"Oh, had it been but told you then,
To mark whose lamp was dim;
From out the ranks of these young men
Would ye have singled _him_?
"Whose was the sinewy arm that flung
Defiance to the ring?
Whose shout of victory loudest rung?
Yet not for glorying.
"Whose heart in generous thought and deed,
No rivalry could brook?
And yet distinction claiming not;
There lies he,--go and look!
"Tread lightly, comrades! we have laid
His dark locks on his brow;
Like life, save deeper light and shade,--
We'll not disturb them now!"
Of all who stood by that open grave, none wept so passionately as little
Arthur. He could not control his emotions, and it was in vain that
friends tried to soothe him. Poor child! did a sad presentiment of
coming evil pass over his soul?
"Slowly and sadly they laid him down," and "slowly and sadly" they
returned home; that home now so vacant, so desolate! There let us leave
them; sorrowing, but "not sorrowing as those without hope.
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