New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, 1867-05-01
Ae,r 0rlsans 8ept.bliea;s,
Official Journal of the United States.
THE BIvOUAC OF THE DEAD.


THE conclusion of the frs, stanxa' of the foowin
'oem is used IS an inscription for some Of our NJ
ioual Cemeter es and there has been considerabl
INQUIRY as to its origin. The poem was written
Japt. oHara. Of Kentucky, on the occasion of tn
smoval to the Cemetery at Frankfort, of the r.
mains Of Kentucky soldiers who fell at Busna Vista
The muftied drums sad roll has beat
The soldiers last tattoo
No more on lIfes parade shall meet
That brave and alen few.
On tame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round,
The bivouac Of the dead.
No rumor Of the foe advance
Now sweeps upon the wind.
No troubled thought, at midnigh;s hsunts,
Of loved ones lett behind.
No vision of the morrows strife,
The warriors dreams alarms;
Nor braying horn. nor screaming hfs,
At dawn shall call TO srms
Their shivered swords are red tn rust,
Their plumed hi ass rs bowed,
Their haugnty banner, traileo in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And penteous funeral tears have washed
The red stsins from each brow,
And the proud forms. BY battle gashed
Are freed from anguish now.
The neighboriug troop, the flashing blade,
The bugles stirring blast,
The charge. the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past;
Nor war wild note, nor glory's peal,
shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that never more may feel
The raptures of the fight
For like the dreaJful hurricane
That sweeps the wild plateau.
Flushed with the triumph set to gain,
Came down the serried foe;
Who heard the tempest of the fray
r Break Ter the field beneath,
Knew well the watchword of that day
Was Victory or death.
Long had the doubtful conflict ragged
Across the surginx plain,
For ne,er such fight before bad wagei
The fiery sons of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew.
Not long our stout oid chieftsiu knew,
Such odds his strength could bide
Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to mar yrs grave,
The flower of his own beloved land,
The nations flag TO save.
By rivers OF their fathers gore
His first born lsprels grew,
Avid well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too
Full many a Northern breath had swept
Ger AnRosturas plain,
And long the plying sky hsth vept
Above her moulderIng slain
The raven scream, or eagle flight,
Or shepherds pensiye lay
Alene Awakes each sullen height
That frowned on that dread fray.
Sons of the clark and bloody ground"
We should not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the needless air.
Your own proud lands heroic soil
Must be your filter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil
The ashes of the brave.
Now meath their paten. turf they rest,
Far fr m the CORY field
Borne to Spartan mothers breast
On many bloody shield
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly them here,
And kindred eyes aud hearts watch by
The soldiers sepulchre.
Rest on, embalmed and santed dead,
Dear as the blood ye gave
No impious footstep here shall tread
The heritage of your grave.
Nor shall your glory be forgst
While fame her record keeps,
Our honor points the hallowed spot
Where vAlor proudly sleeps.
ion fsithful herald's baloned stone
With mournfu pride shall tell.
When many a vanished age hath flown,
The story how ye fell
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter EIght,
Nor time remorseless doom,
Shall mar one ray of Rlorys light
That gilds your deathless tomb.