Page:Southern Life in Southern Literature.djvu/226

208 Your own proud land s heroic soil Shall be your fitter grave: She claims from war his richest spoil The ashes of her brave. Thus neath their parent turf they rest, Far from the gory field, Borne to a Spartan mother s breast On many a bloody shield; The sunshine of their native sky Smiles sadly on them here, And kindred eyes and hearts watch by The heroes sepulcher. Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead! Dear as the blood ye gave; No impious footstep here shall tread The herbage of your grave; Nor shall your glory be forgot While Fame her record keeps, Or Honor points the hallowed spot Where valor proudly sleeps. Yon marble minstrel s voiceless stone In deathless song shall tell, When many a vanished age hath flown, The story how ye fell; Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter s blight, Nor Time s remorseless doom, Shall dim one ray of glory s light That gilds your deathless tomb.