II.
Oh! widow'd woman, sitting in thy weeds,
With thy young brood around thee, sad and lone,
Thy fancy sees thy hero where he bleeds,
And still thou hear'st his moan!
Dying he calls on thee--again--again!
With blessing and fond memories. Be of cheer;
He has not died--he did not bless--in vain:
For, in the eternal rounds of GOD, HE squares
The account with sorrowing hearts; and soothes the fears,
And leads the orphans home, and dries the widow's tears.
Charleston Mercury.
Sonnet.
Written in 1864.
What right to freedom when we are not free?
When all the passions goad us into lust;
When, for the worthless spoil we lick the dust,
And while one-half our people die, that we
May sit with peace and freedom 'neath our tree,
The other gloats for plunder and for spoil:
Bustles through daylight, vexes night with toil,
Cheats, swindles, lies and steals!--Shall such things be
Endowed with such grand boons as Liberty
Brings in her train of blessings? Should we pray
That such as these should still maintain the sway--
These soulless, senseless, heartless enemies
Of all that's good and great, of all that's wise,
Worthy on earth, or in the Eternal Eyes!
Charleston Mercury.
Grave of A. Sydney Johnston.
By J. B. Synnott.
The Lone Star State secretes the clay
Of him who led on Shiloh's field,
Where mourning wives will stop to pray,
And maids a weeping tribute yield.