A Requiem.
(APRIL,
1862.)
SKIMMING lightly,
wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in
clouded days,
The forest-field of Shiloh—
Over the field
where April rain
Solaced the
parched ones stretched in pain
Through the pause
of night
That followed the
Sunday fight
Around the church of Shiloh—
The church so
lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to
many a parting groan
And natural prayer
Of dying foemen mingled there—
Foemen at morn,
but friends at eve—
Fame or country least their care:
(What like a
bullet can undeceive!)
But now they lie low,
While over them
the swallows skim,
And all is hushed at Shiloh.
SOURCE: Herman Melville, Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War,
Harper & Brothers, Publishers, Franklin Square, New York, New York, 1866, p.
63
