Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest
Far from the gory field,

Borne to a Spartan mother's breast
On many a bloody shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,

And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes' sepulchre.

Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone

In deathless song shall tell, When many a vanished age

The story how ye fell;

hath flown,

Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor Time's remorseless doom,

Shall dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.

Some Things Love Me

All within and all without me
Feel a melancholy thrill;

And the darkness hangs about me,

Oh, how still;

To my feet, the river glideth

Through the shadow, sullen, dark; On the stream the white moon rideth, Like a barque

And the linden leans above me,

Till I think some things there be In the dreary world that love me, Even me!

Gentle buds are blooming near me,
Shedding sweetest breath around;
Countless voices rise, to cheer me,
From the ground;

And the lone bird comes-I hear it

In the tall and windy pine

Pour the sadness of its spirit

Into mine;

There it swings and sings above me,
Till I think some things there be
In this dreary world that love me,

Even me!

Now the moon hath floated to me,
On the stream I see it sway,

Swinging, boat-like, as 't would woo me

Far away

And the stars bend from the azure,

I could reach them where I lie, And they whisper all the pleasure Of the sky.

There they hang and smile above me, Till I think some things there be In the very heavens that love me, Even me!

The Celestial Army

I stood by the open casement
And looked upon the night,
And saw the westward-going stars
Pass slowly out of sight.

Slowly the bright procession
Went down the gleaming arch,
And my soul discerned the music
Of their long triumphal march;

Till the great celestial army,
Stretching far beyond the poles,
Became the eternal symbol

Of the mighty march of souls.

Onward, forever onward,

Red Mars led down his clan;
And the Moon, like a mailèd maiden,
Was riding in the van.

And some were bright in beauty,

And some were faint and small, But these might be in their great height The noblest of them all.

Downward, forever downward,

Behind Earth's dusky shore
They passed into the unknown night,
They passed and were no more.

No more! Oh, say not so!

And downward is not just;

For the sight is weak and the sense is dim That looks through heated dust.

The stars and the mailèd moon,
Though they seem to fall and die,
Still sweep with their embattled lines
An endless reach of sky.

And though the hills of Death
May hide the bright array,

The marshalled brotherhood of souls
Still keeps its upward way.

Upward, forever upward,

I see their march sublime,
And hear the glorious music
Of the conquerors of Time.

And long let me remember,

That the palest, fainting one
May to diviner vision be

A bright and blazing sun.

Sheridan's Ride

Up from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

And wider still those billows of war,
Thundered along the horizon's bar;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold,
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.