THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb, <br />Beneath is a soldier lying - <br />The death-wound came, amid sword and plume, <br />When banner and ball were flying. <br /> <br />Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast, <br />By wet wild flowers surrounded; <br />The church shadow falls o'er the place of his rest, <br />Where the steps of his childhood bounded. <br /> <br />There were tears, that fell from manly eyes, <br />There was woman's gentle weeping, <br />And the wailing of age and infant cries, <br />O'er the grave, where he lies sleeping. <br /> <br />He had left his home in his spirit's pride, <br />With his father's sword and blessing; <br />He stood with the valiant, side by side, <br />His country's wrongs redressing. <br /> <br />He came again, in the light of his fame, <br />When the red campaign was over; <br />One heart, that, in secret, had kept his name, <br />Was claimed by the soldier lover. <br /> <br />But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;- <br />He left his sweet home for battle; <br />Left his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry, <br />And the cannon's long death-rattle. <br /> <br />He came again - but an altered man: <br />The path of the grave was before him, <br />And the smile, that he wore, was cold and wan, <br />For the shadow of death hung o'er him. <br /> <br />He spoke of victory - spoke of cheer:- <br />These are the words, that are vainly spoken <br />To the childless mother, or orphan's ear, <br />Or the widow, whose heart is broken. <br /> <br />A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone, <br />Half hidden by yonder willow; <br />There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won, <br />But he died on his own home pillow.<br /><br />Letitia Elizabeth Landon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-soldier-s-grave-3/
