The Song Of The Slain At The Battle Of Ticonderoga

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Title:     The Song Of The Slain At The Battle Of Ticonderoga
Author: James Avis Bartley [More Titles by Bartley]

Farewell to the land which we sought o'er the wave;
We made it our home; it will now be our grave:
Farewell, ye proud mountains, and valleys uneven,
And thou, bright shining Glory, now setting in heaven.

Farewell to our hearthstones, our cherished ones there,
Our wives and our children, now reft of our care:
Farewell, everloved of our souls--nevermore,
Shall we look on your faces--our lifetime is o'er.

We march to the field--'twill be red with our blood,
Which shall make of its soil there a horrible mud;
Where our bones by wild beasts on the desolate plain,
Shall be torn, and be whiten'd by tempest and rain.

We march to the field--and our comrades in war,
Shall shout to the heavens their triumph afar--
And Victory shall perch on our banners on high
And Tyrants fore'er from our country shall fly;

Yet never shall we view that glorious sight--
We sink, with yon sun, in the deathgloom of night;
Farewell to our homes and our country for aye,
We go to our graves, with the setting of day.

Farewell, yes, farewell, Earth, Heavens and all
Which here in the last hour of life we recall:
Farewell! we are doomed to the night of the grave,--
But our mem'ry shall live with the names of the brave.

[The end]
James Avis Bartley's poem: Song Of The Slain At The Battle Of Ticonderoga

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