Yes! It was indeed the blast of the Scottish bagpipes, now shrill and harsh as the threatening vengeance of the foe, then in softer tones seeming to promise succor to their friends in need. Never, surely, was there such a scene as that which followed. Not a heart in the residency of Lucknow but bowed itself before God. All by one simultaneous impulse fell upon their knees, and nothing was heard save bursting sobs and the murmured voice of prayer.
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 are spread, And glory guards with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe’s advance Now swells upon the wind; No troubled thought at midnight haunts Of loved ones left behind; No vision of the morrow’s strife The warrior’s dream alarms; No braying horn or screaming fife At dawn shall call to arms.
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 his great plateau, Flushed with the triumph yet to gain, Comes down the serried foe. Who heard the thunder of the fray Break o’er the field beneath, Knew well the watchword of that day Was “Victory or Death!”
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 its 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, Or Honor points the hallowed spot Where Valor proudly sleeps.