BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD The muffled drums sad roll has beat The soldiers last tattoo; No more on lifes parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On Fames eternal camping-ground Their silent tents are spread, And Glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead. No rumor of the foes advance Now swells upon the wind; Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts Of loved ones left behind; No vision of the morrows strife The warriors dream alarms; No braying horn nor screaming fife At dawn shall call to arms. Their shriveled swords are red with rust, Their plumed heads are bowed, Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, Is now their martial shroud. And plenteous funeral tears have washed The red stains from each brow, And the proud forms, by battle gashed Are free from anguish now. The neighing troop, the flashing blade, The bugles stirring blast, The charge, the dreadful cannonade, The din and shout, are past; Nor wars wild note nor glorys peal Shall thrill with fierce delight Those breasts that nevermore may feel The rapture of the fight. Like the fierce northern hurricane That sweeps the great plateau, Flushed with the triumph yet to gain, Came down the serried foe, Who heard the thunder of the fray Break oer the field beneath, Knew well the watchword of that day Was Victory or death! Long had the doubtful conflict raged Oer all that stricken plain, For never fiercer fight had waged The vengeful blood of Spain; And still the storm of battle blew, Still swelled the gory tide; Not long, our stout old chieftain knew, Such odds his strength could bide. Twas in that hour his stern command Called to a martyrs grave The flower of his beloved land, The nations flag to save. By rivers of their fathers gore His first-born laurels grew, And well he deemed the sons would pour Their lives for glory too. For many a mothers breath has swept Oer Angosturas plain -- And long the pitying sky has wept Above its moldered slain. The ravens scream, or eagles flight, Or shepherds pensive lay, Alone awakes each sullen height That frowned oer that dread fray. Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground Ye must not slumber there, Where stranger steps and tongues resound Along the heedless air. Your own proud lands heroic soil Shall be your fitter grave; She claims from war his richest spoil -- The ashes of her brave. Thus neath their parent turf they rest, Far from the gory field, Borne to a Spartan mothers 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 sepulcher. Rest on embalmed and sainted dead! Dear as the blood ye gave; No impious footstep shall here tread The herbage of your grave; Nor shall your glory be forgot While fame her records keeps, Or Honor points the hallowed spot Where Valor proudly sleeps. Yon marble minstrels voiceless stone In deathless song shall tell, When many a vanquished ago has flown, The story how ye fell; Nor wreck, nor change, nor winters blight, Nor Times remorseless doom, Shall dim one ray of glorys light That gilds your deathless tomb. Bivouac of the Dead appears at every National Cemetery in the country, but never in complete form. Generally excerpted stanzas adorn simple plaques or signs throughout the grounds. Originally written to commemorate the Battle of Buena Vista during the Mexican American War it quickly came to represent the sacrifice of our nations war dead from all conflicts. For more information, check out the comprehensive history of the poem on the Veterans Affairs website. cem.va.gov/cem/history/bivouac.asp
Posted on: Mon, 11 Nov 2013 06:49:49 +0000
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