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No feudal imagery of shield or spear
To gild the gallant deeds that roused us then,--
When Cass fell dying in the battle's front,
And Shaw's fair head lay 'mid his dusky men.


All o'er the tranquil land
On this Memorial Day,
Coming from near and far,
Men gather in the mimic guise of war.
They bear no polished steel,
Yet by the elbow's touch they march, they wheel,
Or side by side they stand.
They now are peaceful men, fair Order's sons;
But as they halt in motionless array,
Or bow their heads to pray,
Into their dream intrudes
The swift sharp crack of rifle-shots in woods;
Into their memory swells
The trumpet's call, the screaming of the shells;
And ever and anon they seem to hear
The far-off thunder of besieging guns,--
All sounds of bygone war, all memories of the ear.

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