Louisiana capitolian. (Baton Rouge, La.) 1879-1881, 1881-05-21
fco,tinued from first mage. !

upon thy high places How are the
mighty fallen !" The symphony of a
mighty past, is heard when the hand of
inercy sweeps over such golden strings,
The living soldier, is thus honorlng
the memory Of trusted leader, honors
himself pays true tribute to those OF
his troops who have indeed 'fought
their last battle" because no sound will
ever awake them to glory AGAIN. oh,
sleeping Contederates OF immortal JACK
son, it may he that no towering MONT
mental shafts rear their lofty spires to-
ward heaven ia comnemorahon OF yonr
name and fame, Bounteous treasures
are not nationally expended to guard
yonr solemn resting-places. The loving
mantle of governmental authority does
not spread its capacions folds over your
remains but we, your comrades. know
YOU were true to your great COMMANDER,
true to your colors, trne 10 your country,
true to yonr cause, and we ask for you
no epitaph more glorious than Here
lies a Confederate soldier who followed
Jackson and fell as freeman" AS lie
fell with bis face to the foe and his mus
ket in his hand, the true martyr Of the
fight, his companions may have swept
on to victory; as the best means OF pro-
tecting the spot where he tell--thls
somebody's darling who fought with
Stonewall.
Private soldier though he may have
been, buried in nameless grave, sleep
ing beneath q simple wooden board, in
scribed to the memory of tile unknown
dead, he was
Somebody's darling, so young and so brave
Wearing yet on his sweet pale face,
Soon 20 be hid in the dust OF the grave
The lingering light OF his boyhoods grace.
Matted and damp are the curls Of gold,
Kissing the snow of that fair young brow,
Pale are the lips OF that delicate mold,
Somebody darling is dying now.
Back from the beautiful blue.veined brow,
Brush mis- wondering waves OF gold,
Cross his hands on his bosom now,
mebody's darling is still and cold.
kiss him ONCE for somebody sake,
Murrnur prayer soft aud low,
One bright curl from its fair mates take,
They were somebody's pride, you know;
Somebody's hand has rested there,
Was il mothers soft and white,
Or have the lips of sister fair
Been baptIscd in the waves OF light
God knows best, he was somebody's love,
Somebody's heart enshrined him here,
Somebody waited his name above
Morn and night and the wings OF prayer.
Somebody wept when he marched away,
Looking 80 handsome, brave and grand,
Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay,
Somebody chung to his parting hand
somebody 9 watching and waiting for him,
Warming to hold him again to her heart,
Ia lpna f-aS
And the smiling childlike lips apart.
Tendery bury the fair young dead,
pausing todvop on his grave q tear
Carve on the wooden slab o er his head,
Somebody's darling lies buried here.
Hero of and private soldier in Jack
sons command, we picture IN touching
pathos your desolate mother. Tie ten
der memories of your infancy are crowd
ing upon her; the precious recollectlons
of your manhood are rising before her;
the thought of the strength and support
yeu would have been is present with
her. And yet, when giving such a true
son to his country, think | can hear
her exclainl, in the language OF the
Spartan mandate-"Come back, my sou,
with your shield or upon it!' Tie brush
of reality does. not color the picture
which presents this mother with grief
stricken gaze before the body OF her
loved and lost, lying cold and still upon
that shield, exclaiming from the very
veins of her heart, 81 would not ex-
change my dead son for any living one
in Chrstendom"
A learned professor, in giving the his
tory of drop of water, traces 1t as Int
cd in the form of vapor from the surface
of the ocean, waited by the breeze over
the land, cooled by aud precipitated up
on some mountain rock, from which, by
rill and riverlet it once again will find
it's way back to the sea it has left. So,
it seems proper that upon such an occa-
sion as this, our hearts should be recall
ed to the contemplation of such scenes
as have described, and the waters of
our love be rolled back once more to the
ocean of strife we have LETT. so that as
long as "Fame her record keeps" we
may never forget the glory Of comrades
who are not here to-day, but are resting
where they wearied and lying where
they fell, in the hallowed spots upon
distant battle fields.
In the eloquent language of Bates,
eve have gems in the urn of history OF
which we have right to be proud
If Scotlands plaided soldier can find
music in his bagpipe as he chants the
slogan of victory-if the son of the
mountain land of Tell who yet disdains
the cap of Gessler, winds through his
mellow horn with patriotic pride bis
Ran DIES Vache"-if aloug the vine
clad hills Of the Rhine and the sunny
banks of the smiling Seine, the French
man goes wild under the magic of his
Marseilaise-if ''God Save the Queen
is the part ofstaid old England, may we
not too, worship the genius that inspired
our Land of Dixie'' If the thistle O.
old Caledonia is worshipped with Cal
vanistic devotion, as it waves upon the
verge of Ben Lomond or casts its shad
ows in the Clyde; if the red cross of st
George has its staff over the palace o
St. James, upheld by the strength of th'
British lion, while its folds that flute
in every breeze in the boast Of heraldr,
and the pride ofpower; if the Ottoman
bows before the crescent with the East
ern idolatry as it floats over the Bospho
rus and around the Golden Horn; If tn