Page:Records of Woman.pdf/254

246

wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest, Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest, And, in the stillness of thy country's breast, Thy place of memory, as an altar keepest; Brightly thy spirit o'er her hills was pour'd, Thou of the Lyre and Sword!

Rest, bard! rest, soldier!—by the father's hand Here shall the child of after-years be led, With his wreath-offering silently to stand, In the hush'd presence of the glorious dead. Soldier and bard! for thou thy path hast trod With freedom and with God.