Ogden Evening Standard | 1911-06-17 | Page 15 | The Bivouac

oo THE BIVOUAC. In each of the eighty-three national cemeteries in the United States there is a bronze tablet bearing in whlto letters the following poem by Colonel Theodore O'Hara, which is published by request: Tho muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo; No more on life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal camping ground Their silent tents are spread, And glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of tho dead. i Xo rumor of the foe's advance Now swells upon the wind; No troubled thought at midnight haunts - Of loved ones left behind; No vision of tho morrow's strife The warrior's dream alarms; No braving horn or screaming fife At dawn shall call to arms. Their shivered swords are rod with rust; Their plumed heads are bowed; Their haughty banner, trailed in dUBt Is now their martial shroud; And plenteous funeral tears havo washed The rod stains from each brow; And tho proud forms, by battle gashed, Are free from anguish now. The neighing troop, the flashing blade, The bugle's stirring blast, Tho charge, the dreadful cannonade. Tho din and shout, are past. Not war's wild note, nor glory's peal, Shall thrill with fierce delight Those breasts that nevermore may feel Tho rapturo of the fight. Llko the fierce northern hurricane That sweops his great plateau, Flushed with the triumph yet to gain, Comes down the serried foe. Who heard the thunder of the fray Break o'er the field beneath, Know well the watchword of that dny Was "Victory, or death!" Full many a mother's breath has swept O'er Angostura's plain, And long tho pitying sky has wept Above 11b moldered slain. Tho raven's scream, or eagle's flight, Or shepherd's pensive lay. Alono now wakes each solemn height That frowned o'er that dread "fray. Sons 6f the Dark and Bloody Ground, Yo must not slumber there. Whcro stranger steps and tongues rc- sound Along the heedless air! Your own proud land's heroic soil Shall bo your fitter grave: She claims from war its richest spoil Tho aahcB of her brave. 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 nnd hearts watch by The heroes' sepulcher. Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead! Dear as the blood ye gave, No impious footstep here shall tread Tho berbago of your grave: Nor shall your glory be forgot Whllo Fame her record keeps , Or honor points the hallowed spot Whcro valor proudly sleops. Yon marble minstrel's volcoleflR stone In deathless song shall tell, When many a vanished year hath flown, The story how ye fell. Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight. Nor time's remorseless doom, Can dim one ray of holy light That gilds your glorious tomb. THEODORE O'HARA.