"I raised a company of riflemen,
Marched to the front, and proud of my command,
Nor seeking higher, led them till the day
Of triumph and the nation's jubilee.
Among the first that answered to my call
The hero came whose story you shall hear.
'Tis better I describe him: He was young--
Near two and twenty--neither short nor tall--
A slender student, and his tapering hands
Had better graced a maiden than a man:
Sad, thoughtful face--a wealth of raven hair
Brushed back in waves from forehead prominent;
A classic nose--half Roman and half Greek;
Dark, lustrous eyes beneath dark, jutting brows,
Wearing a shade of sorrow, yet so keen,
And in the storm of battle flashing fire.
"'Well, boy,' I said, 'I doubt if you will do;
I need stout men for picket-line and march--
Men that have bone and muscle--men inured
To toil and hardships--men, in short, my boy,
To march and fight and march and fight again.'
A queer expression lit his earnest face--
Half frown--half smile.
"'Well _try_ me.' That was all
He answered, and I put him on the roll--
_Paul Douglas, private_--and he donned the blue.
Paul proved himself the best in my command;
I found him first at _reveille_, and first
In all the varied duties of the day.
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