But memory, waked by music's art,
Expressed in simplest numbers,
Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart,
Made light the Rebel's slumbers.
And fair the form of Music shines,
That bright celestial creature.
Who still, 'mid war's embattled lines,
Gave this one touch of Nature.
JOHN RANDOLPH THOMPSON.
* * * * *
UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES.
[The last words of Stonewall Jackson[A] were: "Let us cross the river and rest under the shade of the trees.">[
[Footnote A: Major-General Thomas J. Jackson, C.S.A., killed on a reconnoissance, May 10, 1863.]
What are the thoughts that are stirring his breast?
What is the mystical vision he sees?
—"Let us pass over the river, and rest
Under the shade of the trees."
Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks?
Sighs the worn spirit for respite or ease?
Is it a moment's cool halt that he asks
Under the shade of the trees?
Is it the gurgle of water whose flow
Ofttimes has come to him, borne on the breeze,
Memory listens to, lapsing so low,
Under the shade of the trees?