The eagle soars in the summit of Heaven
But my heart lingers in the bossom of thy love
With a perpetual configuration of melodious cacophonies
Rhythms that conquer the Julius in me ...
DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.