THE BURIAL IN THE DESERT.
BY MRS HEMANS.
How weeps yon gallant Band
O'er him their valour could not save!
For the bayonet is red with gore,
And he, the beautiful and brave,
Now sleeps in Egypt's sand.—WILSON.
In the shadow of the Pyramid
Our brother's grave we made,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
A field of death survey'd.
The blood-red sky above us
Was darkening into night,
And the Arab watching silently
Our sad and hurried rite.
The voice of Egypt's river
Came hollow and profound,
And one lone palm-tree, where we stood,
Rock'd with a shivery sound:
While the shadow of the Pyramid
Hung o'er the grave we made,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
A field of death survey'd.
The fathers of our brother
Were borne to knightly tombs,
With torch-light and with anthem-note,
And many waving plumes:
But he, the last and noblest
Of that high Norman race,
With a few brief words of soldier-love
Was gather'd to his place;
In the shadow of the Pyramid,
Where his youthful form we laid,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
A field of death survey'd.
But let him, let him slumber
By the old Egyptian wave!
It is well with those who bear their fame
Unsullied to the grave!
When brightest names are breathed on,
When loftiest fall so fast,
We would not call our brother back
On dark days to be cast,
From the shadow of the Pyramid,
Where his noble heart we laid,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
A field of death survey'd.