 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
154
THE BURIAL OF THE WARRIOR
'Tis over—they have laid him down,
The warrior—to his dreamless rest,
The last turf by his comrades thrown,
Is gathered o'er his princely breast;
They may not view his form again,
For their last look was taken when,
They found him on the battle plain,
Among his slaughtered men.
The warrior—to his dreamless rest,
The last turf by his comrades thrown,
Is gathered o'er his princely breast;
They may not view his form again,
For their last look was taken when,
They found him on the battle plain,
Among his slaughtered men.
[OMITTED]
The wakeless slumbers of the dead,
Hath chilled the warrior's form, and now,
With tearless eyes, his comrades tread
The trembling earth that hides his brow.
Darkly and gloomily they stand,
Above their chieftain's cold abode;
They mourn the proudest of their band,
But not a tear hath flowed.
Hath chilled the warrior's form, and now,
With tearless eyes, his comrades tread
The trembling earth that hides his brow.
Darkly and gloomily they stand,
Above their chieftain's cold abode;
They mourn the proudest of their band,
But not a tear hath flowed.
Oh! how unlike the friends that crowd
Where sleep the truly virtuous dead!
Oh! how unlike the mourners bowed
Around affliction's hallowed bed!
As lingers in the glowing west,
Of living light, a glorious flood
So lives within affection's breast,
The memory of the good.
Where sleep the truly virtuous dead!
Oh! how unlike the mourners bowed
Around affliction's hallowed bed!
As lingers in the glowing west,
Of living light, a glorious flood
So lives within affection's breast,
The memory of the good.
But 'tis not sleep—that dread repose
Which gathers round the warrior dead,
For 'tis not like the sleep of those
Where peace and piety has led,
For round his grave in midnight hours,
The victims of his strife shall come,
And love shall twine no wreath of flowers
Around his haunted tomb.
Which gathers round the warrior dead,
For 'tis not like the sleep of those
Where peace and piety has led,
For round his grave in midnight hours,
The victims of his strife shall come,
And love shall twine no wreath of flowers
Around his haunted tomb.
Stanzas 1, 5, 6, 7 Haverhill Gazette, September 15, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |