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    Shiloh

    by Herman Melville
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    A Requiem

    Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
    The swallows fly low
    O'er 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 pauses of the 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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