How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their kneel is rung By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LWONESOMENESS by WILLIAM BARNES FONTENOY, 1745: 2. AFTER THE BATTLE, EARLY DAWN, CLARE COAST by EMILY LAWLESS THE WRITER'S JOURNAL: POSSESSION by BAYARD TAYLOR AN EARNEST SUIT [TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORESAKE HIM] by THOMAS WYATT |