SING, bird, on green Missouri’s plain, | |
| The saddest song of sorrow; | |
| Drop tears, O clouds, in gentlest rain | |
| Ye from the winds can borrow; | |
| Breathe out, ye winds, your softest sigh, | 5 |
| Weep, flowers, in dewy splendor, | |
| For him who knew well how to die, | |
| But never to surrender. | |
| |
| Up rose serene the August sun | |
| Upon that day of glory; | 10 |
| Up curled from musket and from gun | |
| The war-cloud, gray and hoary; | |
| It gathered like a funeral pall, | |
| Now broken, and now blended, | |
| Where rang the bugle’s angry call, | 15 |
| And rank with rank contended. | |
| |
| Four thousand men, as brave and true | |
| As e’er went forth in daring, | |
| Upon the foe that morning threw | |
| The strength of their despairing. | 20 |
| They feared not death—men bless the field | |
| That patriot soldiers die on; | |
| Fair Freedom’s cause was sword and shield, | |
| And at their head was Lyon. | |
| |
| Their leader’s troubled soul looked forth | 25 |
| From eyes of troubled brightness; | |
| Sad soul! the burden of the North | |
| Had pressed out all its lightness. | |
| He gazed upon the unequal fight, | |
| His ranks all rent and gory, | 30 |
| And felt the shadows close like night | |
| Round his career of glory. | |
| |
| “General, come lead us!” loud the cry | |
| From a brave band was ringing— | |
| “Lead us, and we will stop, or die, | 35 |
| That battery’s awful singing!” | |
| He spurred to where his heroes stood— | |
| Twice wounded, no one knowing— | |
| The fire of battle in his blood | |
| And on his forehead glowing. | 40 |
| |
| Oh! cursed for aye that traitor’s hand, | |
| And cursed that aim so deadly, | |
| Which smote the bravest of the land, | |
| And dyed his bosom redly! | |
| Serene he lay, while past him pressed | 45 |
| The battle’s furious billow, | |
| As calmly as a babe may rest | |
| Upon its mother’s pillow. | |
| |
| So Lyon died; and well may flowers | |
| His place of burial cover, | 50 |
| For never had this land of ours | |
| A more devoted lover. | |
| Living, his country was his bride; | |
| His life he gave her, dying; | |
| Life, fortune, love, he nought denied | 55 |
| To her, and to her sighing. | |
| |
| Rest, patriot, in thy hillside grave, | |
| Beside her form who bore thee! | |
| Long may the land thou diedst to save | |
| Her bannered stars wave o’er thee! | 60 |
| Upon her history’s brightest page, | |
| And on fame’s glowing portal, | |
| She’ll write thy grand, heroic age, | |
| And grave thy name immortal. | |
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