ANDRE'S REQUEST.

It is not the fear of death

That damps my brow;

It is not for another breath

I ask thee now;

I can die with a lip unstirr'd

And a quiet heart —

Let but this prayer be heard

Ere I depart.

I can give up my mother's look —

My sister's kiss;

I can think of love — yet brook

A death like this!

I can give up the young fame

I burn'd to win —

All — but the spotless name

I glory in!

Thine is the power to give,

Thine to deny,

Joy for the hour I live —

Calmness to die.

By all the brave should cherish,

By my dying breath,

I ask that I may perish

With a soldier's death!