Poems (Trask)/A Soldier Dead

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

A SOLDIER DEAD.

He died amid the red hot smoke of battle,
 Died, with the flag, blood-purchased, in his hand;
Died, with his white lips shouting, "On to victory!"
 Cheering, and urging on his bold command.
Beneath a Southern sky of softest azure,
 His grave-faced comrades laid him down to rest,
While muffled drum-taps stirred the air of evening,
 And the great sun hung low within the west,—
Laid him to sleep with the blood-reeking banner,
 So dearly won, shrouding his lifeless breast.

What need of sculptured urn, or mausoleum,
 To tell his virtues, consecrate his name?
He perished for his country! death all-glorious!
 The proudest fate that's given man by Fame!
A nation's tears are his,—a nation mourns him,—
 His monument shall outlast space and time!
He was a soldier; shared a soldier's fortune,
 And yielded up his life in manhood's prime;
Proud of the honor,—proud to be selected
 To die a death so royally sublime!

A fair New England home is drear without him,
 Bright eyes are sad with weight of unshed tears;
The memory of his lonely grave will darken
 The lives of kindred for these many years.
But let them joy that for their noble country
 They had this dear one for a sacrifice;
He is not lost,—the eyes of a great nation
 Have marked the lone spot where his mortal lies;—
For, though recorded not on history's tablets,
 It is an epoch when a brave man dies!

Yes, leave him there,—the wild and grand Atlantic
 Shall sing his dirges now and evermore;
Shall daily chant his requiem, as the surges
 Beat up the curvings of the sandy shore.
The strife and tumults of his life are ended;
 For him, the "Charge," "Advance," "Sortie," are done;
He'll face no more the hail of hostile cannon,
 The smoke of conflict darkens not his sun!
He's scaled the walls, and gained the heavenly bastions;
 His peace is come; his bloodless victory's won.