The Marlboro democrat. [volume] (Bennettsville, S.C.) 1882-1908, 1901-04-05
THE DIvoUAo OF THE DEAD.

Written BY Theodore O'Hara in 1847
The muflled drum cad roll has boat
The soldiers last tattoo; #
No moro on life's parade shall meet
That bravo aud fallen few
On fame's Q ernal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guarcs, with solemn round,
The bivouao Of the dead.
No rumor Of tho foe q advance,
Now Bwells upon the wind:
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Ofloved ones left behind; 81
No vision of the MORO as strife
The warriors dream alarms:
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shtll call to arms.
Their shiverod swords are red with rust
Their plumed heads are bowed; 4
Their baughty banner, trailed In duet,
ls now their martial shroud, IF
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, tho flashing blade,
The bugles stirring blast;
The charge, the dreadful oannonade,
The din and shout, are passed; IA
Nor wars wild note nor glorys peal
ehall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that neyermore may feel
The rapture ofthe fight. s.
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 frey XII
Break Der tho field beneath,
Know we'll tho wate hword Of that day
Was victory or DEATH
Lcng Ind tho doubtful oonfliot ragged
. or all the stricken plain, d 4 N
For never fieroer fight had waged Y
The yengeful blood Of SpsiD;
And Btill the storm of battle blew,
Still swolled the CORY tide;
Not long our stout old ohioftain knew
Suoh odds hts streneth could bide. y
Twas In that hour this stern command
Called to q martyrs grave
Tho flower Of his beloved land,
The nations flag to save. a5
By rivers Of their fathers gore 8
| His frat born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory, too. 5
Full many q norther's breath has swept
Der Angostura's plain
And long tho plying sky has wept
| Above It's mouldered slain.
The raven d. scream or eagles flight,
Or shepherds penslve lay
Alone aWakes oaoh sullen height
That froWned Ger that dread frayf,l.
Sons Of tho da:k and bloody ground,
Ye muet not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues rosound
along the hoedless air. .s 3
Your own proud land heroic soil
Shall be your filter grave; & III .,. &
She claims from war hts rioheat spoil
Tho ashes Of her bravo. &,
Thus meath their parent turf thoy rest,
Far from tho CORY field,
Borno to a Spartan mothers breast is
On many q bloody shield,
Tho sunshine Of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them bere,
And kindred eyes and he arts watch by
The heroes hepnlohre. Kan B s
Rest on, embalmed and sainted deadi
Dear as the blood We gave; l ~ Is u u 81
No impious footsteps hefe shall tread
Tho h9rbage Of your grave, Ia
Nor shall your glory DO forgot s
While fame her record ksops;i M ilIS r 4
Or honor paint the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleops.s sf
.Yon marble minalrols 8 yoiceless sfons li
,S In deathlshs song shall tell, s Is; "a
When many q vanished age hath Town. q
Tho story. how ye fell. HI .l1syi3: 's,Sia3