All through the long, long night Irene alone

All through the long, long night Irene alone Her vigil kept, and oft she strove in vain, Ere the slow-ebbing tide of life had gone, With gentle touch to chase away dull Pain Which o’er the soldier’s brow his heavy chain Had thrown. But, oh! it seemed as though The weight of three-score years of Sorrow’s reign Had fallen upon her life;—that night of woe, Had turned her raven hair white as the wintry snow!