SHILOH, A REQUIEM by Herman Melville (1819-1891)

April, 1862 Skimming lightly, wheeling still, The swallows fly low Over the fields in cloudy days, The forest-field of Shiloh-- Over the field where April rain Solaced the parched one 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 foeman mingled there-- Foeman 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.


This page is
Last modified 16-April-2001