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Page 84
The violets peer from their dusky beds,
With a tearful dew in their great, pure eyes;
The lilies quiver their shining heads,
Their pale lips full of a sad surprise;
And the lizard darts through the glistening fern--
And the squirrel rustles the branches hoary;
Strange birds fly out, with a cry, to bathe
Their wings in the sunset glory;
While the shadows pass
O'er the quiet face and the dewy grass.
God pity the bride who waits at home,
With her lily cheeks and her violet eyes,
Dreaming the sweet old dreams of love,
While her lover is walking in Paradise;
God strengthen her heart as the days go by,
And the long, drear nights of her vigil follow,
Nor bird, nor moon, nor whispering wind,
May breathe the tale of the hollow;
Alas! alas!
The secret is safe with the woodland grass.
Ode-"Souls of Heroes."
Charleston Mercury.
Souls of heroes, ascended from fields ye have won,
Still smile on the conflict so greatly begun;
Bring succor to comrade, to brother, to son
Now breasting the battle in ranks of the brave;
And the dastard that loiters, the conflict to shun,
Pursue him with scorn to the grave!
II.
Pursue him with furies that goad to despair,
Hunt him out, where he crouches in crevice and lair,
Drive him forth, while the wife of his bosom cries--"There
Goes the coward that skulks, though his sister and wife
Tremble, nightly, in sleep, overshadowed by fear
Of a sacrifice dearer than life."
III.
There are thousands that loiter, of historied claim,
Who boast of the heritage shrined in each name--
Sting their souls to the quick, till they shrink from the shame
Which dishonors the names and the past of their boast;
Even now they may win the best guerdon of fame,
And retrieve the bright honors they've lost!
IV.
Even now, while their country is torn in the toils,
While the wild boar is raging to raven the spoils,
While the boa is spreading around us the coils
Which would strangle the freedom our ancestors gave;
But each soul must be quickened until it o'er-boils,
Every muscle be corded to save!
V.
Still the cause is the same which, in long ages gone,
Roused up your great sires, so gallantly known,
When, braving the tyrant, the sceptre and throne,
They rushed to the conflict, despising the odds;
Armed with bow, spear, and scythe, and with sling and with stone,
For their homes and their family gods!
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