Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot We buried him darkly, at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Few and short were the prayers we said, But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed, And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, |