William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
Death of StarkWilliam Bingham Tappan (17941849)
H
On the couch of the tomb he hath pillow’d his head;
And fled hath sorrow, and fled have fears,
For sorrow and fears dwell not with the dead.
There the oak, the tree of his country grows:
His bed is holy—’tis the bed of the brave,
His slumber is calm—’tis the warrior’s repose.
And bright be the halo that circles thy brow;
In the thickest of battle thy place was found,
The wreath is deathless that decks thee now.
Mid the foremost thy shining sword was drawn;
Thou stoodst a pillar—approving Heaven
Beheld, and put the foe to scorn.
And thy head was crown’d with the snow of age;
When poverty came, thou met’st the storm,
And in greatness of soul defied its rage.
And he wept o’er the wreck of valour there;
The fire of youth had left thee not,
Thy country, thy idol, was still thy prayer.
Who soar’d on the battle, see! they vanish away;
The warriors have gone to the land of repose,
Our fathers, our fathers!—O, where are they?