The Heroes’ Day.
Through the long bending grass
The white-robed maidens pass,
With tender faces, and with footsteps soft and slow,
Upon each lowly grave,
Where sleeps the true and brave,
Dropping red roses and wan lilies as they go.
Flowers for the patriot band
Who loved their native land:
Sweet rosemary, and purple pansies, and pale pinks;
Green leaves from budding trees
Make sweet the passing breeze—
Sweet as the elegy the grateful nation thinks.
For who would not prolong
With flowers and scent and song
The memory of those who fell in freedom’s fight?
From the sweet month of May,
Then choose the fairest day,
And crown it for the honored dead with all things bright.
Then say: “O singing birds,
Echo these tender words:
While bosoms nobly throb, and women’s eyes are wet,
While roses bud and blow,
While stars at evening glow,
While daylight breaks for us, we never will forget.
“As long as men shall stand
For home and native land,
And while our starry flag flies o’er the true and free,
Honor and love and truth
Shall give immortal youth,
And we’ll remember you upon the land and sea.”
Harper’s Weekly.