Goldsboro weekly argus. [volume] (Goldsboro, N.C.) 1885-1909, 1904-04-14

and IN 1t alI-and since 1t all-they
were and have been found faithful
as Ruth.
Apropos, as breathing the true
spirit of this hallOwed occasicn-ssa
time for memory and for tears"-we
here give that beautiful poem .In
Memoriam," from the pen Of our
own gifted townsman, the late La
mented Nixon P. Clingman, whose
poetic genius was fathomless in re-
sources of imagination and majestic
in the sweep Of its fancy and in grace
Of diction:
Land of the South! embalmedi in song
That echoes down the years,
Above thy dead, to-day, we streW
The victor Bay and burial Yew,
To tell thy fame in tears:
For tho thy Starry Cross went down
Amid the wrathful fight, .
Upon its shining wreck we read
How herO-hearts can break and bleed
Before they yield the right.
Land Of the South the sweet May
time
That wooes thy buds and blooms,
Doth in its flight adown the Spring
Its rosy sickle softly swing
Along thy place of tombs-
Where loWly winds like mourners
bend
To whisper to the brave,
Whose quiet brows, tho cold beneath,
Are circled with the LaureIs wreath
That sparkles from the grave.
Land OF theSouth! thy blades no more
Leap out in hands of steel,
But in their rust the record sleeps,
That Honor guards and Virtue keeps,
How Southrons scorn to kneel:
And on thy deeds shall Romance love
To real her dazzling fame,
And pilgrims come to haunt the Urns
Where Sorrow broodsand Valor turns
10 muse upon thy slain.
Land Of the South! the starst that burst
Like blossoms from your sky,
Reflect in each a hero's shade
Whose knightly deeds shall only fade
When time itself shall die:
And future Bards shall sweetly wake
To thee their chosen Tyre,
And WOman's lips shall hymn the
praise
To childish ears in tender lays
OF fallen Southern sire.
Land of the South! a Bayard keeps
All mute his marble rest
Within each grave whose stored clay
Lies in its winding sheet Of grey
Upon thy mOther-breast:
And now we bring our floral gifts,
And braids of Immortelle,
AS tribute to the country dead
Who followed where thy banner led,
And with that banner fell.
Land of the South! thysquadrons rush
Down in the fray no more,
Mid rifle flash and sabre stroke
And scenes of blood and battle smoke.
AS in the days of yore:
But ali! the lightning track they left
Is paved with Spartan dust,
And legends linger where they rode,
That gild the page of Valor's Code,
OF how they kept their trust.
Land of the South! a halo CLEANS
Upon thy midnight gloom,
And round thy broken shrine it
throws
"a wreath of light that proudly CLOVIS
About the martyrs tomb:
And from thy darkest ruins spring,
Where life and hope are dumb,
Traditions that shall live in song
That other Minstrels shall prolong
In days that are to ome
Land of the South! about thy wrecks
The fires of Courage play,
And Glory gathers from thy grief
The grandest gleanings in its sheaf
To garner them for aye:
For when the last throb of thy drums
Grew faint upon the air,
Immortals bore on wings of fame
The echo up the sleeps of Fame
And left it living there.
Land of the South! no martial muse
A purer theme shall teach,
Than how thy Colors swift and far
Swept DER the purple field of war
And lit the deadly breach:
And Vandal pen can ne'er profane,
Or blight with venom stroke,
A single star that hung thereon
And shone till every hope was gone
To dare the despot's yoke.
l. THREE INDIANS KILLED