BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD" The 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 are spread,And Glory guards, with solemn round,The 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 dream alarms;No braying horn nor 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...
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