Bivouac Of The Dead
Midknightc3
Registered Users Posts: 86 Big grins
This Saturday my partner and I (we work for the local Ambulance Company) were asked to stand by for the Wreath Laying at the local VA cemetery since we are both vets. It was a perfect Hollywood setup...dark and stormy, the wind was howling, near whiteout conditions, yet in proper military fashion the ceremony went on regardless.
The wreaths were laid at the Tombe of the Unknown Soldier
Of all the people standing strong in the weather, the most impressive one was undoubtedly this little guy. He was maybe 8yrs old, and he stood there holding the flag by him self for the entire 2hr ceremony. Many offers were made to relive him, but he refused until the last, when my partner made him hand over the flag because he was becoming hypothermic and had to be carried to this parents warm car.
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents to spread,
And glory guards, with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dreams alarms;
No braying horn or screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shriveled swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed,
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout, are past;
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the fierce Northern hurricane
That sweeps the great plateau,
Flushed with triumph, yet to gain,
Come down the serried foe,
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew the watchword of the day
Was "Victory or death!"
Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the glory tide;
Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.
Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his beloved land,
The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their father's gore
His first-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.
For many a mother's breath has swept
O'er Angostura's plain --
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its moldered slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,
Or shepherd's pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
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,
For honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanquished ago has flown,
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor time's remorseless doom,
Can dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.
Clark
The wreaths were laid at the Tombe of the Unknown Soldier
Of all the people standing strong in the weather, the most impressive one was undoubtedly this little guy. He was maybe 8yrs old, and he stood there holding the flag by him self for the entire 2hr ceremony. Many offers were made to relive him, but he refused until the last, when my partner made him hand over the flag because he was becoming hypothermic and had to be carried to this parents warm car.
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents to spread,
And glory guards, with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dreams alarms;
No braying horn or screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shriveled swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed,
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout, are past;
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the fierce Northern hurricane
That sweeps the great plateau,
Flushed with triumph, yet to gain,
Come down the serried foe,
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew the watchword of the day
Was "Victory or death!"
Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the glory tide;
Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.
Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his beloved land,
The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their father's gore
His first-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.
For many a mother's breath has swept
O'er Angostura's plain --
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its moldered slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,
Or shepherd's pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
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,
For honor points the hallowed spot
Where valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanquished ago has flown,
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor time's remorseless doom,
Can dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.
Clark
I recommend wearing trashcans on your heads to avoid any accidental exposure to knowledge - Dogbert
0
Comments
Hoping he's OK. That's a considerable self-sacrifice for an 8 year old.
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I totally agree here, the group shot is worthy of hanging large...both are but that one is a real grabber...
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Email: loganhickle91@gmail.com
Clark
A.E. Houseman wrote something apropo for this little guy:
<table align="CENTER" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td>Oh, God will save her, fear you not:</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td> Be you the men you ’ve been,</td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP">[SIZE=-2] 30[/SIZE]</td></tr> <tr><td>Get you the sons your fathers got,</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td> And God will save the Queen.</td></tr></tbody></table>
Thanks for posting this! Great coverage of dedicated and patriotic people and people who are obviously raising their children to be patriotic. Our nation needs more of this. Bravo to you all!
Here is an aside which I only learned at a Memorial Day celebration in 2011: The U.S. Flag Code has been modified by The U.S. Congress to allow active duty military, retired military and honorably discharged veterans to offer the hand salute to the U.S. Flag when in civilian clothes. This separates us from those who have never served in the military and I consider it quite a privilege.
I retired from the U.S. Navy in 1989 after 32-years of service and that Memorial Day in 2011 was the first time in over twenty years that I could salute the flag. It felt pretty darned good! I wish that this ruling would become more well known. People still look at me strangely when I salute instead of placing my hand over my heart as once was proper.
BTW: I was one of the Grand Marshals of the 2011 San Diego Veteran's Day parade.
That Jeep with the U.S. Flag Skin was one of two Jeeps donated by a local dealership and driven across the country. Each contained a log book signed by notable people along the way, including several former U.S. Presidents. The Jeeps with the log books were auctioned off aboard USS Intrepid CV-11, the aircraft carrier berthed as a museum, in New York City on September 11, 2011, the 10th Anniversary of 9/11. Proceeds from the auction were donated to assist the Wounded Warrior Project...