The Aberdeen examiner. [volume] (Aberdeen, Miss.) 1866-current, 1883-05-24
Thursday, May "a. 1883.
THE BEVDUAC OF THE DEAD.
FEBRUARY 22-23, 1877.

This poem was written to commence
rate the bringing home of the bodies of
the Kentucky soldiers who fell nj Buena
Vista, and their burial at Frankfort at
the cost of the State. The author was a
Kentucky soldier in the Mexican War,
and on Breckenridge's Staff in the Con-
federate: Army.
The mufIled drums sad roll has beat
The soldier last tattoo.
no more Oh LIES parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On flames eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
Anu ss.plS Sudida, mltn suiSnAn round,
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foes advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought ut midnight haunte
OF loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warriors dream alarms;
No braying horn, nor screaming fife,
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shiyered 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, by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannOnade,
The din and shout are past;
Nor wars wild note nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that never more may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the fierce northern hurricane
That sweeps his great plateau,
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,
Came down the serried foe.
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break DER the field beneath,
Knew well the watchword of that day
Was victory or DEATH
Long had the doubtful conflict ragged
Ger MI that stricken plain.
For never Eercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood OF Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the CORY toe;
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew.
such odds his strength could bide.
Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to Il martyrs grave
The flower of his beloved land,
The nations flag to save:
By rivers OF their fathers gore
His tirst-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the SONS would pour
Their lives for glory.
F1lll many norther's breath has swept
Ger Angostura'5 plain
Aud long the plying sky has wept
Above the Wondering slain.
The raven . scream, or eagles flight,
Or shepherds peusiye lay,
Alone awakeS each suilen height
That trowned DER that dread fray.
Sons Of tho Dark and Bloody Ground,
Ee must not Slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues re-
sound
Along the needless air.
Your own proud lands heroic soil
Shall be your litter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil
The ashes of her brave.
30, meath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the CORY field
Borne to Spartan mothers breast.
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.
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead,
Dear rs the blood ye gave,
No nnpious footstep here shall tread
The heritage OF your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the halowed spot
Where VaiOr proudly sleeps.
Ton marble lninstrel5 voiceless stone,
In deathless song 5uall tell,
When many vanished age hath down,
The story how we fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winters
blight,
Nor Times remorseless doom,
Shall dim one ray of glOry's light,
That gildS your de4thiesS tomb.
THEODORE O'HARA.