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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 hushed presence of the glorious dead. Soldier and Bard!—For thou thy path hast trod
 * With Freedom and with God!

The Oak waved proudly o'er thy burial-rite On thy crowned bier to slumber warriors bore thee And with true hearts, thy brethren of the fight Wept as they veiled their drooping banners o'er thee, And the deep guns with rolling peals gave token,
 * That Lyre and Sword were broken!

Thou hast a hero's tomb!—A lowlier bed Is hers, the gentle girl, beside thee lying, The gentle girl, that bowed her fair young head, When thou wert gone, in silent sorrow dying. Brother! true friend! the tender and the brave!
 * She pined to share thy grove.