[Gnuplot-bugs] Your heart to my own makes the instant reply: But

[Bradigan <amp...@va...>]

And _I_ halve your blessedness with you again! "Don't think that my
hardships are bitter to bear; Don't think I repine at the soldier's
rough fare; If ever a thought so unworthy steals on, I look upon
Ashby,--and lo! it is gone! Such chivalry, fortitude, spirit and tone,
Make brighter, and stronger, and prouder, my own. Oh! Beverly, boy!--on
his white steed, I ween, A princelier presence has never been seen; And
as yonder he lies, from the groups all apart, I bow to him loyally,--bow
with my heart. "What brave, buoyant letters you write, sweet!--they ring
Through my soul like the blast of a trumpet, and bring Such a flame to
my eye, such a flush to my cheek,-- That often my hand will
unconsciously seek The hilt of my sword as I read,--and I feel As the
warrior does, when he flashes the steel In fiery circles, and shouts in
his might, For the heroes behind him, to follow its light! True wife of
a soldier!--If doubt or dismay Had ever, within me, one instant held
sway, Your words wield a spell that would bid them be gone, Like bodiles