All hearts their hope-rung—chants in mourning merge,
All joyous dreams translate into a dirge.
Fallen in hero prime of conscious power
His fame lives on and soothes her anguished hour,
Yields to the land of Calhoun and of Clay
His name as heirloom to her later day,—
A legacy by life’s oblation left,
A breathing solace to a home bereft.
That knightly nature’s gift—that intellect’s grace,
Relieved attrition wrought by clash of race,