University of Virginia Library

Such were the words, unvoiced by lip or tongue,
The thought-enwoven themes, the mental song
Of One, high placed, beside the slumberer's bower,
In the stern, silent chieftainship of power.
A War-king, seated on his saddle throne,
A listener to no counsels but his own,
The soldier leader of a soldier band,
Whose prescient skill, quick eye, and brief command,
Have won for him, on many a field of fame,
The immortality of a victor's name.
His troops, in thousands, now are marching by,
Heart-homage seen in each saluting eye,
And sword, and lance, and banner, bowing down
In tributary grace, before his bright renown.
And on, and on, as rank on rank appears,
Come, fast and loud, the thrice-repeated cheers
From voices of brave men whose life-long cry
Has been with him to live, for him to die.
Their plumes and pennons dancing in the breeze,
With leaves and flowers of overarching trees,
Timing their steps to tunes of flute and fife,
And trump and drum, the joy of soldier life,
While o'er them wave, proud banner of the free!
Thy sky-born stars and glorious colors three,
All beauteous in each interwoven hue
Of summer's rainbow, spanning earth and sea,
The rose's red and white, the violet's heavenly blue,
Emblems of valor, purity, and truth,
Long may they charm the air in ever-smiling youth!
And now the rearmost files are hurrying by,
Closing the gorgeous scene of pomp and pageantry;
And far, far off, on wings of distance borne,
Speed the faint echoes of the trump and horn,
Plaintively breathing partings and farewells,
Solemn and sad as tones of tocsin-bells,
But triumphed o'er by voices that prolong
The wild war-music of the manlier song,
That bids the soldier's heart beat quick and gay,
The song of “O'er the hills and far away.”

And now, beside the slumberer's couch of leaves,
His parting web of thought the warrior chieftain weaves.

How sweetly the Boy in the beauty is sleeping
Of Life's sunny morning of hope and of youth!
May his guardian angels, their watch o'er him keeping,
Keep his evening and noon in the pathways of truth!
Ah me! what delight it would give me to wake him,
And lead him wherever my life-banners wave,
O'er the pathways of glory and honor to take him,
And teach him the lore of the bold and the brave;

And when the war-clouds and their fierce storm of water,
O'er the land that we love their outpourings shall cease,
Bid him bear to her Ark, from her last field of slaughter,
Upon Victory's wings, the green olive of Peace;

And when the death-note of my bugle has sounded,
And memorial tears are embalming my name,
By young hearts like his may the grave be surrounded
Where I sleep my last sleep in the sunbeams of fame.
Summoned to duty by his charger's neighs,
The only summons that his pride obeys,
He bows his farewell blessing, and is gone—
In quiet heedlessness the Boy sleeps on.