For the gold of the Pen and the steel of the Sword
Write his deeds—in his blood—on the land he adored,—
"Column! Forward!"
And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air,
And the flowers and the grass-blades his memory upbear;
While the breath of his genius, like music in leaves,
With the corn-tassels whispers, and sings in the sheaves,—
"Column! Forward!"
THE HORRORS OF SAN DOMINGO.
CHAPTER IV.