Gather him to his grave again, <br />And solemnly and softly lay, <br />Beneath the verdure of the plain, <br />The warrior's scattered bones away. <br />Pay the deep reverence, taught of old, <br />The homage of man's heart to death; <br />Nor dare to trifle with the mould <br />Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath. <br /> <br />The soul hath quickened every part-- <br />That remnant of a martial brow, <br />Those ribs that held the mighty heart, <br />That strong arm--strong no longer now. <br />Spare them, each mouldering relic spare, <br />Of God's own image; let them rest, <br />Till not a trace shall speak of where <br />The awful likeness was impressed. <br /> <br />For he was fresher from the hand <br />That formed of earth the human face, <br />And to the elements did stand <br />In nearer kindred, than our race. <br />In many a flood to madness tossed, <br />In many a storm has been his path; <br />He hid him not from heat or frost, <br />But met them, and defied their wrath. <br /> <br />Then they were kind--the forests here, <br />Rivers, and stiller waters, paid <br />A tribute to the net and spear <br />Of the red ruler of the shade. <br />Fruits on the woodland branches lay, <br />Roots in the shaded soil below, <br />The stars looked forth to teach his way, <br />The still earth warned him of the foe. <br /> <br />A noble race! but they are gone, <br />With their old forests wide and deep, <br />And we have built our homes upon <br />Fields where their generations sleep. <br />Their fountains slake our thirst at noon, <br />Upon their fields our harvest waves, <br />Our lovers woo beneath their moon-- <br />Then let us spare, at least, their graves!<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-disinterred-warrior/
