The Soldier To His Plume
by Hannah Flagg Gould
Before we go, I've a word to say
To thee, my own white feather,
And then, my plume, we're up and away
To the battle-field together!
I charge thee never to show thy head
Where the feet of a coward bore thee:
Thou must sooner droop, as the blood is shed
From the breast of him who wore thee.
Go up, and nod in the open van,
With dangers gathering round thee;
That the foe may see 't is the foremost man,
Who in his helm has bound thee.
'Mid the din of arms, where the dust and smoke
In clouds are curling o'er thee,
Be firm, till the enemy's ranks are broke,
And they fall, or flee before thee.
Yet, I would not have thee towering stand
O'er him, who's for mercy crying;
But, bow to the earth, as thy master's hand
Shall raise the faint and the dying.
'T is thus we both may escape from shame,
And come from the field with glory;
And thou shalt be fixed to thy wearer's name,
If ever 't is seen in story!
Source:Poems By Miss H. F. Gould. Volume 1.
Hilliard, Gray, & Co., Boston