The Lexington intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1901-1949, 1901-05-11


poem is from the pen OF the fan
southern poet, Father Ryan, and
not before been published excep
the Confederate Veteran.
THE PHANTOM HOST.
BIZ FATHER RYAN,
My form was wrapped In the slumber
Which steals from the heart Its cares
For my life was weary
With its barren waste OF years;
But my soul, with rapid pinions,
Fled swift to the light which seems
From phantom's sun and planets
For the dreamer in his dreams.
stood in wondrous woodland,
Where the sunlight nestled sweet,
In the cups OF snowy lilies
which grew about my feet;
And while the Gothic forest arches
Stirred gently with the air,
The lilies underneath them
Swung their censors pale in prayer.
1 stood amazed and wondering,
And grand memoriam strain
Came sweeping through the forest,
And died; then rose again.
1t swelled in solemn measure,
Till my soul, with comfort blessed,
Sank down among the lilies
With folded wings to rest.
Then to that mystic music
Through the forests twilight aisle
Passed host with mufIied footsteps,
In martial rank and file;
And knew those gray-clad figures,
Thus slowly passing by,
Were the souls of southern soldiers
Who for freedom dared to die.
In front rode Sydney Johnson.
With brow no longer wrung
BY the vile and senseless slanders
OF a prurient rabble tongue;
And near him mighty Jackson,
with placid front, as one
Whose warfare was accomplished
Whose crown of glory won,
There Hill, too, pure and noble,
Passed in that spirit train,
For he joined the msrtyred army
From the souths last be- tie plain.
Then next IN order fol.DtA
The warrior priest, great Polk,
with JOY to meet his Master,
For he had nobly borne the yoke.
There Stuart, the bold, the daring,
with matchleSs Pelham rode
With earnest, chastened faces,
They were looking up TO God.
And jenkins, glorious jenkins.
With his patient fearless eyes,
And the brave, devoted Garnett
Journeyed ON to Paradise.
Before a shadowy squadron
Rode Morgan, keen and strong.
And knew by his tranquil forehead
He'd forgotten every wrong.
There peerless Pegram marching
With dauntless martial tread,
And breathed a sigh for the hero,
The young, the early dead.
Mid spectral black-horse troopers
Passed Ashby's stalwart form.
With that proud. defiant bearing
which so spurned the battle storm !;
But his glance was mild and tender,
For in that Phantom Host
He dwelt with lingering fondress
On the brother he had lost.
Then strobe the brave Maloney,
Kind. genial adjutant;
And next him walked the truthful,
, The lion-hearted CAN'T
There to that solemn music
Passed a trio OF the brave:
Lomax, Phelan. Alfred Pinckney-
All had found a soldiers grave.
They we're young and gentle spirits,
But they quaffed the bitter cup,
! For their country's nag was falling,
! And they fell to lift it up
And then passed in countless thousar
In that mighty phantom host
True hearts and noble patriots
| Whose names on earth are lost.
, There "the missing" found their plac
Those vanished from our gaze
i. Like brillinnt, flashing meteors,
And we're lost in glory's blaze.
Yes, they passed that noble army.
They passed TO meet their Lord;
, And voice within me whispered:
/. "They but march to their reward"
-, ~