A dirge for the brave old pioneer! </br> Knight-errant of the wood! </br> Calmly beneath the green sod here </br> He rests from field and flood </br>… - Theodore O'Hara

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone, </br> In deathless song shall tell, </br> When many a vanished age hath flown </br> The story how ye fell; </br> Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, </br> Nor Time's remorseless doom, </br> Shall dim one ray of glory's light </br> That gilds your deathless tomb.

Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, </br> Ye must not slumber there, </br> Where stranger steps and tongues resound </br> Along the heedless air; </br> Your own proud land's heroic soil </br> Shall be your fitter grave; </br> She claims from war his richest spoil— </br> The ashes of her brave.

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat </br> The soldier's last tattoo; </br> No more on life's parade shall meet </br> That brave and fallen few. </br> On fame's eternal camping ground </br> Their silent tents are spread, </br> And glory guards, with solemn round, </br> The bivouac of the dead.