Poem by Herman Melville

Shiloh, A Requiem

SKIMMING lightly, wheeling still,
    The swallows fly low 
Over the fields in clouded 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 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.

1. The Enviable Isles
2. Old Counsel
3. The Night March
4. Lines Traced under an Image of Amor Threatening
5. To the Master of the Meteor

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