The muffled drum rolled on the air, <br />Warriors, with stately step, were there; <br />On every arm was the black crape bound, <br />Every carbine was turned to the ground; <br />Solemn, the sound of their measured tread, <br />As silent and slow, they followed the dead. <br /> <br />The riderless horse was led in the rear; <br />There were white plumes waving over the bier; <br />Helmet and sword were laid on the pall, <br />For, it was a soldier's funeral. <br /> <br />That soldier had stood on the battle plain, <br />Where every step was over the slain; <br />But the brand and the ball had passed him by, <br />And he came to his native land, to die. <br /> <br />'Twas hard to come to that native land, <br />And not clasp one familiar hand; <br />'Twas hard to be numbered amid the dead, <br />Before he could hear his welcome said. <br /> <br />But, 'twas something to see its cliffs once more, <br />And to lay his bones on his own loved shore; <br />To think, that the friends of his youth might weep, <br />O'er the green grass turf of the soldier's sleep. <br /> <br />The bugles ceased their wailing sound, <br />As the coffin was lowered into the ground; <br />A volley was fired, a blessing said, <br />One moment's pause, and they left the dead. <br /> <br />I saw a poor and aged man - <br />His step was feeble, his cheek was wan; <br />He knelt him down on the new-raised mound, <br />His face was bowed on the cold damp ground; <br />He raised his head, his tears were done - <br />The father had prayed o'er his only son.<br /><br />Letitia Elizabeth Landon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-soldier-s-funeral/
