The Southern Press, Washington DC, Vol. 1, No. 52, Thursday, December 12, 1850, Page 2.
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From the Yeoman.
☞From a mass of elegant poetry, the production of our gallant and gifted friend, Major Theodore O'Hara—the graceful pastime of his leisure hours—with a perusal of which we have been favored, we have been permitted, at our particular request, to select for our columns, the following beautiful elegy to the brave Kentuckians who fell at the battle of Buena Vista, and whose graves, arranged in appropriate order, crown the summit of the knoll in our cemetery, from which towers in majestic beauty and grandeur, our Military Monument.
The Burial of the Buena Vista Heroes in the Frankfort Cemetery.
By THEODORE O'HARA.
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo.
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind.
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms,
No braying horn, nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shiver'd 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 washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms by battle gashed
Are 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 peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that never more may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the dread northern hurricane
That sweeps the wild pluteau
Flush'd with the triumph he should gain
Came on the serried foe—
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath
Knew well the watch-word of that day
Was victory or death.
Long had the doubtful combat raged
Across that stricken plain—
For ne'er such fight before had waged
The bloody sons of Spain—
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the gory tide—
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.
'Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his own loved land
The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their fathers' gore
His first-born laurel's grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.
Full many a norther's breath has swept
O'er Angostura's plain,
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above her moulder'd slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,
Or shepherd's pensive lay
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground!
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave.
She claims from War, his richest spoil,
The ashes of her brave.
Beneath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field,
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast
On many a bloody shield.
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes' sepulchre.
Rest on! embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave!
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave.
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble herald's blazoned stone
With mournful pride shall tell,
When many a vanished age hath flown,
The story how ye fell.
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor Time's remorseless doom
Shall dim one ray of holy light
That gilds your glorious tomb.
The Burial of the Buena Vista Heroes in the Frankfort Cemetery., The Southern Press, Washington DC, Vol. 1, No. 52, Thursday, December 12, 1850, Page 2. (PDF)