The Death of the Old War Horse which Col Tilden of the Sixteenth Maine rode during the war, prompted the Rev. Nathaniel Butler to write the following lines.The sentiment expressed naturally appeals to anyone and especially to a soldier who rode a horse during the war to maintain the Union.
The Death of the Old War Horse which Col Tilden of the Sixteenth Maine rode during the war, prompted the Rev. Nathaniel Butler to write the following lines.
The sentiment expressed naturally appeals to anyone and especially to a soldier who rode a horse during the war to maintain the Union.
Farewell, my horse! thy work is done,Thy splendid form lies low,Thy limbs of steel have lost their strength,Thy flashing eye its glow.No more thy quivering nostrils sniffThe battle from afar,No more beneath thy flying feetThe plains with thunder jar.For thou wert born a hero soul,In days when heroes fought,When men, borne by thy glorious strength,Immortal laurels sought.Seated upon thy nerve-strung form,Another life was mine,And well I knew the same high thrillRan through my soul and thine.A throne thou wert to sit upon,And true as steel within,Whene’er I felt thy brave heart beat,My own has braver been.And when the bugle’s call to ChargeOver the column ran,Thy arching crest, “with thunder clothed,”Loved best to lead the van.Upon the march, with tireless feet,Through mountain, gorge and plain,When others strayed thy place was kept,Through all the long campaign.But now, thy last, long halt is made:Thy last campaign is o’er;The bugle call, the battle shoutShall thrill thee never more.Where art thou gone—old friend and true?What place hast thou to fill?For it may be thy spirit formSomewhere is marching still.Here there are those whom we call men,Whose souls full well I knowAnother life may not deserveOne-half so well as thou.And natures such as thine has beenAnother life may claim,And God may have a place for themWithin his wide domain.His armies tread their glorious marchOver the eternal plain,Their leader rides a snow white steed,Who follow in his train?We may not ever meet again;But, wheresoe’er I go,A cherished place within my heartThou’lt have, old friend, I know.God made us both, and we have marchedFirm friends whilst thou wert here;I only know I shall not blushTo meet thee anywhere.
Transcriber’s Notes:
The Table of Contents does not appear in the original text. It has been generated by the transcriber as an aid for the reader.