Charles Wolfe

“ But he lay---like a warrior taking his rest---
⁠With his martial cloak around him!
Few and short were the prayers we said,
⁠And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
⁠And we bitterly thought of to-morrow---
We thought---as we hollowed his narrow bed
⁠And smoothed down his lonely pillow---
How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
⁠And we far away on the billow!
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
⁠And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ”

“ Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
⁠From the field of his fame, fresh and gory!
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
⁠But we left him---alone with his glory! ”

“ Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, ”