'
"I lightly said--'Sheer superstition, Paul;
I'll wager a month's pay you'll live to fight
A dozen battles yet. They ill become
A gallant soldier on the battle field--
Such grandam superstitions. You have fought
Ever like a hero--do you falter now?'
"'Captain,' he said, 'I shall not falter now,
But gladlier will I hail the rising sun.
Death has no terror for a heart like mine:
Say what you may and call it what you will--
I know that I shall fall to rise no more
Before the sunset of the coming day.
If this be superstition--still I know;
If this be fear it will not hold me back.'
I answered:
"'Friend, I hope this prophecy
Will prove you a false prophet; but, my Paul,
Have you no farewells for your friends at home?
No message for a nearer, dearer one?'
"'None; there is none I knew in other days
Knows where or what I am. So let it be.
If there be those--not many--who may care
For one who cares so little for himself,
Surely my soldier-name in the gazette
Among the killed will bring no pang to them.
And then he laid himself upon the sward;
Perhaps he slept--I know not, for fatigue
O'ercame me and I slept.
"The picket guns
At random firing wakened me.
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