THE last sunbeamLightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,On the pavement here—and there beyond, it is looking,Down a new-made double grave.
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Lo! the moon ascending!Up from the east, the silvery round moon;Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon;Immense and silent moon.
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I see a sad procession,And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles;All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,As with voices and with tears.
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I hear the great drums pounding,And the small drums steady whirring;And every blow of the great convulsive drums,Strikes me through and through.
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For the son is brought with the father;(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell;Two veterans, son and father, dropt together,And the double grave awaits them.)
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Now nearer blow the bugles,And the drums strike more convulsive;And the day-light o'er the pavement quite has faded,And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
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In the eastern sky up-buoying,The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd;('T is some mother's large, transparent face,In heaven brighter growing.)
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O strong dead-march, you please me!O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me!O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!What I have I also give you.
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The moon gives you light,And the bugles and the drums give you music;And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,My heart gives you love.
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