The soldier spoke, his accents feebly fell

The soldier spoke, his accents feebly fell, Irene drew near to catch what he might say. “I have short time for what I fain would tell,” He thus began, “this tenement of clay Must soon dissolve—flit life and light away. It is a tale to fright thy timid ear, And yet a burden on my soul doth weigh, That will not let it part. Nay, do not fear; Though shadows cloud my mind, soon light will reappear.”