The Covington leader. (Covington, Tenn.) 18??-current, 1919-02-27
MoRE cRuEL TnAN 49,
lPubIished by REQUEST

published by Requestl
lhe following verses appeared
sclre years since in tie Courier
journal, but ae worthy or republic
cation. The history that.caled forth
the poem was the death Of south
EN- prisoner of war at Camp Chase,
o., who, while pining Of sickness in
the prison hospital .nere, confided
to his friend and fellow ca, live, Col.
NV S. Hawkins, that he was
Of heart because his afianced
at Nashville, Tenn, did not write
70 him. A letter from lei arrived
Just after his death, in which the
lady curtly broke The engagem
Col Hawkins had been requested
omen any letter which night
for him after his death, and upon
reading the letter, renle ed the lady
the following versified angwer:
Released
Your letter, lady, came loo late,
Fee heaven HAD ca med its own;
4 All, sudden change--from prison bars
1 Unto the great, white throne.
And yet | think he would have stay
To live for his 6isdain
Could he have read the careless words
Which you have sent in vain.
So full Of patience did he wait,
Through many a weary hour,
That DER his simple soldier faith
Not even death l10
And you-did others whisper low
Their homage in your ear,
As though amongst their shallow
throng
His spirit had a peer?
E#E
| / would that you were by me now,
To draw the sheet aside,
And see how pure the look he wore
The moment when he died
The sorrow that you gave to him
Had left its weary trace,
AS 'twere the shadow Of the cross
Upon his pallid face.
"Her love-" he said, could change
for me
The winters cold to spring."
All, trust of tickle maidens love,
Thou art bitter thing,
For when these valleys, bright in
May,
Once more with blossoms wave,
The northern violets 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 tress of golden hair,
i did not put it where he said,
For when the angels come,
! would not have them find the sign
OF falsehood in the tomb.
I've read your letter, and | know
The wiles that you had wrought
To win that noble heart Of his,
And gained it--cruel thought!
What lavish wealth men sometimes
give
For what is worthless all;
What manly bosoms beat for truth
In folly's falsest thrall
You shall not pity him, for now
His sorrow has am end;
Yet would that you could stand with
me
Beside my fallen friend;
And / forgive you for his sake,
AS he--if it be given
May cen be pleading grace for you
Before the court of heaven.
Tonight the cold winds whistle by,
AS / my vigil keep
Within the prison dead-house, where
Few mourners come to weep,
"A rude plank coffin holds Mis- form!
Yet death exalts his face,
And ! would rather see him thus
Than clasped in your embrace,
Tonight your home may shine with
lights,
And ring with merry song,
And you, yet smiling as your soul
Had done no deadly wrong; HI
Your hand so fair that none would
think
It penned those words of pain,
Your skin so white-would God your
heart
Were half as free from stain.
I'd rather be my comrade dead
Than you in life supreme;
For you the sinners waking dread,
And his the martyrs dream.
Whom serve we in this life, we serve
In that which is to come;
He chose his way; you yours; let God
Dispense a fitting doom.
Exchange.
WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME
Oh, won't there be some lusty cheer