Somebody's hand hath rested there; Was it a mother's, soft and white? And have the lips of a sister fair Been baptized in those waves of light? God knows best. He was somebody's love; Somebody's heart enshrined him here; Somebody wafted his name above, Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay; Somebody clung to his parting hand Somebody's watching and waiting for him, Pausing to drop on his grave a tear, 66 Somebody's darling lies buried here!" Monody on Jackson. Ay, toll! toll! toll! Toll the funeral bell! So let its mournful echoes roll From sphere to sphere, from pole to pole, O'er the flight of the greatest, kingliest soul That ever in battle fell. Yes, weep! weep! weep! For Death, the greatest of soldiers, at last Then toll! and weep! and mourn! Mourn the fall. of the brave! For Jackson, whose deeds made the nation proud, Whose very name was a war-song loud, With the "crimson cross" for his martial shroud Now sleeps his long sleep in the grave. His form has passed away His voice is silent and still No more, at the head of "the old brigade He fell as a hero should fall; 'Mid the thunder of war he died. While the rifle cracked and the cannon roared, Virginia, his mother, is bowed; From all the South comes the wailing moan, Rest, warrior! rest! Rest in thy laureled tomb! Thy mem'ry shall live to earth's latest years, Thy deeds shall not perish in gloom! Coercion : A POEM FOR THEN AND NOW. WHO talks of Coercion? who dares to deny Let him blot out forever one star from the sky, Who prates of Coercion? can love be restored To bosoms where only resentment may dwell? Can peace on earth be proclaimed by the sword, Or good-will among men be established by shell? Shame! shame!-that the statesman and trickster, forsooth, Should have for a crisis no other recourse, Beneath the fair day-spring of light and of truth, Than the old brutum fulmen of tyranny,-force! From the holes where Fraud, Falsehood, and Hate slink away; From the crypt in which Error lies buried in chains; This foul apparition stalks forth to the day, And would ravage the land which his presence profanes. Could you conquer us, Men of the North-could you bring Desolation and death on our homes as a floodCan you hope the pure lily, Affection, will spring From ashes all reeking and sodden with blood? Could you brand us as villains and serfs, know ye not What fierce, sullen hatred lurks under the scar? How loyal to Hapsburg is Venice, I wot! How dearly the Pole loves his Father, the Czar! But 'twere well to remember this land of the sun And well may the schemers in office beware When the lion, RESISTANCE, shall leap from his lair, |