REST on your battle-fields, ye brave! Let the pines murmur o'er your grave, Your dirge be in the moaning wave -- We call you back no more! Oh! there was mourning when ye fell, In your own vales a deep-toned knell, An agony, a wild farewell -- But that hath long been o'er. Rest with your still and solemn fame; The hills keep record of your name, And never can a touch of shame Darken the buried brow. But we on changeful days are cast, When bright names from their place fall fast; And ye that with your glory passed, We cannot mourn you now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HUSKERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER PHILOCTETES: PHILOCTETES CALLS FOR DEATH by AESCHYLUS THE LEPRECAUN, OR THE FAIRY SHOEMAKER by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM CLOD OF THE EARTH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |