THE WORLD WAS HUSHT.

The world was husht, the moon above

Sailed thro’ ether slowly,

When near the casement of my love,

Thus I whispered lowly,—

“Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep?

“The field I seek to-morrow

“Is one where man hath fame to reap,

“And woman gleans but sorrow.”

“Let battle's field be what it may.

Thus spoke a voice replying,

“Think not thy love, while thou'rt away,

“Will sit here idly sighing.

“No — woman's soul, if not for fame,

“For love can brave all danger!

Then forth from out the casement came

A plumed and armed stranger.

A stranger? No;‘ twas she, the maid,

Herself before me beaming,

With casque arrayed and falchion blade

Beneath her girdle gleaming!

Close side by side, in freedom's fight,

That blessed morning found us;

In Victory's light we stood ere night,

And Love the morrow crowned us!