THE MUFFLED drums sad roll has beat | |
The soldiers last tattoo; | |
No more on Lifes parade shall meet | |
That brave and fallen few. | |
On Fames eternal camping-ground | 5 |
Their silent tents are spread, | |
And Glory guards, with solemn round, | |
The bivouac of the dead. | |
|
No rumor of the foes advance | |
Now swells upon the wind; | 10 |
No troubled thought at midnight haunts | |
Of loved ones left behind; | |
No vision of the morrows strife | |
The warriors dream alarms; | |
No braying horn nor screaming fife | 15 |
At dawn shall call to arms. | |
|
Their shivered swords are red with rust, | |
Their plumèd heads are bowed; | |
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, | |
Is now their martial shroud. | 20 |
And plenteous funeral tears have washed | |
The red stains from each brow. | |
And the proud forms, by battle gashed, | |
Are free from anguish now. | |
|
The neighing troop, the flashing blade, | 25 |
The bugles stirring blast, | |
The charge, the dreadful cannonade, | |
The din and shout, are past; | |
Nor wars wild note nor glorys peal | |
Shall thrill with fierce delight | 30 |
Those breasts that nevermore may feel | |
The rapture of the fight. | |
|
Like the fierce northern hurricane | |
That sweeps his great plateau, | |
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain, | 35 |
Came down the serried foe. | |
Who heard the thunder of the fray | |
Break oer the field beneath, | |
Knew well the watchword of that day | |
Was Victory or death. | 40 |
|
Long had the doubtful conflict raged | |
Oer all that stricken plain, | |
For never fiercer fight had waged | |
The vengeful blood of Spain; | |
And still the storm of battle blew, | 45 |
Still swelled the gory tide; | |
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew, | |
Such odds his strength could bide. | |
|
Twas in that hour his stern command | |
Called to a martyrs grave | 50 |
The flower of his beloved land, | |
The nations flag to save. | |
By rivers of their fathers gore | |
His first-born laurels grew, | |
And well he deemed the sons would pour | 55 |
Their lives for glory too. | |
|
Full many a northers breath has swept | |
Oer Angosturas plain | |
And long the pitying sky has wept | |
Above its mouldered slain. | 60 |
The ravens scream, or eagles flight, | |
Or shepherds pensive lay, | |
Alone awakes each sullen height | |
That frowned oer that dread fray. | |
|
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, | 65 |
Ye must not slumber there, | |
Where stranger steps and tongues resound | |
Along the heedless air. | |
Your own proud lands heroic soil | |
Shall be your fitter grave; | 70 |
She claims from war his richest spoil | |
The ashes of her brave. | |
|
Thus neath their parent turf they rest, | |
Far from the gory field, | |
Borne to a Spartan mothers breast | 75 |
On many a bloody shield; | |
The sunshine of their native sky | |
Smiles sadly on them here, | |
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by | |
The heroes sepulchre. | 80 |
|
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead! | |
Dear as the blood ye gave; | |
No impious footstep here shall tread | |
The herbage of your grave; | |
Nor shall your glory be forgot | 85 |
While Fame her record keeps, | |
Or Honor points the hallowed spot | |
Where Valor proudly sleeps. | |
|
Yon marble minstrels voiceless stone | |
In deathless song shall tell, | 90 |
When many a vanished age hath flown, | |
The story how ye fell; | |
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winters blight, | |
Nor Times remorseless doom, | |
Shall dim one ray of glorys light | 95 |
That gilds your deathless tomb. | |
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