Tribute to American Patriots: Bivouac of the Deadvideos tagged - Writing

Tribute to American Patriots: Bivouac of the Dead

Derek Warfield of the Wolfetones reads one of the most harrowing poems to date, written by a Mexican War/Civil War veteran for his fallen comrades in 1847. More can be found here http://www.arlingtoncemetery.n... of the DeadTheodore O'HaraThe muffled drum's sad roll has beatThe soldier's last tattoo;No more on Life's parade shall meetThat brave and fallen few.On fame's eternal camping groundTheir silent tents to spread,And glory guards, with solemn roundThe bivouac of the dead.No rumor of the foe's advanceNow swells upon the wind;Nor troubled thought at midnight hauntsOf loved ones left behind;No vision of the morrow's strifeThe warrior's dreams alarms;No braying horn or screaming fifeAt 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 washedThe red stains from each brow,And the proud forms, by battle gashedAre free from anguish now.The neighing troop, the flashing blade,The bugle's stirring blast,The charge, the dreadful cannonade,The din and shout, are past;Nor war's wild note, nor glory's pealShall thrill with fierce delightThose breasts that nevermore may feelThe rapture of the fight.Like the fierce Northern hurricaneThat sweeps the great plateau,Flushed with triumph, yet to gain,Come down the serried foe,Who heard the thunder of the frayBreak o'er the field beneath,Knew the watchword of the dayWas "Victory or death!"Long had the doubtful conflict ragedO'er all that stricken plain,For never fiercer fight had wagedThe vengeful blood of Spain;And still the storm of battle blew,Still swelled the glory tide;Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew,Such odds his strength could bide.Twas in that hour his stern commandCalled to a martyr's graveThe flower of his beloved land,The nation's flag to save.By rivers of their father's goreHis first-born laurels grew,And well he deemed the sons would pourTheir lives for glory too.For many a mother's breath has sweptO'er Angostura's plain --And long the pitying sky has weptAbove its moldered slain.The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,Or shepherd's pensive lay,Alone awakes each sullen heightThat frowned o'er that dread fray.Sons of the Dark and Bloody GroundYe must not slumber there,Where stranger steps and tongues resoundAlong the heedless air.Your own proud land's heroic soilShall 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 mother's breastOn many a bloody shield;The sunshine of their native skySmiles sadly on them here,And kindred eyes and hearts watch byThe heroes sepulcher.Rest on embalmed and sainted dead!Dear as the blood ye gave;No impious footstep here shall treadThe herbage of your grave;Nor shall your glory be forgotWhile Fame her record keeps,For honor points the hallowed spotWhere valor proudly sleeps.Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stoneIn deathless song shall tell,When many a vanquished ago has flown,The story how ye fell;Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,Nor time's remorseless doom,Can dim one ray of glory's lightThat gilds your deathless tomb.

Channel: Education
Uploaded: November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am
Author: 1AnonymousPatriot

Length: 04:39
Rating: 5.00
Views: 292

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