The Louisiana Democrat. [volume] (Alexandria, La.) 1845-1918, 1869-04-28
2uctital.
THE DEA TIL WOUND OF STONE
WILL ID CRSON.
WRITTEN FOR THE P1cAYUNE, BY CYRIL.


WRITTEN FOR THE PICAYUNE, BY CYRILLA.
A long Spring day was closing, and an ON
mons blood-red SIM
Disappeared through the golden gates of
the West, as his daily course Was dOne
The flame of his parting splendor fingered
long in the Western sky,
AS the shadows of twilight deepened, fast
fading the sunset dye;
While the folds of her dusky mantle en-
veloped orr planet. the Earth,
Evening, draped in her sombre vestments,
awaited her fair sisters birth,
With her spangled garments trailing, and
with jeweled head on high,
Night stepped forth from her cloud pavil-
ion, with her handmade, Silence, nigh;
The solemn tread OF their footsteps, as they
traversed the vaulted sky,
Was drowned in the mournful music of the
whippoorwill's plaintive cry.
Through banks of clouds fast massing,
feebly struggled the moons pale light,
AS though yelling her eyes iii anguish at
the sorrowful scenes of the night,
In grief hiding herself each moment, be-
. meath mountains of passing cloud,
Fit emblem of Borrowing Nature-tbe moon
i'll her vapory shrond
Tn the edge of q silent forest energies a
shadowy group,
III the shade of q building pausing, as each
leans from his saddles croupe;
In front halts their gallant leader, with
pale face and straining ear
A soldier familiar with danger, heart I'M
acquainted with fear,
Intent, as, with finger uplifted, distant
sounds he endeavors to hear,
For in front stretch Federal encampments,
with his own brave troops in the rear
But bark! as tho night winds murmur a
requiem low in the vale,
ADd the moon traces fret-work of silver, as
she lifts her light vapory veil,
No more is the silence oppressive-'tis a
volley of muskets that sound
And the group of pale horsemeu are scat
tered, some receiving their mortal
deatl,-wOund
Cruel fate with unerring death missal,
which she grasps in her iron right
hand,
In her left holds the thread of millions,
while Watching their gliding sands.
None can lengthen the thread she weav-
eth, or add to the sands of Time,
AS they fall, with q solemn measure, thro
her glass in every cline.
Nearly spun was the thread of the hero, as
she turned DER the glass III her hand,
And with stern, remofseless features watch
ed the noiseless, wasting sand.
All, her strong right hand is empty! and
the soldiers bride rein
Falls out of his grasp as stream of blood
oOzes forth with Il crimson stain;
The sad, pale face grows paler as his fran
tic, wounded horse
D,rfc into l,o{, l.
which right in his pathway crossed;
Discharging his heavy burden, the wound
ed steed bears on,
Regardless, in pain, of the noble weight
through the battles shock oft borne.
Left lying, stretched out in torture, is the
bleeding, wounded form
VI Il hero nation rarely Owns-laid low
by wars fierce storm;
All the sigh that the night winds waited
as they pierced the darkening sky,
On the morrow rose from millions of ton
CUES in a nations afflicted cry.
They bore him off in silence too deep for
word or tear,
breathing prayers of fierce entreaty into
the Makers ear;
But the angel of Death descended, and
took his solemn stand
at the right hand Of the hero, drifting into !
the better land;
Hand in hand they crossed the river, with |
their gaze fixed on the shore
From whence strains of heavenly mnsic |
drowned the distant battles roar;
Earths outline dim recedeth as they near
that peaceful land;
While into the glass, with neiseless step. |
now glides the last bright sand,
AS the thread of life was severed and the
golden bowl was broke, i
In land of heavenly peace and rest the
slumbering hero woke