From all her fanes let solemn bells be tolled;
Heap with kind hands her costly funeral pyre,
And thus, with pæan sung and anthem rolled,
Give her unspotted to the God of Fire.
Gather around her sacred ashes then,
Sprinkle the cherished dust with crimson rain,
Die! as becomes a race of free-born men,
Who will not crouch to wear the bondman's chain.
So, dying, ye shall win a high renown,
If not in life, at least by death, set free;
And send her fame through endless ages down—
The last grand holocaust of Liberty.
John Dickson Bruns.
While Sherman was accomplishing his task in this triumphant manner, Grant was hammering away at Richmond. Late in February, 1864, a strong force under Kilpatrick was detached to raid around Richmond and if possible release the Union prisoners at Belle Isle and in Libby prison. They reached the outer fortifications, but were repulsed, Major Ulric Dahlgren being among the killed.
ULRIC DAHLGREN
[March 2, 1864]
A flash of light across the night,
An eager face, an eye afire!
O lad so true, you yet may rue
The courage of your deep desire!
"Nay, tempt me not; the way is plain—
'Tis but the coward checks his rein;
For there they lie,
And there they cry,
For whose dear sake 'twere joy to die!"
He bends unto his saddlebow,
The steeds they follow two and two;
Their flanks are wet with foam and sweat,
Their riders' locks are damp with dew.