The Pathfinder

Chapter 28

Thou barraine ground, whom winter's wrath hath wasted,

Art made a mirror to behold my plight:

Whilome thy fresh spring flower'd: and after hasted

Thy summer prowde, with daffodillies dight;

And now is come thy winter's stormy state,

Thy mantle mar'd wherein thou maskedst late.

SPENSER.

Although the soldier may regard danger and even death with

indifference in the tumult of battle, when the passage of the soul

is delayed to moments of tranquillity and reflection the change

commonly brings with it the usual train of solemn reflections;

of regrets for the past, and of doubts and anticipations for the

future. Many a man has died with a heroic expression on his lips,

but with heaviness and distrust at his heart; for, whatever may be

the varieties of our religious creeds, let us de