The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1906-09-15
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The BivOuac of the Dead.
The mufied drums sad rol, ha: beat
The soldiers last tattoo;
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On flames eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
Aud 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 haunt
VI loved ones left behind;
No vision Of the morrow's strife
The warriors dream alarms;
No braying horn nor screaming dfs
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust
Iheir plumed heads are bowed;
Iheir naughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washet
| The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashsd.
| Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troops, the flashing blade.
The bugle's stirring blast.
The charge, the dreadful cannonada
Ihe din and shout, are past;
NO wars wild note nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
1nose 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 Ger the field beneath,
Knew well the watchword Of that day
Was Victory or Death"
Long had the doubtful conflict raRed
yer all that stricken plain,
For never fercer fight had wased
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 bids,
Twas in that hour his stern command
The flower of his beloved land.
The nations flag to save.
BY rivers of their fathers gore
His frst-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory, too.
Full many a norther's breath has swept
Ger Angostura's plain,
And long the plying sky has wept
Above Its mouldered slain.
The ravens scream, or eagles flight,
Or shepherds pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned DER that dread FRAY.
Sons OF the Dark and Bloody Ground.
You 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 his richest small
The ashes Of her brave.
Thus meath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the CORY field,
DoI no " spartan m0therS 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 heroes sepulchre.
Rest on. embalmed and sainted deadt
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footstep here shall tread
The heritage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps.
0 Honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless sto
In deathless song shall tell,
When many vanished age hath flo,
The story how We fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor W.,
blight,
Nor Times remorseless doom.
Shall dim one ray Of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.
Theodore O'Hara.