He spoke of their drill
And their courage and skill,
And declared that the ladies of Richmond would rave
O'er such matchless perfection, and gracefully wave
In rapture their delicate kerchiefs in air
At their morning parades on the Capitol Square.
But alack! and alas!
Mark what soon came to pass,
When this army, in spite of his flatteries,
Amid war's loudest thunder
Must stupidly blunder
Upon those accursed "masked batteries."
Then Beauregard came,
Like a tempest of flame,
To consume them in wrath
On their perilous path;
And Johnston bore down in a whirlwind to sweep
Their ranks from the field
Where their doom had been sealed,
As the storm rushes over the face of the deep;
While swift on the centre our President pressed.
And the foe might descry
In the glance of his eye
The light that once blazed upon Diomed's crest.
McDowell! McDowell! weep, weep for the day.
When the Southrons you meet in their battle array;
To your confident hosts with its bullets and steel
'Twas worse than Culloden to luckless Lochiel.
Oh! the generals were green and old Scott is now blue,
And a terrible business, McDowell, to you,
Was that pleasant excursion to Richmond.
Richmond Whig.
Turner Ashby.
By John R. Thompson, of Virginia
To the brave all homage render,
Weep, ye skies of June!
With a radiance pure and tender,
Shine, oh saddened moon!
"Dead upon the field of glory,"
Hero fit for song and story,
Lies our bold dragoon!
Well they learned, whose hands have slain him,
Braver, knightlier foe
Never fought with Moor nor Paynim--
Rode at Templestowe;
With a mien how high and joyous,
'Gainst the hordes that would destroy us,
Went he forth we know.
Never more, alas I shall sabre
Gleam around his crest;
Fought his fight, fulfilled his labor,
Stilled his manly breast;
All unheard sweet nature's cadence,
Trump of fame and voice of maidens--
Now he takes his rest.
Earth, that all too soon hath bound him?
Gently wrap his clay;
Linger lovingly around him,
Light of dying day;
Softly fall the summer showers,
Birds and bees among the flowers
Make the gloom seem gay.
There, throughout the coming ages,
When his sword is rust,
And his deeds in classic pages;
Mindful of her trust,
Shall Virginia, bending lowly,
Still a ceaseless vigil holy
Keep above his dust.