"HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE" "SOLDIER, REST! THY WARFARE O'ER” From "The Lady of the Lake SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more: Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Huntsman, rest! the chase is done; While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not, with the rising sun, Sleep! the deer is in his den; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; For at dawning to assail ye Here no bugles sound reveille. Walter Scott [1771-1832] "PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS" PEACE to the slumberers! They lie on the battle-plain, With no shroud to cover them; The dew and the summer rain And all that sweep over them. Vain was their bravery!— The fallen oak lies where it lay Across the wintry river; But brave hearts, once swept away, Are gone, alas! forever. Vain was their bravery! Woe to the conqueror! Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs Of whom his sword bereft us, Ere we forget the deep arrears Of vengeance they have left us! Woe to the conqueror! Thomas Moore [1779-1852] THE MINSTREL-BOY THE Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone, "It is Great for Our Country to Die" 2231 "Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "Though all the world betrays thee, The Minstrel fell!-but the foeman's chain For he tore its chords asunder, And said, "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, Thomas Moore [1779-1852] "IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY TO DIE" O, IT is great for our country to die, where ranks are contending! Bright is the wreath of our fame; Glory awaits us for aye, Glory, that never is dim, shining on with light never ending, Glory that never shall fade, never, O never, away! O, it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes Warrior-youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love, Wet by a mother's warm tears. They crown him with garlands of roses, Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above. Not to the shades shall the youth descend, who for country hath perished; Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with her smile; There, at the banquet divine, the patriot spirit is cherished; Gods love the young who ascend pure from the funeral Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious river; Not to the isles of the blest, over the blue, rolling sea; But on Olympian heights shall dwell the devoted forever; There shall assemble the good, there the wise, valiant, and free. O, then, how great for our country to die, in the front rank to perish, Firm with our breast to the foe, Victory's shout in our ear! Long they our statues shall crown, in songs our memory cherish; We shall look forth from our heaven, pleased the sweet music to hear. James Gates Percival [1795-1856] A BALLAD OF HEROES Now all your victories are in vain-A. MARY F. ROBINSON Though, it may be, above the plot No. For while yet in tower or cot The sordid care, of cities gray; The Captain's Feather While yet, beset in homelier fray, They learn from you the lesson plain That Life may go, so Honor stay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain! ENVOY Heroes of old! I humbly lay The laurel on your graves again; Whatever men have done, men may, The deeds you wrought are not in vain! Austin Dobson [1840 2233 THE CAPTAIN'S FEATHER THE dew is on the heather, The dust is on the heather, The blood is on the heather, Samuel Minturn Peck [1854 |