The skirmish o’er, by chance I found my way

“The skirmish o’er, by chance I found my way To where the sentry fell, thinking ’twere best If yet he lived. I had not meant to slay— He turned on me—my sword pierced through his breast. Oh! even at times a soldier’s heart’s oppressed With pity, too. I saw him writhing still In agony. The gaping wound undressed Was pouring out his life. My heart grows chill Even yet; O God! I thought how slight a thing can kill.