The Dying Warrior
A wounded Chieftain, lying
By the Danube’s leafy side,
Thus faintly said, in dying,
“Oh! bear, thou foaming tide.
“This gift to my lady-bride.”
’Twas then, in life’s last quiver,
He flung the scarf he wore
Into the foaming river,
Which, ah too quickly, bore
That pledge of one no more!
With fond impatience burning,
The Chieftain’s lady stood,
To watch her love returning
In triumph down the flood,
From that day’s field of blood.
But, field, alas, ill-fated!
The lady saw, instead
Of the bark whose speed she waited,
Her hero’s scarf, all red
With the drops his heart had shed.
One shriek—and all was over—
Her life-pulse ceased to beat;
The gloomy waves now cover
That bridal-flower so sweet.
And the scarf is her winding sheet!