HENRY W. GRADY.


From the “Boston Globe.”

FAIR brow grief-clouded, blue eyes dark with tears,

The young South sighed above her hero’s bier,

“Wear these my favors in the lists of Death,”

And o’er his calm breast scattered immortelles.

What Launcelot of old in jousts and field

Did bravely for the right with pen and voice,

With mind broad-reaching and with soul intense,

Did this young champion wisely for the truth.

From the loud echoes of rude, hideous war

He caught the murmur of a far-off peace;

Through the fierce hatred of embittered foes

He saw the faint day-star of amity;

O’er the ruin of the things that were

Beheld the shadowy Angel of new life,

And, chosen from the whirl of troublous days,

With soul knit up in valor, mind aflame,

Stood forth the knight and prophet of good will,

Of peace with dignity, of manhood’s strength

Sustaining brother’s love, of industry

That keeps an equal pace with building thought,

Of old things gracious yielding place to new.

And from the mists, responsive to his call,

Came forth in radiance, virgin-robed,

The starry maiden of sweet hope, and smiled—

Put forth her willing palm to meet his own,

And walked with him the valleys of Re-birth,

And where they passed the earth grew musical,

And long-hushed voices from the caves of Doubt

Swelled into melody of joyous faith;

While from the forests of the North swept down

The pæan of the Pines, and from the South

The murmur of the Everglades up stole

The diapason perfecting. Stark fields

That fever had burned out revived; and marts

Where brooded weird decay, and mills at rest,

The forge in blackness rusting, and the shop,

The school, the church, the forum, and the stage

Thrust off their desolation and despair

To feel again the energy of life

And know once more the happiness of man.

Such was his doing who was brave for truth;

Such is the legacy he leaves to pride;

And, though the New South mourn her fallen knight,

His soul and word move ever hand in hand

Adown the smiling valleys of Re-birth,

That still shall bud and flower because of him

And grow fair garlands for man’s Brotherhood.

E. A. B.