Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1886-08-11
Seletted gaetry.
THE BIvOUAC OF THE DEAD.

THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD.
[Of the thousands who have read or
listened to the famous and pathetic war
poem entitled "The Bivouac Of the
Dead,,' but few, probably, have ever
heard the story of the authors life. The
author of this beautiful poem, Colonel
Theodore O'Hara was widely known as
a poet, especially in the Southern States,
where he ranked high among the best
journalists. On the breaking out OF hos
tilities with Mexico, in 1916, he joined
the army, and crossed the Rio Grande, to
uphold the honor of the stars and stripes
in the land of Montezuma,. and in the
campaign that followed, gained bril-
liant fighting record; and at its close,
when the State of kentucky honored her
citizens who had fallen in the struggle,
by gathering their remains for final in
terment in Frankfort cemetery, where
she erected q monument to perpetuate
their bravery and fidelity to their coun-
try, he was one of the first among his
countrymen to remember those who
stood side by side with him in the hour OF
battle. It was then, and not after the
late war between the States as many er-
roneously suppose, that he wrote "Ihe
Bivouac of the Dead.'
. In the late war between the North and
South, he served on the staff OF General
Albert Sidney Johnston, OF the Confed,
crate Army, where he again sustained
his record as braye soldier. After the
surrender of Lee, Col. OHara went to
Columbus, Ga, where, in company with
Captain J. J. Grant, he conducted the
Planters warehouse, until it was de-
stroyed by fire. Leaving Columbus, ne
went to Mobile, Ala, lin which city ne
became connected with the Daily Reg
lister, but his health being somewhat i'm.
paired by the fatigue and hardships OF
two wars, he retired from Journalism,
and returned to Columbus, and from
thence he went to the home of Captain
Grant, where he died in 1867. The poem
follows.]
The muffled drums sad roll has beat
The soldiers last tattoo!
Nomore on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camplng-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac Of the dead.
No rumor of the foes advance
Now swells upon the wind,
Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind.
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warriors dream alarms;
No Drawing horn, no screaming hfe,
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 by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blades,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past.
Nor wars wild notes, 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 we'll the watchword of that day
Was "Victory or death"
Full many norther's breath has swept
Ger Angostura's plain,
And long the plying sky has wept
Above it's moldered' slain,
The ravens scream, or eagle flight,
or shepherds pensive lay, 80
Alone now wake each solemn height
That frowned DER that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground,
.Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues re-
sound
Along the needless air.
Your own proud lands heroic soil
Shall be your filter grave;
She claims from war it's rigcest spoil
The ashes Of her brave.
Thus meath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the glory field,
Borne to a 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 hero's sepulcher.
Rest on. embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear is the blood you gave;
No impious footsteps here shall tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot,
While Fame her record keeps,
Or honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many vanished tear hath flown,
The story how you fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winters
blight,
Nor Times remorseless doom,
Can dim one ray Of holy light
That gilds your glorious tomb.