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Though in her towers, reached her last hours,

Rocks proud Rebellion's crestThe world may sag, if but my nag

Get in before the rest!

With bloody flank, and fetlocks dank,

And goad, and lash, and shoutGreat God! as every hoof-beat falls

A hundred lives beat out!
As weary as this broken steed

Reels down the corduroys,
So, weary, fight for morning light

Our hot and grimy boys;
Through ditches wet, o'er parapet

And guns barbette, they catch
The last, lost breach; and 1,-I reach

The mail with my dispatch!

Sure it shall speed, the land to read,

As sped the happiest shell!
The shot I send strike the world's end;

This tells my pony's knell;
His long race run, the long war done,

My occupation gone,
Above his bier, prone on the pier,

The vultures fleck the dawn.
Still, rest his bones where soldiers dwell,

Till the Long Roll they catch.
He fell the day that Richmond fell,

And took the first dispatch!

LEE'S FINAL ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS

Dated April 10, 1865, the Day After the Surrender at

Appomattox

After four years of arduous service, marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the Army of Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelming numbers and resources. I need not tell the survivors of so many hard-fought battles, who have remained steadfast to the last, that I have consented to this result from no distrust of them; but, feeling that valor and devotion could accomplish nothing that could compensate for the loss that would have attended the continuation of the contest, I have determined to avoid the useless sacrifice of those whose past services have endeared them to their countrymen. By the terms of the agreement, officers and men can return to their homes and remain there until exchanged. You will take with you the satisfaction that proceeds from the consciousness of duty faithfully performed; and I earnestly pray that a merciful God will extend to you His blessing and protection. With an increasing admiration of your constancy and devotion to your country, and a grateful remembrance of your kind and generous consideration of myself, I bid an affectionate farewell.

R. E. LEE, General.

THE

CONFLICT ENDED

BY CHARLES DEVENS

From an Address Delivered at Charlestown, Mass.,

June 17, 1875

The conflict is over! Day by day the material evidences of war fade from sight; the bastions sink to the level of the ground which surrounded them; scarp and counterscarp meet in the ditch which divided them. So let them pass away, forever!

To-day it is the highest duty of all, no matter on what side they were, but, above all, of those who have struggled for the preservation of the Union, to strive that it become one of generous confidence, in which all the States shall, as of old, stand shoulder to shoulder, if need be, against the world in arms. Towards those with whom we were lately in conflict, and who recognize that the results are to be kept inviolate, there should be no feeling of resentment or bitterness. They join with us in the wish to make of this regenerated Union a power grander and more august than the founders ever dared to hope.

All true men are with the South in demanding for her, peace, order, good and honest governments, and encouraging in her the work of rebuilding all that has been made desolate. We need not doubt the issue. With the fire of her ancient courage, she will gird herself up to the emergencies of her new situation. Standing always in generous remembrance of every section of the Union, neither now nor hereafter will we distinguish between States or sections, in our anxiety for the glory and happiness of all. Together will we utter our solemn aspiration, in the spirit of the motto of the city which now incloses within its limits the battle-field and town for which the battle was fought:

As God was to our fathers, so may He be to us.'

SECOND REVIEW OF THE GRAND ARMY

BY FRANCIS BRET HARTE

I read last night of the Grand Review

In Washington's chiefest avenue
Two Hundred Thousand men in blue,

I think they said was the number,
Till I seemed to hear their trampling feet,
The bugle blast and the drum's quick beat,
The clatter of hoofs in the stony street,
The cheers of people who came to greet,
And the thousand details that to repeat

Would only my verse encumber,-
Till I fell in a revery, sad and sweet,

And then to a fitful slumber.

When, lo! in a vision I seemed to stand
In the lonely Capitol. On each hand
Far stretched the portico; dim and grand
Its columns ranged, like a martial band
Of sheeted specters whom some command

Had called to a last reviewing.

And the streets of the city were white and bare,
No footfall echoed across the square;
But out of the misty midnight air
I heard in the distance a trumpet blare,
And the wandering night-winds seemed to bear

The sound of a far tattooing.

Then I held my breath with fear and dread;
For into the square, with a brazen tread,
There rode a figure whose stately head

O'erlooked the review that morning,
That never bowed from its firm-set seat
When the living column passed its feet,
Yet now rode steadily up the street

To the phantom bugle's warning:

Till it reached the Capitol square, and wheeled,
And there in the moonlight stood revealed
A well-known form that in state and field

Had led our patriot sires;
Whose face was turned to the sleeping camp,
Afar through the river's fog and damp,
That showed no flicker, nor waning lamp,

Nor wasted bivouac fires.

And I saw a phantom army come,
With never a sound of fife or drum,
But keeping time to a throbbing hum

Of wailing and lamentation:
The martyred heroes of Malvern Hill,
Of Gettysburg and Chancellorsville,
The men whose wasted figures fill

The patriot graves of the Nation.

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