Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1871-08-02

sta, and whose bodies were taken from battle feel
Id re-interred in Frankfort
The muffied drums sad roll has beat
The soldiers last tattoo:
No more on hfes parade shall meet
The brave and fallen few:
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
While Glory guards with solemn round
The Blyousc of the Dead,
No rumor Of the foes advance
Now sweeps upon the wiad
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Our loved ones left behind
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warriors dream alarms:
No braying horn, no screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust.
Their plumed heads are bowed,
Their naughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud:
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, in battle gashed,
Are freed from anguish now.
The neighlng troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's thrilling blast;
The charge, the dreadful cannonnade,
The din and shouts are past.
Nor Wars wild note nor Glory's peal,
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts which never more may feel
The raptures of the fight.
For like the dreadful hurricane
That sweeps the wild plateau,
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,
Came down the serried foe.
Who heard the tempest of the fray
Break DER the field beneath,
Well knew the watchword of that day
Was "Victory or Death -
Long had the doubtful conflict ragged
Across the surging plain;
For meier before such fight had waged
The fiery sons of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the CORY tide.
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.
Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to martyrs grave,
The flower of his own loved land
The Nations flag to save,
BY rivers of their fathers gore
His irst-born laures grew;
And well he deemed their sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.
Full many northern blast has swept
Ger Angosturias plain
And long her plying skies have went
Above the Wondering slain
The raven 6 scream, the eagles flight,
Or shepherds pensive lay
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned on that dread day.
Sons of the " Dark and Bloody Ground -
Ye should not slumber there,
Where strangers steps and tongues resound
Along the needless air.
Your own proud lands heroic soil
Must be your filter grave;
She claims from War its richest spoil
The ashes of the brave.
Now meath this parent turf they rest
Far from the CORY field;
Borne to a Spartans mothers breast
On many bloody shield.
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The soldiers sepulchre.
XII.
Rest on, enbalmed and sainted dead,
Dear as the blood We gave;
No impious footstep here shall tread
The heritage of your grave.
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.
XII.
Yon faithful Heralds blazoned stone
With mourntul pride shah tell,
When many vanished age has flown
The story howye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winters fight,
Nor Times remorseless doom.
Shall mar one ray of iIory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.