midst of a time like this! | 10 |
| Why, the horses might neigh contempt at him; what is he like, I wonder? | |
| If the smoke would but clear away, I have strength in me yet to hiss. | |
| |
| Will, comrade and friend, | |
| We parted in hurry of battle; | |
| All I heard | 15 |
| Was your sonorous “Up, my men!” | |
| Soon conquering pæans | |
| Shall cover the cannonade’s rattle; | |
| Then, home bells, | |
| Will you think of me sometimes, then? | 20 |
| |
| How that rascal enjoys his snooze! Would he wake to the touch of powder? | |
| A reveillé of broken bones, or a prick of a sword might do. | |
| “Hai, man! the general wants you;” if I could but for once call louder: | |
| There is something infectious here, for my eyelids are dropping too. | |
| |
| Will, can you recall | 25 |
| The time we were lost on the Bright Down? | |
| Coming home late in the day, | |
| As Susie was kneeling to pray, | |
| Little blue eyes and white night-gown, | |
| Saying, “Our Father, who art,— | 30 |
| Art what?” so she stayed with a start. | |
| “In Heaven,” your mother said softly. | |
| And Susie sighed “So far away!”— | |
| ’Tis nearer, Will, now to us all. | |
| |
| It is strange how that fellow sleeps! stranger still that his sleep should haunt me; | 35 |
| If I could but command his face, to make sure of the lesser ill: | |
| I will crawl to his side and see, for what should there be to daunt me? | |
| What there? what there! Holy Father in Heaven, not Will! | |
| |
| Will, dead Will! | |
| Lying here, I could not feel you! | 40 |
| Will, brave Will! | |
| Oh, alas, for the noble end! | |
| Will, dear Will! | |
| Since no love nor remorse could heal you, | |
| Will, good Will! | 45 |
| Let me die on your breast, old friend! | | | | |
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