To yield to that foe meant worse than death;
And the men and we all work'd on:
It was one day more, of smoke and roar,
And then it would all be done.
There was one of us, a corporal's wife,
A fair young gentle thing,
Wasted with fever in the siege,
And her mind was wandering.
She lay on the ground in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knee:
"When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she said,
"Oh! please then waken me."
She slept like a child on her father's floor
In the flecking of wood-bine shade,
When the house-dog sprawls by the open door,
And the mother's wheel is stay'd.
It was smoke and roar, and powder-stench,
And hopeless waiting for death:
But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child,
Seem'd scarce to draw her breath.
I sank to sleep, and I had my dream,
Of an English village-lane,
And wall and garden;--a sudden scream
Brought me back to the roar again.
Then Jessie Brown stood listening,
And then a broad gladness broke
All over her face, and she took my hand
And drew me near and spoke:
"_The Highlanders!_ Oh! dinna ye hear
The slogan far awa--
The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel;
It's the grandest o' them a'.
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