The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1868-05-12

= : 's.' -
GOriginal.
Lines on the Annual Offering OF Ma
mortals to Our Dead.
Respectfully Dedicated to ne President Of
Me Ladies' Memorial Association.
Again fair hands with wreaths adorn
Inc graves where sleep our honored
While drops, more precious than the
In dewy fragrance eer hath shed
on these green mounds, are falling fast
From eyes whose love-inspiring LIGHT.
More potent far than bugle-blast,
urged on our warriors to the fipht
When old and young their bright swords
gfrded on.
To save the rights their bleeding sires had
won.
Not all in vain their life blood stains
Ihelr native soil; wherecr they lie
ls holy ground, where mourning trains
"Ah! righteous Hcaveu! how long. how
long,
Shall brute forco crush the scc5.o
down,
And malice heap up wrong on wrong,
And slavish myriads dare to crown
With savage jubilee triumph DER
Ihe state held Prostrate by tyrant's
power?"
Oh heard yo not rustling sound?
Came IL not from these graves, as tho
A spirit host rose from the ground?
Or was it but the weird winds low,
Sad muttering, midst the stifled sobs
or these bowed forms that kneel
around,
Or move enwrapped in sable robes,
Whispering above each lauroled
mound,
And conquerors fall when His Just will
ordalns. r.
The following lines, says the Augusta
Chronicle, were suggested to Miss Annie
r. Blount by the custom of strewing our
soldiers graves with flowers:
Strew those dear graves thickly over,
Every sacred earth mound cover;
Son and brother, friend and lover
Sleeping there.
Natrons! maids! the South's chaste daugh.
terS,
Bring to all our sainted martyrs
Offerings rare;
The very iairest flowers that bloom,
To deck each hallowed soldiers tomb!
Violet, rose and morning glory,
Though they say "menenfo mori,"
Also tell the pleasing story
or the time to como;
Where no clamor rude of battle,
Sabres clash and cannon's rattle,
Sound OF fife or drum,
Shall disturb the quiet air
All is peace and beauty thercl
Bring your laurels, lilies, roses,
Bind them into sweetest posies,
Strew them whore in death reposes
The dear, precious dust
or our braves, tho true and KIN: Shtly;
Der each hallowed grave tread lightly;
'Tis & sacred trust,
Thus to scatter flowers above
Lowly graves of those We Lowell
"Stonewall," bravest of "The ImmortaIs.
Passed triumphant through Heavens
portals
Lilies for thee. Christian warriorl
And n cedar spray.
Ashby! Stuart! Pelhaml glorious
Braves, who led your hosts victorious
Through the deadly fray
Strew we here blush roso OF May,
Rglantine and fadeless bay.
Morgan. Cleburne! Zollicoffer!
What sweet spring flowers shall we offer
Which are worthiost of the proffer
To thy memories?
We will strew DER thy still bosoms
SprinS-time's sweetest, choicest blossoms,
"Emblems Of true knighthood's PRIDE"
With the amaranth side by side.
But how vain the task to number
Our immortal braves, who slumber!
Ana Yet like no vague penumbra
They before mo rise.
Clad in robes of snowy whiteness,
With q moro than mortal brightness,
Pass my yearning eyes,
Those whovo stacked their arms forever
Those who've crossed the shining river!
All! the South's warm heart embraces
Each of these dear fallen faces,
Asleep i'll hallOwed resting places,
Marked Confederate dead"
All, bright jewels of that nation,
Perished from the fair creation
Knightliost head
Slumbers oft meath some white stone
Bearing that sad word, "Unknown!'
What though weak gave up to stronger
In brute force-forgive the wronger-
Though our banner float no longer,
But is sadly pressed
To some still dead heart that boro it
Proudly through the fight now DER it
That cold, pulseless breast
Lies the banner, sadly furled,
That once claimed bomage of world
Scatter flowers, each "last homo" over,
Every soldiers earth-mound cover,
Son and brother, friend and lover,
Sweotly resting here;
Each somebody's darling" sleeping