And once again a fire of hell Rain'd on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot, and burst of shell, And bellowing of the mortars! And Irish Nora's eyes are dim For a singer dumb and gory; Sleep, soldiers! still in honor'd rest BAYARD TAYLOR. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE. How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By fairy hands their knell is rung, WILLIAM COLLINS. ODE. (Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead at Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S. C., 1867.) SLEEP sweetly in your humble graves,— In seeds of laurel in the earth The blossom of your fame is blown, Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years Which keep in trust your storied tombs, Small tributes! but your shades will smile Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! HENRY TIMROD. TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, True, a new mistress now I chase, And with a stronger faith embrace Yet this inconstancy is such I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honor more. RICHARD LOVELACE. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. It was a summer evening,— She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet, In playing there, had found; He came to ask what he had found That was so large and smooth and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And, with a natural sigh,— "Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory. "I find them in the garden, For there's many hereabout; And often, when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory." "Now tell us what 'twas all about," With wonder-waiting eyes,— "Now tell us all about the war, "It was the English," Kaspar cried, 'Who put the French to rout; But what they fought each other for 66 My father lived at Blenheim then, They burnt his dwelling to the ground, So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. "With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide; And many a childing mother then, And new-born baby died; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. "They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won,— For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. 66 'Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good prince Eugene." "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!” Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay, nay, my little girl!" quoth he, It was a famous victory. “And everybody praised the duke Who this great fight did win." |