Felicia Hemans in The Monthly Magazine Volume 3 1827/The Old Warrior's Grave
The Monthly Magazine, Volume 3, Page 472
THE OLD WARRIOR'S GRAVE.*[1]
Thou didst fall in the field with thy silver hair,
And a banner in thy hand;
Thou wert laid to rest from thy battles there,
By a proudly mournful band.
In the camp, on the steed, to the bugle's blast,
Thy long bright years had sped;
And a warrior's bier was thine at last,
When the snows had crown'd thy head.
Many had fallen by thy side, old chief!
Brothers and friends, perchance;
But thou wert yet as the fadeless leaf,
And light was in thy glance.
The soldier's heart at thy step leaped high,
And thy voice the war-horse knew;
And the first to arm when the foe was nigh
Wert thou, the bold and true!
Now mayest thou slumber—thy work is done—
Thou of the well-worn sword!
From the stormy fight in thy fame thou'rt gone,
But not to the festal board.
The corn-sheaves whisper thy grave around,
Where fiery blood hath flowed;—
Oh! lover of battle and trumpet-sound!
Thou hast won thee a still abode!
A quiet home from the sunbeams glare,
And the wind that wandereth free—
Thou that didst fall with thy silvery hair,
For this men toil like thee!F. H.
- ↑ * I came upon the tomb of Marshal Schwerin—a plain, quiet cenotaph, erected in the middle of a wide corn-field, on the very spot where he closed a long, faithful, and glorious career in arms. He fell here at eighty years of age, at the head of his own regiment, the standard of it waving in his hand. His seat was in the leathern saddle—his foot in the iron stirrup-his fingers reined the young war-horse to the last.—Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in Germany.