The Banner-Democrat. [volume] (Lake Providence, East Carroll Parish, La.) 1892-current, 1899-09-30
THE BIyoUAC OF THE DEAD.

written by Theodore O'Rara in 1877. Re-
published by request.)
The mnfied drums sad roll has beat
The soldiers last tattoo;
No more on lies parade shall meet
That braven and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tent is spread,
And Glory guards. with solem ROUND,
The blvouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foes advance
Now swells upon the wind:
No troubled thoughts at midnight baunts
Ofloved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warriors dream alarms;
No brayiDg horn nor screaming ME
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed;
Their hauty banner, trailed in dust,
lsnow their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stain 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 passed;
Nor wars wild note nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture OF the fight.
Like the free 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"
Long had the doubtful conflict ragged
Ger all that stricken plain,
For never fercer fight bad waged
The vengeful blood 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 a martyrs grave
The flower of his beloved land.
| The nations flag to save.
BY rivers of their fathers gore
| His trst-born laurels grew,
! And we'll he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory. too.
Full many mothers breath has swept
| Ger ADgostura's plain
| And long the plying sky has swept
| Above its nodded slain.
| The ravens scream or the eagle night,
| Or shepherds pensiye lay
| Alone aWakes each sullen height
That frowned DER that dread fray.
| Sons Of the Dark and Bloody Ground,
Ye must not slumber there,
| Where steps and tongues resound
Along the beedless air.
Your own proud lands heroic soil
Shall be your filter grave;
! She claims from war his richest spoil
The ashes of her brave.
Thus meath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the CORY field,
Borne to q 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 Dy
The heroes sepulcheF.
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footsteps here shall tread
The heritage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps
Or honor points the ha!lowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
liz deathless song shall tell.
When many vanished age hath flown,
The story how We fell.
Nor wreck, nor change. nor winter Diign'
Nor Times remorseless doom,
Shall dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless TOMB.