"Massa's berry kind to Pompey; No one tends her grave like me; "Pears like she was watching Massa If Pompey should beside him stay, Mebbie she'd remember better How for him she used to pray; Telling him that way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of heaven While he lived in Tennessee." Silently the tears were rolling Down the poor old dusky face, Master dreaming of the battle Where he fought by Marion's side, When he bid the haughty Tarleton Stoop his lordly crest of pride. Man, remembering how yon sleeper Once he held upon his knee, Ere she loved the gallant soldier, Ralph Vervair, of Tennessee. Still the south wind fondly lingers Have you marked and trenched the ground, From your hearths, and homes, and altars, Hush! The hour of fate is nigh, Forward! We will do or die. G. Hamilton. With one heart and with one mouth, J. G. Whittier. CCXCVII. THE WATCHERS. ESIDE a stricken field I stood; BE On the torn turf, on grass and wood, Hung heavily the dew of blood. Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain, Two angels, each with drooping head The one with forehead saintly bland The other's brows were scarred and knit, "How long!" I knew the voice of Peace, "O Lord, how long! - One human soul Is more than any parchment scroll, Or any flag thy winds unroll. "What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? How weigh the gift that Lyon gave, Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave? |