Within this cabin, on a summer’s eve

Within this cabin, on a summer’s eve, Upon a couch a wounded soldier lay; Propped up beside a window to relieve His aching brow, he watched the dying day. Anon his eyes would follow far away The burnished dove disport on gilded wing, Then nearer the gay oriole swoop at play; And heard the while the merry mock-bird sing, Till Slumber o’er his brow her leaden chain would fling.