SHILOH (A Requiem) April 1862

Skimming lightly, wheeling still,

   the swallows fly low

Over the field in clouded days,

  The forest-field of Shiloh----

Over the field where April rain

Solaced the parched ones 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 so many a parting groan

      And natural prayer

   of dying foemen mingled there---

Foemen 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.



Herman Melville

1862