Classic Poem

All Saturday we were drinking, and Sunday the day through;
On Monday morning our wine was gone and what were we to do?
The captain sent me out to fetch more wine that day,
But, a stranger, with no guide, I could not find the way;
And so I took wrong roads, and secret paths, until
One little lonely pathway led me out on a high hill.
The place was full of tombs, all tombs of soldiers brave,
And apart from all the rest there was a single grave;
I trod across its head for I did not see the mound;
I heard a rumbling voice from the world below the ground:
“What is the matter, tomb, that you sigh so loud and groan?
Perhaps earth weighs you down, or is it this black stone?”
“'T is not the earth that weighs, nor is it the black stone,
But I suffer and am shamed, and with great pain I groan,
Because you have despised me, treading across my grave.
Perhaps I was not young, I too! Was I not brave?
Have I not walked, I too, by night under the moon?”