On the field lies silent and chill!
And in the far South a wife prays in vain
One clasp of the hand she may ne’er clasp again,
One kiss from the lips that are still.
V.
Only a private! there let him sleep!
He will need nor tablet nor stone;
For the mosses and vines o’er his grave will creep,
And at night the stars through the clouds will peep,