"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;
Dream of battle-fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking.
"In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.
"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more;
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil nor night of waking."
Lyle looked up. There were tears in his wife's blue eyes.
"Is it not beautiful, Ethel?" he said. "There is the true ring of
martial poesy about every line that Walter writes."
"Yes," said Ethel, with a sigh, "it is beautiful; but oh, dear Arnold!
I wish you were not quite so fond of warlike verses."
"Ethel, I am a soldier."
"Yes, poor boy, and must soon go away to the wars again. I cannot bear
to think of it, Arnold. When last you were gone, how slowly went the
time. The days and weeks and months seemed interminable. I do not wish
to think of it. Let us be happy while we may. Put away that book."
Lyle did as he was told. He took one of his wife's fair tresses in his
hand and kissed it, and looked into her face with a fond smile.
Man and wife--but lovers yet.
"Heigho!" he said, getting up and pulling aside the heavy crimson
curtains to look out, "heigho! these partings must come. It must be sad
sometimes to be a soldier's wife."
"It would be less sad, Arnold, if I could share your wanderings."
"What, Ethel! you, my tender, too fragile wife? Think what you say,
child."
She let the work that she had resumed drop once more in her lap, and
gazed up at him as he bent over the high-backed chair.
"Why not I as well as others?"
"Our children, dear one. My beautiful Effie and bold Leonard."
"They have your blood and mine in their veins, Arnold. They are wise
and they are brave."
Arnold mused for a little.
"And we," he said, "have few friends, and hardly a relative living."
"All the more reason, Arnold, I should be near you, that we should be
near each other. No, dear, I have thought of it all, planned it all;
and if your colonel will but permit Captain Lyle's wife to be among the
chosen few who accompany their gallant husbands to the seat of war, I
shall rejoice, and you may believe me when I say our children shall not
be unhappy."
Captain Lyle put his arm around her, and drew her closer towards him.
"I never refused any request you made, Ethel, and if the colonel, as you
say, will but permit, I will not refuse you this."
"Oh, thank you, Arnold! thank your kind and good unselfish heart. You
have indeed taken a load off mine. I feel happy now, I feel younger,
Arnold; for truly I was beginning to grow old."
She laughed a half-hysteric laugh of joy.
"You may read to me now," she added, re-seating herself in the
high-backed chair, "and it can be all about war if you like."