Turtle Crossing LbNA #6772 (ARCHIVED)
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Add Location| Owner: | Adoptable |
|---|---|
| Plant date: | Dec 26, 2003 |
| Location: | |
| City: | Portland |
| County: | Multnomah |
| State: | Oregon |
| Boxes: | 1 |
| Planted by: | Maiden1974  |
|---|---|
| Found by: | Double Tree |
| Last found: | Jan 1, 2006 |
| Status: | FF |
| Last edited: | Dec 26, 2003 |
Loast reported:May 30, 2004
I created this box as part of my younger sisters Christmas present and we placed it together on Boxing Day. It is located in a cemetary so please be discreet and respectful of visitors.
The address of the cemetary is 11800 SE Mt. Scott Boulevard
Portland, OR. They are open every day dawn to dusk. Memorial Day and Veterans Day would NOT be good times to attempt this box since the place will be crawling with people.
Now on to the clues....
Tim the Turtle started off for a casual stroll one fine Boxing Day. After several days of celebrating with friends and family he decided to go and visit his family members thath were no longer with us. He plodded along through the iron gates and creeped up to the main office. He found a plaque with a poem inscribed that he stopped to read..
THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD
by Theodore O'Hara
(1820-1867)
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust;
Their plumed heads are bowed
Their haughty banner, trailed with dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past;
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal,
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight....
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave,
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your story be forgot,
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.
He stood with tears dripping down his cheeks and turned to go on his way. He wandered the many aisles lost in thought. He noticed the flag pole with the flag at half mast before heading down the hill. He wandered on before finally crossing a bridge. By this time his heart was full of pride and sorrow so he tucked himself under the east end of the bridge to take a nap. He's still there, snoozing away and waiting for you to come and follow in his footsteps.
I created this box as part of my younger sisters Christmas present and we placed it together on Boxing Day. It is located in a cemetary so please be discreet and respectful of visitors.
The address of the cemetary is 11800 SE Mt. Scott Boulevard
Portland, OR. They are open every day dawn to dusk. Memorial Day and Veterans Day would NOT be good times to attempt this box since the place will be crawling with people.
Now on to the clues....
Tim the Turtle started off for a casual stroll one fine Boxing Day. After several days of celebrating with friends and family he decided to go and visit his family members thath were no longer with us. He plodded along through the iron gates and creeped up to the main office. He found a plaque with a poem inscribed that he stopped to read..
THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD
by Theodore O'Hara
(1820-1867)
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust;
Their plumed heads are bowed
Their haughty banner, trailed with dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past;
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal,
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight....
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave,
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your story be forgot,
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.
He stood with tears dripping down his cheeks and turned to go on his way. He wandered the many aisles lost in thought. He noticed the flag pole with the flag at half mast before heading down the hill. He wandered on before finally crossing a bridge. By this time his heart was full of pride and sorrow so he tucked himself under the east end of the bridge to take a nap. He's still there, snoozing away and waiting for you to come and follow in his footsteps.