Arlington
by S. M. Carpenter�(1800s) |
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THE TENTS that whitened Arlington have vanished
from the fields,
And plenty where the cannon stood a golden harvest
yields;
The campfires gleam no more at night, and pleasant mornings
come,
Without the blare of bugles or the beating of the drum.
The rushes by the riverside thrill with the reed-birds' song,
And
bend to kiss the ripples as the waters flow along;
The robins stray
beneath the oaks, the partridge calls its brood,
And whistles down
the valleys with a confidence renewed.
All through the widening
rifle-pits the grass is growing green,
And autumn wild-flowers
blossom where the bivouacs have been;
The days seem like a sunny
dream, and night falls gently down
In silence, broken only by the
murmur from the town.
But though the camps have vanished and the
tents are laid away,
An army waits upon the knolls in undisturbed
array,�
A legion without banners, that knows no music save
The
wailing of the dead-march and a volley o'er the grave.
Here
comrades that together strove, with all of life at stake,
Lie side by
side, in slumber that no bugle-call can break;
No shock can ever
break their ranks, no blast their columns thin,
Nor one deserter
leave the corps their grim Chief musters in.
Spring twines its
garlands o'er their heads, but they never cull its flowers,
And
peaceful winter evenings bring to them no happy hours.
Tears fall at
home; they heed them not, and care no more to earn
The love that
waited patiently to welcome their return.
Alas! what dreams of
life and love have ended in these grounds!
How many hopes are buried
in these little grassy mounds!
How many hearts have felt the pang the
lips could never tell,
And broken, striving to believe "He doeth all
things well!"
'T is sweet to think the war is o'er; that all its
bitter pain
Was measured for our chastening and not endured in vain;
And dearer still it is to know that in the coming years
A nation's
happiness will bless our offerings and our tears. |
By S. M. Carpenter�(1800s)
Listed May 26, 2014 |
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