The Dallas daily herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1887, 1874-05-05

IN reply the request OF correSpoh-
dent in Sunday HERALD, Miss Marion
Il. Brown sends us the poem alluded
to. The poem was published in our
columns on the 18th of April last. We
reproduce them as desired:
a southern prisoner Of war at Camp
Chase, in Ohio, after pining Of sick
ness in the hospital of that station for
some time, and conhding TO his friend
and fellow captive, Colonel w. $.
OF Tennessee, that he WAS
heavy of heart, because his alllanced
bride in Nashville did not write to
him, died just before tho arrival of n
letter in which the lady CURLY broke
the engagement. Colonel Hawkins
had been requested by his dying COM
rade to open any epietle Which should
come for him thereafter, and, upon
reading the letter in question, pcnned
the following versiiied answer The
lines We're imperieetly given by the
press just after tho wary and
deserved revival, if only for the sake
of the corrections requisite to do justice
to their sentiment aud win for them q
wider appreciation: ~
Your letter, lady, came too late,
For Heaven had claimed its own
All. sudden change from prson-barS
Unto the great white thronel
And yet think he would have stayed,
To live for his dlsdain,
Could he have read the carless words
Which you have sent In vain.
SO fun of patience did he walt,
Through many u weary hour,
That DER his simple soldier faith
Not even death had power;
And you--lid others whisper low
Their homage IN your ear; l.N8
AS though amongst their shallow throng,
His spirit had peer?
would thatyou were by me now, "
To draw the sheet aside
And see how pure the look lie wore
The moment whenhe died. ,i G.ia
The sorrow that you gave TO him
Had left Its weary trace.
AS 'twere the shadow OF the Cross Lao
Upon his pallid face.
"IIer love, "he said, "could change for me
The winters cold to spring;"
All, trust of fiokle mniden's love
Thou art bitter thingl fnETEaFG1
For when the valleys, bright in May,
Once moro with blossoms wave,
The northern violets shall blow srnF
Above his humble grave,
Your dole Of scanty words had been
But one more pang TO bear,
For him VINO kissed unto the last
Your tress CT golden hair,
! did not put it wnere he said,
For, when the angels come,
l would not have them ilnd the sign
OF falsehood In the tomb. ~
.l.s Nsffa s.at.t ~ a1s 't
I've read your letter, and know
The wiles that You had wrought
To win thenoble neart Of his, g4rt
And ga ned it-cruel thought!
What lavish wealth rncn sometimes give
For what ~ VOL thless NIL; .s-...,s ~
What matly !hosoms beat fortruthA
In folly's falsest thrllll A.- " "
You shah not pity him, for now
His sorrow has an end,
Yet would that you could stand with me
Beside my ialien friend; pa
And forgive you for his sake,
As he-if II be gwen
May cen be pleading grace to you
Before the court OF Heaven.
Tonight the cold winds whistle by
AS my Vigil keep a reA "a - reg 9
Within the prison house, where ~ Z
Few mourners come to weep.
A rude plank coffin holds his form:
Yet death cXaitS his fuce,
And would rather see him thus
Than clasped In your embrace. Il u
Tonight your home may shine with lights
And ring with merry song,
And you be smiling, rs your soul
Had done no deadly wrong;
Your hand so fair thatnone would think
II penned these words of pain;
f9urskin so white would Sod your hear
Were half as free nom stain.
I'd rather be my comrade dead
Than you in lifesupreme;
For yours the sinners waking dead
And his the martyrs Dream
Whom serve we in this life, we serve
In that which Is TO come;
lie chose his way; you yours; let God
Pronounce the fltting doom.