The Dallas daily herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1887, 1873-04-18
MORE CRUEL THAN WAR.

I|" - H|I
A correspondent OF the Kansas Cit.
limos rsvives a striking poem, Of whicl
this is the history; A Southern prisone
Of war at Camp Chase, in Ohio, afts
mining Of sickness in the hospital o
that station for some time, and confdinl
TO bis friend and fellow captive, Col. W
8. Hawkins, Of Tennessee, that he VA
heavy Of heart, because his afiianced brid,
in Nashville did not write to him, dice
lust before the arrival Of letter in which
the lady curtly broke the engagement
Col. Hawkins had been requested by his
dying comrsds to open any epistle which
should come for him thereafter, and, upon
reading the letter in question, psnnsd
the following versifsd answer. The lines
we're imperfsctly given BY the Southern
press just after tho war, and deserved re-
vivsl, if only for the sake Of the corrsc-
tions requisite to do justice to their SEN
timent and win for them . wider apprs-
citation:
Your letter, lady, came too late,
For Heaven had claimed It's own;
All, sudden change from prison-bars
Unto the'great white throne
And yct think he wsuld have stayed,
To live for his disdain,
Could he have read tho careless words
which you have sent In vain.
So full of patience did he wait,
Through many weary hour,
That DER his simple soldier faith
No even death had power;
And you-did others whisper low
Their homage In your ear;
Az though amongst their shallow throng,
His spirit had pssrt
would that you were by me now,
To draw the sheet aside
And 500 how pure the look he wore
The moment when he died.
The asrrow that you gave to him
Had left Ito weary trace,
As 'twero the shadow OF the Cross
Upon his psllid face.
"Her love-" he said, "could change for me
The winters cold to spring."
All, trust Of ncke maidon's love-
Thou art bitter thing
For whom these valleys, bright In May,
Once mere with blossoms wave,
Tho Northern violsts shall blow
Above his humble grave.
Your dole Of scanty words had been
But one more pang to bear,
For him who kissed unto the last
Your treu Of golden hair,
did not put 1t where he said,
For, when the angels come,
would not have them find the sign
OF falshood In the tomb.
I've road your letter, and know
Tho uiles that you had wrought
To win that noble heart of his,
And gained it--cruel thsughtl
What lavish wealth men sometimes give
For what is worthless all;
What manly bosoms beat for truth
In folly's falsest thrall
Yoa shall not pity him. for now
His sorrow has an end;
Yet would that you could stand with mo
Beside my fallen friend;
And forENsyou for his sake,
As he-if 1t be given
May cen bepleading grace to you
Before the cosrt OF Heaven.
Tonight the cold winds whistle by
As my vigil keep
Within the prison house, where
Few mourneIs come to weep.
A rude plank coffin holds his form;
Yet death exalts his face,
And would rather SEQ him thus
Than claspsd.n your embrace.
Tonight your homo may shine with lights,
And ring with merry song,
And you DO smiling, ~ your soul
Had done no deadly wrong;
Your hand 80 fair that mono wonld think
1t penned these words Of pain;
Your skin so white-would God your heart
Were half as free from stain.
Tdrathsr be my comrade dead
Than you in Lille supreme;
For yours the sinners waking dead,
And his the martyrs dream.
Whom serve we In this life, We serve
In that which 10 to come;
He chose his way; you yours; lot God
Pronounce tho fitting doom.