THE YOUTH’S CABINET. 119

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' The Burial of Sir John Moore.

 

BY REV. CHARLES WOLFE.

-”_—_-_eoeeeee

Nor a drum was heard, not a funeralynote,
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;

Not a soldier discharged his funeral shot,
O’er the grave where our hero we 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;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
V. 8 APR