Souls that "loved much" your native land,
Who fought and died therefor!
You gave your youth, your brains, your arms,
Your blood--you had no more!

You lived and died true to your flag!
And now your wounds are healed--but sore
Are many hearts that think of you
Where you have "gone before."
Peace, comrade! God bound up those forms,
They are "whole" forevermore!

Those lips this broken vessel touched,
His, too!--the man's we all adore--
That cavalier of cavaliers,
Whose voice will ring no more--
Whose plume will float amid the storm
Of battle never more!

Not on this idle page I write
That name of names, shrined in the core
Of every heart!--peace! foolish pen,
Hush! words so cold and poor!
His sword is rust; the blue eyes dust,
His bugle sounds no more!

Never was cavalier like ours!
Not Rupert in the years before!
And when his stern, hard work was done,
His griefs, joys, battles o'er--