The Captain’s Feather
By Samuel Minturn Peck
The dew is on the heather,
The moon is in the sky,
And the captain’s waving feather
Proclaims the hour is nigh
When some upon their horses
Shall through the battle ride,
And some with bleeding corses
Must on the heather bide.
The dust is on the heather,
The moon is in the sky,
And about the captain’s feather
The bolts of battle fly.
But hark! What sudden wonder
Breaks forth upon the gloom?
It is the cannon’s thunder,—
It is the voice of doom.
The blood is on the heather,
The night is in the sky,
And the gallant captain’s feather
Shall wave no more on high.
The grave and holy brother
To God is saying mass;
But who shall tell his mother,
And who shall tell his lass?