The knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;
His soul is with the saints, I trust.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
- * * * *
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung.
Collins—Ode Written in 1746.
Who passes down this road so late?
Compagnon de la Majaloine?
Who passes down this road so late,
Always gay!
Of all the King's Knights 'tis the flower,
Compagnon de la Majaloine,
Of all the King's Knights 'tis the flower,
Always gay!
Compagnon de la Majaloine. Old French Song.
Back of the boy is Wilson,
Pledge of his high degree,
Back of the boy is Lincoln,
Lincoln and Grant and Lee;
Back of the boy is Jackson,
Jackson and Tippecanoe,
Back of each son is Washington,
And the old red, white and blue!
Edmund Vance Cooke—Back of the Boy.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Soldiers
| page = 726
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 5
| text = I have seen men march to the wars, and then
I have watched their homeward tread,
And they brought back bodies of living men,
But their eyes were cold and dead.
So, Buddy, no matter what else the fame,
No matter what else the prize,
I want you to come back thru The Flame
With the boy-look still in your eyes!
Edmund Vance Cooke—The Boy-Look.
He stands erect; his slouch becomes a walk;
He steps right onward, martial in his air,
His form and movement.
Far in foreign fields from Dunkirk to Belgrade
Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade.
Thomas Daves—Battle Eve of the Brigade.
| seealso = (See also Brooke under England, Ingraham under Ireland)
| topic = Soldiers
| page = 726
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Terrible he rode alone,
With his yemen sword for aid;
Ornament it carried none
But the notches on the blade.
The Death Feud. An Arab War Song. St. 14.
Tail's Edinburgh Magazine. July. 1850.
Trans, signed J. S. M.
His helmet now shall make
A hive for bees.
Robert Devereux—Sonnet.
So let his name through Europe ring!
A man of mean estate,
Who died as firm as Sparta's king,
Because his soul was great.
Sir Francis Hastings Doyle—The Private
of the Buffs.
Mouths without hands; maintained at vast expense,
In peace a charge, in war a weak defense:
Stout once a month they march, a blustering band,
And ever, but in times of need, at hand.
Dryden—Cymon and Iphigenia. L. 401.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the Judgment Day;
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.
Francis M. Finch—The Blue and the Gray.
Hunde, wollt ihr ewig leben?
Dogs, would you live forever?
Traditional saying of Frederick the Great
to his troops at Kolin, June 18. 1757 (or at
Kunersdorf, Aug. 12, 1759). -Doubted by
Carlyle.
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.
J. S. Gibbons. Pub. anon, in New York
Evening Post, July 16, 1862.
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay;
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away,
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields
were won.
| author = Goldsmith
| work = Deserted Village. L. 155.
Wake, soldier wake, thy war-horse waits
To bear thee to the battle back;—
Thou slumberest at a foeman's gates,—
Thy dog would break thy bivouac;
Thy plume is trailing in the dust,
And thy red falchion gathering rust.
T. K. Hervey—Dead Trumpeter.
He slept an iron sleep,—
Slain fighting for his country.
Homer—Iliad. Bk. XI. L. 285.
trans.
Bryant's
The sex is ever to a soldier kind.
Homer—Odyssey. Bk. XIV. L. 246
| note = Pope's trans.
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.
Hood—Faithless Nellie Gray.
{{Hoyt quote
| num = | text = <poem>But for you, it shall be forever Spring,
And only you shall be forever fearless, And only you shall have white, straight, tireless limbs, And only you, where the water lily swims, Shall walk along pathways, thro' the willows Of your West. You who went West,
