Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1870-05-26


When menory's work is done;
Nor Haunting pennons grandly gay
Nor requiem sung, nor booming gun,
Nor martial romp and bright display,
Can cause one pulse in grief to swell
One sympathetic tear to we'll,
That found no thrill nor flow before
In kindred bosoms stricken sore
They need no knell,
Who did so we'll,
Their part in martyred freedoms strife
Nor moistened eye,
Nor grief's shrill cry,
Gives honor praise, or pulse life.
But ever rings funeral bell,
In the vault of the heart,
Pealing sad and solemn knell,
With an electric start,
For those martyred heroes who fell;
In Freedoms battles fought so well;
And as the sweet, but sad notes flow,
Casting gloom Ger all below,
Will gather the long floral train,
On every Southern burial plain,
Winding amid each shaft and tomb,
Scattering alike the fragrant bloom,
That tells of memory's sacred trust;
And above each pillared shrine,
Where sleeps immortal Glory's dust,
The ivy and the myrtle twine
An emblem of their faith and trust,
And the cause they died to save
Such as the Southern heavens weave
In a bright and brilliant cross,
On the blue sky, which stars elnboss,
And seem to weep country's doom,
Ger Southern patriot heroes tomb.
No weeping, or mourning or wall,
No pittying tear,
Shed DER the bier,
Of The hero sleeping in mail.
Not they who fell on freedoms field,
And 'slumber now on Glory's bed,
Who'd rather fall upon their shield.
Than to the coward tyrant yield.
But rather we, who live, are dead
To all our Wanted glories pride,
And they to honor glorifed.
IT'S we whose bosoms bleed or burn
AT tyrants scoff ald despots spurn,
And feel the flush upon our cheek
For vengeance which we cannot reck.
All no not they who softly sleep
Where tyrant curses cannot creep,
Low in the graves dank, silent keep;
And dearer far the chill and gloom
OF fallen warriors hallowed tomb,
And brighter far each spotless name
Upon the gilded shaft of fame,
Than they who live to mourn as lost
A Cause such noble heroes cost,
Or idly weep thro' Freedom fanes
Ger affairs broke, and sentries slain
B hold, where natures richest scene,
In brightest panoramic view,
Once sprea her varied tinselled screen.
From Potomac's wavelets sheen
To Rio Grande's waters blue
See, now, where lovely grandure shone,
The ruins charred, uncoiifed and lone;
E en- Ceres scarce can tell her bounds,
Tho healed are Wars fercest wounds.
And where waves yon feld Of wheat,
Stirred by balmy breezes sweet,
There once the steel-maied horseman rode
With reeking flank and bloody goad
And load the clang of saber stroke,
Amid the battle fire and smoke,
And fell or crouched the vandal slave,
Or found our chivalry a grave.
And where yon hillock lonely looms,
See the long range of Towering tombs,
Side by side, in the deep, long aisle,
Ranging in phalanx and in file
Seeming to stand in battle array,
'Gainst history's errors and wrong;
For tho falsehood may wound to-day
Tomorrow the truth will be strong.
And what tho the dark cypress shade
Casts shadow over the tomb,
OF those heroes in column laid,
Who lived meath the tropical bloom
Is their rest not quiet and soft,
In the rank with comrades lain,
Who marshalled together so oft
Will they Of their order complain
As they move on history's plain ?
And see by yon flower strewn mould,
That form in its dark mail of weeds.
As she kneels on the hallowed ground,
Whilst her heart in widowhood bleeds.
Not the tread Of that funeral train
Can disturb her orisobs there,
As she wee9s for the gallant and slain,
And blesses his cause in her prayer;
While the youth standing close to her side
Learns virtue from greifs humble show,
His dark eye flashing in pride,
And his cheek with crimson aglow-
In the son CLEANS the patriot fire,
With the love for the cause of his sire.
There is ever terror in death
When we fall in distant land,
And our name is lost with our breath,
Nor tombs to our memories stand.
But not to the hero who falls
In the cause where his country calls:
The name and the fame of his deeds,
Wherever he struggles and bleeds,
Will be known by his ccuntry's name,
On its rolls of honor and fame,
And if on his rude tomb stone,
Is enerayen the lie-ssunknown'
Ills as false as dark was the fray
When Tyranny conquered his sway.
Tho their hearts be clothed in grume,
And the cankering mould of the tomb
Gathers on their armor and gear,
Which in battles hot tempest was triei,
With love for their country, and PRIDE,
Twill glimner thro many year,
In their bright sunlight of Glory