ORIGINAL POETRY. 
THE DEAD CHARGER. 
BY H. J. BRADFIELD, ESQ. 
Tue shades of night hung o’er the plain, 
In darkest hues afar ; 
Where ’mid the dying and the slain, 
Upon the field of war, 
Many a Courser lay beneath 
The Hero, in the pangs of death. 
At break of morn his heart beat high, 
When the shrill war-note sounded ; 
And proudly flash’d his beaming eye, 
As to the fight he bounded, 
And, like his warrior-rider darted 
Glance for glance, till life departed. 
Banners with crimson gore are wet, 
And swords are lying there to rust ; 
While Death his chilly hand hath set 
On many a brow now turn’d to dust ! 
And Hope whose ray around was shed, 
With the undaunted spirit fled. 
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