| |
| LIFE in its many shapes was there, | |
| The busy and the gay; | |
| Faces that seemed too young and fair | |
| To ever know decay. | |
| |
| Wealth, with its waste, its pomp and pride, | 5 |
| Led forth its glittering train; | |
| And Poverty’s pale face beside | |
| Asked aid, and asked in vain. | |
| |
| The shops were filled from many lands, | |
| Toys, silks, and gems, and flowers; | 10 |
| The patient work of many hands, | |
| The hope of many hours. | |
| |
| Yet, mid life’s myriad shapes around | |
| There was a sigh of death; | |
| There rose a melancholy sound, | 15 |
| The bugle’s wailing breath. | |
| |
| They played a mournful Scottish air, | |
| That on its native hill | |
| Had caught the notes the night-winds bear | |
| From weeping leaf and rill. | 20 |
| |
| ’T was strange to hear that sad wild strain | |
| Its warning music shed, | |
| Rising above life’s busy train, | |
| In memory of the dead. | |
| |
| There came a slow and silent band | 25 |
| In sad procession by; | |
| Reversed the musket in each hand, | |
| And downcast every eye. | |
| |
| They bore the soldier to his grave; | |
| The sympathizing crowd | 30 |
| Divided like a parted wave | |
| By some dark vessel ploughed. | |
| |
| A moment, and all sounds were mute, | |
| For awe was over all; | |
| You heard the soldier’s measured foot, | 35 |
| The bugle’s wailing call. | |
| |
| The gloves were laid upon the bier, | |
| The helmet and the sword; | |
| The drooping war-horse followed near, | |
| As he, too, mourned his lord. | 40 |
| |
| Slowly—I followed too—they led | |
| To where a church arose, | |
| And flung a shadow o’er the dead, | |
| Deep as their own repose. | |
| |
| Green trees were there,—beneath the shade | 45 |
| Of one was made a grave; | |
| And there to his last rest was laid | |
| The weary and the brave. | |
| |
| They fired a volley o’er the bed | |
| Of an unconscious ear; | 50 |
| The birds sprang fluttering overhead, | |
| Struck with a sudden fear. | |
| |
| All left the ground, the bugles died | |
| Away upon the wind; | |
| Only the tree’s green branches sighed | 55 |
| O’er him they left behind. | |
| |
| Again, all filled with light and breath, | |
| I passed the crowded street: | |
| O great extremes of life and death, | |
| How strangely do ye meet! | 60 |
| |
