THOU didst fall in the field with thy silver hair, And a banner in thy hand; Thou wert laid to rest from thy battles there By a proudly mournful band. In the camp, on the steed, to the bugle's blast, Thy long bright years had sped; And a warrior's bier was thine at last, When the snows had crowned thy head. Many had fallen by thy side, old chief! Brothers and friends, perchance; But thou wert yet as the fadeless leaf, And light was in thy glance. The soldier's heart at thy step leaped high, And thy voice the war-horse knew; And the first to arm, when the foe was nigh, Wert thou, the bold and true. Now mayest thou slumber, -- thy work is done, -- Thou of the well-worn sword! From the stormy fight in thy fame thou 'rt gone, But not to the festal board. The corn-sheaves whisper thy grave around, Where fiery blood hath flowed; O, lover of battle and trumpet-sound! Thou art couched in a still abode! A quiet home from the noonday's glare, And the breath of the wintry blast, -- Didst thou toil through the days of thy silvery hair To win thee but this at last? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOUVENIR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LAMENT FOR THE MAKARIS [WHEN HE WAS SEIK] by WILLIAM DUNBAR THE STIRRUP-CUP by SIDNEY LANIER SONNET: DANTE (1) by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI SONG OF SHERWOOD by ALFRED NOYES IAMBICUM TRIMETRUM, FR. LETTER TO HARVEY by EDMUND SPENSER |