 | Poems by Two Brothers |  |
124
THE BATTLE-FIELD
“When all is o'er, it is humbling to tread
“O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead!”
Byron.
“O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead!”
Byron.
The heat and the chaos of contest are o'er,
To mingle no longer—to madden no more:
And the cold forms of heroes are stretch'd on the plain;
Those lips cannot breathe thro' the trumpet again!
To mingle no longer—to madden no more:
And the cold forms of heroes are stretch'd on the plain;
Those lips cannot breathe thro' the trumpet again!
For the globes of destruction have shatter'd their might,
The swift and the burning—and wrapt them in night:
Like lightning, electric and sudden they came;
They took but their life, and they left them their fame!
The swift and the burning—and wrapt them in night:
Like lightning, electric and sudden they came;
They took but their life, and they left them their fame!
125
I heard, oh! I heard, when, with barbarous bray,
They leapt from the mouth of the cannon away;
And the loud-rushing sound of their passage in air
Seem'd to speak in a terrible language—“Beware!”
They leapt from the mouth of the cannon away;
And the loud-rushing sound of their passage in air
Seem'd to speak in a terrible language—“Beware!”
Farewell to ye, Chieftains! to one and to all,
Who this day have perish'd by sabre or ball;
Ye cannot awake from your desolate sleep—
Unbroken and silent and dreamless and deep!
Who this day have perish'd by sabre or ball;
Ye cannot awake from your desolate sleep—
Unbroken and silent and dreamless and deep!
C. T.
| Poems by Two Brothers | |