Shiloh, A Requiem (Confederate)

By Herman Melville

(1819-1891)

April, 1862 Skimming lightly, wheeling still,The swallows fly lowOver the fields in cloudy days,The forest-field of Shiloh--Over the field where April rainSolaced the parched one stretched in painThrough the pause of nightThat followed the Sunday fightAround the church of Shiloh--The church, so lone, the log-built one,That echoed to many a parting groanAnd natural prayerOf 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.