. Thirty years in Washington; or, Life and scenes in our national capital. Portraying the wonderfuloperations in all the great departments, and describing every important function of our national go vernment ... With sketches of the presidents and their wives ... from Washington's to Roosevelt's administration . nts tothe illustrious dead, famous officers of our wars, while onthe other, stretching away over the level ground, sprinkledwith sunshine filtered through the foliage, are thousands ofheadstones, each marking a grave in which a soldier sleeps. The stones are set in rows, uniform in dis
. Thirty years in Washington; or, Life and scenes in our national capital. Portraying the wonderfuloperations in all the great departments, and describing every important function of our national go vernment ... With sketches of the presidents and their wives ... from Washington's to Roosevelt's administration . nts tothe illustrious dead, famous officers of our wars, while onthe other, stretching away over the level ground, sprinkledwith sunshine filtered through the foliage, are thousands ofheadstones, each marking a grave in which a soldier sleeps. The stones are set in rows, uniform in distance one fromthe other, arrayed in order and marshaled as battalions forreview. They bear no inscriptions — only numbers andnames — but one story is the story of all, and it is told aswe pass along the walks on the borders of which are irontablets bearing lines selected from Col. Theodore OHaraseloquent poem : — The Bivouac of the The muffled drums sad roll has beat The soldiers last tattoo ;No more on Lifes parade shall meet That brave and fallen Fames eternal camping-ground Their silent tents are spread,And Glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead. No rumor of the foes advanceNow swells upon the wind ;No troubled thought at midnight hauntsOf loved ones left behind ;. THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. 531 . No vision of the morrows strifeThe warriors dream alarms ;No braying horn nor screaming fifeAt dawn shall call to arms. The neighing troop, the flashing blade, The bugles stirring blast,The charge, the dreadful cannonade, The din and shout are past;Nor wars-wild note, nor glorys peal, Shall thrill with fierce delightThose breasts that never more may feel The rapture of the fight. Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, Ye must not slumber there,Where stranger steps and tongues resound Along the heedless own proud lands heroic soil Shall be your fitter grave ;She claims from War his richest spoil — The ashes of her brave. Thus neath their p
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookpublisherhartf, bookyear1901
