Cold lies the sod above his noble head,”—
Stonewall Jackson: Mortally Wounded—“The Brigade must not know, sir.” (W. G. S.)
“‘Who’ve ye got there?’ ‘Only a dying brother,
Hurt at the front just now,’”—
Stonewall Jackson: A Dirge. (W. G. S.)
“Go to thy rest, great chieftain!
In the zenith of thy fame,”—
Stonewall Jackson on the Eve of Battle: By Mrs. Catherine A. Warfield. (E. V. M., ’69.)
“In the camp the waning watch-fire,
Throws a dim and lurid glare,”—