mellontwo

Bivouac Of The Dead
written by Theodore O"Hara

The muffled drums sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo.
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.

Your own proud land's heroic soil
Must be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil,
The ashes of the grave.

No rumor of the foe's advance
Now sweeps upon the wind,
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind.

No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms.
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.

The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast.
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past.

On fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.

Rest on embalmed and sainted dead.
Dear as the blood ye gave.
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave.