COLD, cold is the north wind and rude is the blast That sweeps like a hurricane loudly and fast, As it moans through the tall waving pines lone and drear, Sighs a requiem sad o'er the warrior's bier. The war-whoop is still, and the savage's yell Has sunk into silence along the wild dell; The din of the battle, the tumult, is o'er, And the war-clarion's voice is now heard no more. The warriors that fought for their country, and bled, Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed; No stone tells the place where their ashes repose, Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes. They died in their glory, surrounded by fame, And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim; They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROAD TO FRANCE by DANIEL MACINTYRE HENDERSON AUGUST SUNSET OVER LAKE CHAMPLAIN by FRANK A. BALCH SONG; IN IMITATION OF SHAKESPEARE'S 'BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND' by JAMES BEATTIE PROVERBS 31:25-29. THE MOTHER OF THE HOUSE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE HILLS WE LOVE by GRACE LOWE BROADHEAD |