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Page 102
Those lips this broken vessel touched,
His, too!--the man's we all adore--
That cavalier of cavaliers,
Whose voice will ring no more--
Whose plume will float amid the storm
Of battle never more!
Not on this idle page I write
That name of names, shrined in the core
Of every heart!--peace! foolish pen,
Hush! words so cold and poor!
His sword is rust; the blue eyes dust,
His bugle sounds no more!
Never was cavalier like ours!
Not Rupert in the years before!
And when his stern, hard work was done,
His griefs, joys, battles o'er--
His mighty spirit rode the storm,
And led his men once more!
He lies beneath his native sod,
Where violets spring, or frost is hoar:
He recks not--charging squadrons watch
His raven plume no more!
That smile we'll see, that voice we'll hear,
That hand we'll touch no more!
My foolish mirth is quenched in tears:
Poor fragments strewed upon the floor,
Ye are the types of nobler things
That find their use no more--
Things glorious once, now trodden down--
That makes us smile no more!
Of courage, pride, high hopes, stout hearts--
Hard, stubborn nerve, devotion pure,
Beating his wings against the bars,
The prisoned eagle tried to soar!
Outmatched, overwhelmed, we struggled still--
Bread failed--we fought no more!
Lies in the dust the shattered staff
That bore aloft on sea and shore,
That blazing flag, amid the storm!
And none are now so poor,
So poor to do it reverence,
Now when it flames no more!
But it is glorious in the dust,
Sacred till Time shall be no more:
Spare it, fierce editors! your scorn--
The dread "Rebellion's" o'er!
Furl the great flag--hide cross and star,
Thrust into darkness star and bar,
But look! across the ages far
It flames for evermore!
Carolina.
By Anna Peyre Dinnies.
In the hour of thy glory,
When thy name was far renowned,
When Sumter's glowing story
Thy bright escutcheon crowned;
Oh, noble Carolina! how proud a claim was mine,
That through homage and through duty, and birthright, I was thine.
Exulting as I heard thee,
Of every lip the theme,
Prophetic visions stirred me,
In a hope-illumined dream:
A dream of dauntless valor, of battles fought and won,
Where each field was but a triumph--a hero every son.
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