A SONNET.
Grandly thou fillest the world's eye to-day,
My proud Virginia! When the gage was thrown—
The deadly gage of battle—thou, alone,
Strong in thy self-control, didst stoop to lay
The olive-branch thereon, and calmly pray
We might have peace, the rather. When the foe
Turned scornfully upon thee,—bade thee go,
And whistled up his war-hounds, then—the way
Of duty full before thee,—thou didst spring
Into the centre of the martial ring—
Thy brave blood boiling, and thy glorious eye,
Shot with heroic fire, and swear to claim
Sublimest victory in God's own name,—
Or, wrapped in robes of martyrdom,—to die!
JACKSON.
A SONNET.
Thank God for such a Hero!—Fearless hold
His diamond character beneath the sun,
And brighter scintillations, one by one,
Come flashing from it. Never knight of old
Wore on serener brow, so calm, yet bold,
Diviner courage: never martyr knew
Trust more sublime,—nor patriot, zeal more true,—
Nor saint, self-abnegation of a mould
Touched with profounder beauty. All the rare,
Clear, starry points of light, that gave his soul
Such lambent lustre, owned but one sole aim,—
Not for himself, nor yet his country's fame,
These glories shone: he kept the clustered whole
A jewel for the crown that Christ shall wear!
DIRGE FOR ASHBY.
Heard ye that thrilling word—
Accent of dread—
Flash like a thunderbolt,
Bowing each head—
Crash through the battle dun,
Over the booming gun—
"Ashby, our bravest one,—
Ashby is dead!"
Saw ye the veterans—
Hearts that had known
Never a quail of fear,
Never a groan—
Sob 'mid the fight they win,
—Tears their stern eyes within,—
"Ashby, our Paladin,
Ashby is gone!"