THOU didst fall in the field with thy silver hair, And a banner in thy hand; Thou wert laid to rest from thy battles there By a proudly mournful band. In the camp, on the steed, to the bugle's blast, Thy long bright years had sped; And a warrior's bier was thine at last, When the snows had crowned thy head. Many had fallen by thy side, old chief! Brothers and friends, perchance; But thou wert yet as the fadeless leaf, And light was in thy glance. The soldier's heart at thy step leaped high, And thy voice the war-horse knew; And the first to arm, when the foe was nigh, Wert thou, the bold and true. Now mayest thou slumber, -- thy work is done, -- Thou of the well-worn sword! From the stormy fight in thy fame thou 'rt gone, But not to the festal board. The corn-sheaves whisper thy grave around, Where fiery blood hath flowed; O, lover of battle and trumpet-sound! Thou art couched in a still abode! A quiet home from the noonday's glare, And the breath of the wintry blast, -- Didst thou toil through the days of thy silvery hair To win thee but this at last? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAST ANCHOR'D ETERNAL O LOVE! by WALT WHITMAN THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT by DOROTHY WORDSWORTH CIRCUMSTANCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH REMINDER by INDRAN AMIRTHANAYAGAM CAPITAL SQUARE by PATRICK JOHN MCALISTER ANDERSON FEATHERSTONHAUGH by BARCROFT HENRY BOAKE |