LAMENT OF THE CHIEF.
I.
Soldiers! the chief that you loved is gone
To the tomb where his fathers sleep,
Where the mighty rest,—but there is not one
Like him in its holy keep.
The dead where he lies wear diadems,—
His crown is the soldier's love;—
Not a thing of gold nor of costly gems,
But a glory that's brought from above.
II.
Soldiers! the heart that was good and great,
Is still, and its warmth is past;
For you and your weal its first pulses beat—
For you and your weal its last.
In the midst of the forest of lofty pines
Thus drops the parent stem,
Thus a father whose hope in his children shines—
All blessing, and blessed by them.
III.
Soldiers! go plant a branch by his tomb,
From the wreath which to you he gave,
And high may it grow, and spread, and bloom,
And long may it over him wave!
Oh, yes, it will bloom when past are ye,
And age shall not number its years,
For the smiles of your orphans shall sun the tree,
And your widows shall wet it with tears.
[The warmest applause followed this song, while the countenances of all the listeners glowed with the indescribable sensations which the union of the sentiment with fine voice and melody produced. The harmony was well executed, and Mr. Steel's admirable taste gave great effect to the whole.]
Col. Shell. The last lines, I presume, allude to the Duke's patronage of the Orphan School at Chelsea.
Ensign Steel. Yes, Sir.