 | The bells |  |
106
WITH THE STARS AND THE STRIPES AROUND HIM.
“We found him as he had fallen from his horse, his sword still firmly grasped in his hand, and the flag he had died defending, drawn across his breast. He looked as though he had gone to sleep, expecting every moment to be roused by a call to arms. There was not a clear eye among us, when one of his friends severed two ringlets from the many that clustered on his forehead, to “send home” to his mother and betrothed. He was buried as he was found—the flag, the sword, the soldier, in one grave!”—
Letters from the Rio Grande.
Let him lie i' the dark narrow grave you have made,
Let him lie, as when dead, you found him;
Let him sleep with his hand on the dinted blade,
And the stars and the stripes around him!
But first cut a lock from his long chestnut hair
For one that the hero left weeping;
And another “send home,” and with them tell where
The son and the lover are sleeping.
Let him lie, as when dead, you found him;
Let him sleep with his hand on the dinted blade,
And the stars and the stripes around him!
But first cut a lock from his long chestnut hair
For one that the hero left weeping;
And another “send home,” and with them tell where
The son and the lover are sleeping.
107
When long winter nights, at the home of his birth,
Are shortened with legend and story,
Some voice in the household will tell of his worth,
And speak of his death and his glory;
And fancy will picture the place where he sleeps,
Beside him the blue winding river,
The long sloping flats where the chaparral sweeps,
And Summer breathes softly forever.
Are shortened with legend and story,
Some voice in the household will tell of his worth,
And speak of his death and his glory;
And fancy will picture the place where he sleeps,
Beside him the blue winding river,
The long sloping flats where the chaparral sweeps,
And Summer breathes softly forever.
The mother will weep as she thinks of “her boy,”
The ties that so tenderly bound him;
But the lad at her side will think 'twere a joy
To sleep with a banner around him!
And she, the dark-eyed and the beautiful one,
Who waited so long for her lover,
Will fall asleep tearful, and dream until morn
Of the joys and the love-meetings over.
The ties that so tenderly bound him;
But the lad at her side will think 'twere a joy
To sleep with a banner around him!
And she, the dark-eyed and the beautiful one,
Who waited so long for her lover,
Will fall asleep tearful, and dream until morn
Of the joys and the love-meetings over.
When another shall kneel at the feet of the fair
To win her with sighs and with vowing,
She'll tell him her heart, as he pleading kneels there,
Is tombed where a river is flowing.
The ringlet you cut from the pale marble brow
Of our comrade, warrior-hearted,
She'll press to her lips, and remember her vow
Of faith to the dear one departed.
To win her with sighs and with vowing,
She'll tell him her heart, as he pleading kneels there,
Is tombed where a river is flowing.
108
Of our comrade, warrior-hearted,
She'll press to her lips, and remember her vow
Of faith to the dear one departed.
Lead the war-horse back to the cool hazel-hurst
Where the mild Merrimack is roving;
When his eye grows dim he'll be tenderly nurst
By those that will never cease loving.
Lead the war-horse back! There's a horrible stain
On the saddle seat, ah, and gory!
'Tis the heart's blood of one for his Country slain—
Death, death is the price of all glory!
Where the mild Merrimack is roving;
When his eye grows dim he'll be tenderly nurst
By those that will never cease loving.
Lead the war-horse back! There's a horrible stain
On the saddle seat, ah, and gory!
'Tis the heart's blood of one for his Country slain—
Death, death is the price of all glory!
Let him sleep by the wave of the Rio Grande
With no proud sculptured urn above him,
There are tablets enough in his own dear land,
The sorrowing, sad hearts that love him.
Let him lie i' the dark narrow grave you have made,
Let him lie as when dead, you found him,
Let him sleep with his hand on the dinted blade
And the stars and the stripes around him!
With no proud sculptured urn above him,
There are tablets enough in his own dear land,
The sorrowing, sad hearts that love him.
Let him lie i' the dark narrow grave you have made,
Let him lie as when dead, you found him,
Let him sleep with his hand on the dinted blade
And the stars and the stripes around him!
| The bells | |