For in each soul shone the blessed thought,
The vision fair of a little cot,
Nestled beneath the lilac spray,
Waiting the blissful bridal day!
Low bowed in tearful silence there,
Their hearts rose up in solemn prayer,
And still the mellow lustre fell
Over the banks of the blue Moselle.
And still the moonlight shone upon
Marie and Jean,--and their hearts were one!
II
Six red moons have rolled away,
And the sun is shining on Christmas day.
Over the hills of fair Lorraine--
Heaps of ashes and rows of slain.
Where merrily rang the light guitar,
The angry trump of the red hussar
Flings on the midnight's shrinking breath,
The direful notes of the Dance of Death!
Underneath the clustered vines,
The sentry's glittering saber shines.
Over the banks of the blue Moselle,
Rain of rocket and storm of shell!
Where to-day is the forehead fair,
Crowned with masses of midnight hair?
A summer's twilight saw him fall,
Dead on Verdun's leaguered wall.
Where, alas! is the little cot?
Ask the blackened walls of Gravelotte!
Under the lilac broods alone
A maid whose heart is turned to stone.
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