Shiloh: A Requiem

　　by Herman Melville

　　 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 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.

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