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A FRAGMENT.
Rest on your battle-fields, ye brave!
Let the pines murmur o'er your grave,
Your dirge be in the moaning wave;
We call you back no more!
Oh! there was mourning when ye fell,
In your own vales a deep-toned knell,
An agony—a wild farewell—
But that hath long been o'er.
Rest with your still and solemn fame;
The hills keep record of your name,
And never can a touch of shame
Darken the buried brow.
