Stonewall Jackson.
Mortally wounded--"The Brigade must not know, sir."
"Who've ye got there?"--"Only a dying brother,
Hurt in the front just now."
"Good boy! he'll do. Somebody tell his mother
Where he was killed, and how."
"Whom have you there?"--"A crippled courier, major,
Shot by mistake, we hear.
He was with Stonewall." "Cruel work they've made here:
Quick with him to the rear!"
"Well, who comes next?"--"Doctor, speak low, speak low, sir;
Don't let the men find out.
It's STONEWALL!" "God!" "The brigade must not know, sir,
While there's a foe about."
Whom have we here--shrouded in martial manner,
Crowned with a martyr's charm?
A grand dead hero, in a living banner,
Born of his heart and arm:
The heart whereon his cause hung--see how clingeth
That banner to his bier!
The arm wherewith his cause struck--hark! how ringeth
His trumpet in their rear!
What have we left? His glorious inspiration,
His prayers in council met.
Living, he laid the first stones of a nation;
And dead, he builds it yet.