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Long they our statues shall crown, in

songs our memory cherish; We shall look forth from our heaven, pleased the

sweet music to hear.

VANQUISHED

BY FRANCIS FISHER BROWNE

I

Not by the ball or brand
Sped by a mortal hand,
Not by the lightning stroke
When fiery tempests broke-
Not mid the ranks of War
Fell the great Conqueror.

II

Unmoved, undismayed,
In the crash and carnage of the cannonade,-
Eye that dimmed not, hand that failed not,
Brain that swerved not, heart that quailed not,
Steel nerve, iron form,-
The dauntless spirit that o'erruled the storm.

III

While the Hero peaceful slept
A foeman to his chamber crept,
Lightly to the slumberer came,
Touched his brow and breathed his name:
O'er the stricken form there passed
Suddenly an icy blast.

IV

The Hero woke, rose undismayed,
Saluted Death, and sheathed his blade.

2

V

The Conqueror of a hundred fields
To a mightier Conqueror yields;
No mortal foeman's blow
Laid the great Soldier low:
Victor in his latest breath
Vanquished but by Death.

THE NATION'S DEAD

ANONYMOUS

Four hundred thousand men

The brave-the good-the true,
In tangled wood, in mountain glen,
On battle plain, in prison pen,

Lie dead for me and you!
Four hundred thousand of the brave
Have made our ransomed soil their grave,

For me and you!
Good friend, for me and you !

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In many a fevered swamp,

By many a black bayou,
In many a cold and frozen camp,
The weary sentinel ceased his tramp,

And died for me and you!

From western plain to ocean tide
Are stretched the graves of those who died

For me and you !
Good friend, for me and you!

On many a bloody plain

Their ready swords they drew,
And poured their life-blood like the rain
A home-a heritage to gain,

To gain for me and you !
Our brothers mustered by our side;
They marched, they fought, and bravely died

For me and you !
Good friend, for me and you!

Up many a fortress wall

They charged—those boys in blue'Mid surging smoke, the volley'd ball; The bravest were the first to fall !

To fall for me and you!
These noble men—the Nation's pride-
Four hundred thousand men have died

For me and you !
Good friend, for me and you!

In treason's prison-hold

Their martyr spirits grew
To stature like the saints of old,
While amid agonies untold,

They starved for me and you!

The good, the patient, and the tried,
Four hundred thousand men have died

For me and you!
Good friend, for me and you!

A debt we ne'er can pay

To them is justly due,
And to the Nation's latest day
Our children's children still shall say,

They died for me and you!” Four hundred thousand of the brave Made this, our ransomed soil, their grave,

For me and you!
Good friend, for me and you!

A BALLAD OF HEROES

BY AUSTIN DOBSON

“Now all your victories are in vain."

Because you passed, and now are not

Because in some remoter day Your sacred dust in doubtful spot

Was blown of ancient airs away

Because you perished-must men say Your deeds were naught, and so profane

Your lives with that cold burden? Nay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

Though it may be, above the plot

That hid your once imperial clay, No greener than o'er men forgot

The unregarding grasses sway;

Though there no sweeter is the lay Of careless bird; though you remain

Without distinction of decay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

No, for while yet in tower or cot:

Your story stirs the pulse's play, And men forget the sordid lot

The sordid cares-of cities gray ;

While yet they grow for homelier fray More strong from you, as reading plain

That Life may go, if Honor stay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

ENVOY

Heroes of old, I humbly lay

The laurel on your graves again; Whatever men have done, men may

The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

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