“Not a drum was heard—not a funeral note—
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O’er the grave where our hero was buried.
“We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.
“No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;