O NO, no,let me lie | |
Not on a field of battle when I die! | |
Let not the iron tread | |
Of the mad war-horse crush my helmèd head; | |
Nor let the reeking knife, | 5 |
That I have drawn against a brothers life, | |
Be in my hand when Death | |
Thunders along, and tramples me beneath | |
His heavy squadrons heels, | |
Or gory felloes of his cannons wheels. | 10 |
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From such a dying bed, | |
Though oer it float the stripes of white and red, | |
And the bald eagle brings | |
The clustered stars upon his wide-spread wings | |
To sparkle in my sight, | 15 |
O, never let my spirit take her flight! | |
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I know that beautys eye | |
Is all the brighter where gay pennants fly, | |
And brazen helmets dance, | |
And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance; | 20 |
I know that bards have sung, | |
And people shouted till the welkin rung, | |
In honor of the brave | |
Who on the battle-field have found a grave; | |
I know that oer their bones | 25 |
How grateful hands piled monumental stones. | |
Some of those piles I ve seen: | |
The one at Lexington upon the green | |
Where the first blood was shed, | |
And to my countrys independence led; | 30 |
And others, on our shore, | |
The Battle Monument at Baltimore, | |
And that on Bunkers Hill. | |
Ay, and abroad, a few more famous still; | |
Thy tomb, Themistocles, | 35 |
That looks out yet upon the Grecian seas, | |
And which the waters kiss | |
That issue from the gulf of Salamis. | |
And thine, too, have I seen, | |
Thy mound of earth, Patroclus, robed in green, | 40 |
That, like a natural knoll, | |
Sheep climb and nibble over as they stroll, | |
Watched by some turbaned boy, | |
Upon the margin of the plain of Troy. | |
Such honors grace the bed, | 45 |
I know, whereon the warrior lays his head, | |
And hears, as life ebbs out, | |
The conquered flying, and the conquerors shout; | |
But as his eye grows dim, | |
What is a column or a mound to him? | 50 |
What, to the parting soul, | |
The mellow note of bugles? What the roll | |
Of drums? No, let me die | |
Where the blue heaven bends oer me lovingly, | |
And the soft summer air, | 55 |
As it goes by me, stirs my thin white hair, | |
And from my forehead dries | |
The death-damp as it gathers, and the skies | |
Seem waiting to receive | |
My soul to their clear depths! Or let me leave | 60 |
The world when round my bed | |
Wife, children, weeping friends are gatherèd, | |
And the calm voice of prayer | |
And holy hymning shall my soul prepare | |
To go and be at rest | 65 |
With kindred spirits,spirits who have blessed | |
The human brotherhood | |
By labors, cares, and counsels for their good. | |
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