Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1901-06-07

terry at Washington the famous first
stanza is engraved, and there as at An
tictam and other national cemeteries, the
entire poem is reproduced, stanza by
stanza, on slabs placed along the drive
way.
OHara lies in the burying ground at
Frankfort. Ky. with only the inscription
ON a simple slab of marble, which says
THEODORE O1HARA,
Major \. d. c.
Died June G. 1861
Below is copy of his poem in rull,
written on the occasion of the removal
of the Kentucky dead from Mexico TO
their native state after the war with that
country.
The Bvouac of the Dead.
Written by Theodore OIIara in 1911
The muhied drums sad roll has beat
The soldiers last tattoo;
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
on fames eternal camping 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;
No troubled thoughts at midnight haunts
OF loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrows strife
The warriors dream alarms;
No braying horn nor 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 penteous 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 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 fierce northern hurricane
That sweeps his great plateau,
Flushed with triumph yet to gain,
Came down the serred 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 the stricken plain,
For never fercer fight had 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 i'm 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 hrst-horn laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory, too.
Full many n norther's breath has swept
Ger Angostura's plain
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its mouldered slain.
The ravens scream or eagles flight,
Or shepherds pensive lay
Alone awakcs each silent height
That frowned DER that dread fray.
Sons of the dark and bloody ground,
We must not sumber 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 his richest spoil
The ashes of her brave.
Thus meath their parent turf they rest
Far from the CORY field,
Borne to a Spartan mothers breast
on many n 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 as the blood you gave;
| No impious footsteps here shall tread
The heritage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory he forgot
While fame her record keeps
| Or honor paints the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps
| Yon marble mnstrels voiceless stone
| In deathless song shall tell,
| When many a vanished age hath noWh,
The story how you fell.
! Nor wreck, nor change, nor winters
blight
Nor times remorseless doom,
| Shall dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.