James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
October 17The Field of the Grounded Arms
By Fitz-Greene Halleck (17901867)Upon the withered grass that autumn morn,
When with as withered hearts
And hopes as dead and cold,
Upon that field, in silence and deep gloom,
And at their conqueror’s feet
Laid their war-weapons down.
Brave men, but brave in vain, they yielded there:
The soldier’s trial task
Is not alone “to die.”
Stains not the ermine of his foeman’s fame,
Nor mocks his captive’s doom—
The bitterest cup of war.
Whose swords are lightning flashes in the cloud
Of the Invader’s wrath,
Threatening a gallant land.
Her slumbering echoes: from a thousand hills
Her answering voices shout,
And her bells ring to arms!
On raven wings, hushing the song of fame,
And glory’s hues of beauty
Fade from the cheek of death.
A fortress seen in every rock and tree,
The eagle eye of art
Is dim and powerless then,
Man’s merriest music, and the field of death
His couch of happy dreams,
After life’s harvest home.
Above him, and his own green land around,
Land of his father’s grave,
His blessing and his prayers,
The first beloved in life, the last forgot,
Land of his frolic youth,
Land of his bridal eve,
Invaders! vain your battles’ steel and fire!
Choose ye the morrow’s doom—
A prison or a grave.
The Yeomen-Brave, whose deeds and death have given
A glory to her skies,
A music to her name.
In honorable death they sleep below;
Their sons’ proud feelings here
Their noblest monuments.