On the Death of General Worth

Now let the solemn minute gun
Arouse the morning ray,
And only with the setting sun
In echoes die away
The muffled drum, the wailing fife,
Ah! let them murmur low,
O'er him who was their breath of life,
The solemn notes of wo!
At Chippewa and Lundy's Lane,
On Polaklaba's field,
Around him fell the crimson rain,
The battle-thunder peal'd;
But proudly did the soldier gaze
Upon his daring form,
When charging o'er the cannon's blaze
Amid the sulphur storm.
Upon the heights of Monterey
Again his flag unroll'd,
And when the grape-shot rent away
Its latest starry fold,
His plumed cap above his head
He waved upon the air,
And cheer'd the gallant troops he led
To glorious victory there.
But ah! the dreadful seal is broke —
In darkness walks abroad
The pestilence, whose silent stroke
Is like the doom of God!
And the hero by its fell decree
In death is sleeping now,
With the laurel wreath of victory
Still green upon his brow!