The Irish standard., 1904-07-16
BIvouAc OF THE DEAD. 9
Thsodors O'H.ra's Immortal Poem
Written Fifty Years Ago.

Sloll VI tlle removal Oh NellluckH uelu
from their graves in Mexico to the soil
of their native state They We're laid
in the Frankfort Cemetery, among the
rugged hills where the memorial col
umn to Daniel Boone rears its head,
and over their graves-upon the soil
destined to be his own last resting
place-O'Hara read this poem, without
a thought, probably, that he was send
ing his own fame down the ages.
O'Hara was born in Danville, Ky,
in 1920, and died in 1867. He was
the son of Kane OHara, who emil
grated from Ireland and settled in
Kentucky about 100 years ago, and,
although it is Il matter on which little
light can now be shed, it is not i'm
probable that Theodores father was
either son or or grandson of Kane
O'Hara, famous farce writer and wit
of Dublin, Ireland, in the latter part
of the eighteenth century
In 1874 Kentucky had her poet sons
remains brought to Frankfort and
placed in the midst of these former
Mexican comrades. There, in silence,
save for the weird cawing if the crows
in the giant pines overhead, and the
occasional distant tinkle of bell as
the cattle go to and from the fields,
they rest to-day, the spot marked by
handsomely carved slab and guard
ed by several weather. Worn field pieces
that roared out death to the nations
foes on some of the blOodiest fields of
the Mexican war.
John \. Buckner, i'll youth friend
of OHara's, has recently declared
''The Bivouac of the Dead" to be the
one perfect and universal martial
elegy that the world has known. In
proof of it. lie states that without any
form of exploitation or advertisement
the poem has spread throughout the
world and has been appropriated by
all English speaking people to COM
memorate their soldier dead.
1t is said that every national GENE
terry in the United States has utilized
some portion of this poem for memoir
ial purposes and in Washington, An
tietam and other cemeteries of the
nations dead, the entire poem is dis
played, verse by verse, on series of
slabs arranged along the pathway
ErT 1o %ho
this poem to mark the monuments to
her fallen sons in the far-of Crimea,
though without knowing the identity of
the author. it is said.-Catholic Jour-
nal
The mutlied 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 Eivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foes advance
A\OW SNeliS uI1Oll tllt' WIlu,
No troubled thought at midnight
haunts
OF loved ones left behind:
No vision of the lnorrow's strife
The warriors dream alarms;
No Drawing horn or 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 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 shrill 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 the triumph yet to gain,
Comes 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
Der all that stricken plain.
For never fiercer 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,
Sush 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 first-born laurels grew,
And we'll he deemed the sons would