The northern galaxy. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1844-1848, 1845-03-26
NOT ON TIE BATTLE FIELD.
BY JOHN PIERPoNT.

BY JOHN PIERPoNT.
"To fail on the battle field fighting for my
country-that ,rouid NOT be hard"
The NEIeHBoRs.
o no, no-let me lie
Not on field Of battle, when die
Let not the iron tread
OF the mad war-horse crush my helmed head
Nor let the rocking knife,
That have drawn against brothers life,
Be in my hand when death
Thunders along. and tramples me beneath
His heavy squadrons heels,
Or CORY felloes Of his cannon's wheels.
From such dying bed,
Though DER 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,
o, never let my spirit take her flight
know that beauty'S eye
Is all the brighter where gay pennants fly,
And brazcn helmets dance,
And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance:
know that bards have sung,
And people shouted till the welkin rung
In honor of the brave
Who on the battlefield have found a grave.
know that DER their bones
Have grateful hands piled monumental stones
Some Of those piles Fve seen:
The one at Lexington, upon the green
Where the first blood was shed.
Thatto my country's independence led
And others, on our shore,
The "Baitle Monument" at Baltimore,
And that on Bunker's Hill.
Az, and abroad, few more famous still;
Thy ''Tomb, Themstocles,
That looks out yet upon the Grecian seas,
And which the waters kiss
That issue from the gulfof Salamis.
And thine, too. have seen,
Thy mound Of earth, Patroclus rolled in green,
That, like natural knoll,
Sheep climb and nibble over as they STROLL
Watched by some turbaneI boy,
Upon the margin Of the plain of Troy.
Such hOnoTS grace the bed,
! know whereon the warrior lays his head
And hears. as life Gibbs out,
The conquered flying, and the conquerol's shout
But as his eye grows dim,
What is column or 4 mound to him?
What, to the parting soul,
The mellow note of bugles! What the roll
OF drums No: lei me die
Where the blue heaven bends DER me lovingly,
And the soft summer air.
As it goes by me, stirs my thin white hair,
Aud 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
The world, when round my bed
Wife, children, weeping friends arc gathered,
And the calm voice OF PRAYER
And holy hymning shall nv soul prepare
To 80 and be at rest
With kindred spFits.-spipits who have blessed
The human brotherhood
By labors, cares ard counScls for their good
And in my dying hour
When riches, fame and honor have no power
To bear the spirit up,
Or from my lips to turn aside the cup
That all must drink at last,
Q, lei me draw refreshment from the past!
Then let my soul run back.
With peace and JOY, along my earthly track
And see that all the seeds
That have scattered there in virtuous deeds,
Have sprung up and have given,
Already, fruits of which 10 taste in heaven
And though no grassy mound
Or granite pile say tits heroic ground
Where my remains repose,
Still will Ihope-vain hope, perhaps that thos'
Whom have striven 10 bless,
The wandercr reclaimed, the faIherless,
MAY stand around my grave,
With the poor prisoner, and the poorest slave,
And breathe an humble prayer,
That they may die like him whose bones are
Wondering there.
Gire your Child Nerspaper.-A child be
ginning TO read becomes delighted with