| |
| JUST as the spring came laughing through the strife, | |
| With all its gorgeous cheer, | |
| In the bright April of historic life | |
| Fell the great cannoneer. | |
| |
| The wondrous lulling of a hero’s breath | 5 |
| His bleeding country weeps; | |
| Hushed, in the alabaster arms of Death, | |
| Our young Marcellus sleeps. | |
| |
| Nobler and grander than the child of Rome, | |
| Curbing his chariot steeds, | 10 |
| The knightly scion of a Southern home | |
| Dazzled the land with deeds. | |
| |
| Gentlest and bravest in the battle-brunt— | |
| The Champion of the Truth— | |
| He bore his banner to the very front | 15 |
| Of our immortal youth. | |
| |
| A clang of sabres mid Virginian snow, | |
| The fiery pang of shells,— | |
| And there ’s a wail of immemorial woe | |
| In Alabama dells: | 20 |
| |
| The pennon drops, that led the sacred band | |
| Along the crimson field; | |
| The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand, | |
| Over the spotless shield. | |
| |
| We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face, | 25 |
| While, round the lips and eyes, | |
| Couched in their marble slumber, flashed the grace | |
| Of a divine surprise. | |
| |
| O, mother of a blessëd soul on high, | |
| Thy tears may soon be shed! | 30 |
| Think of thy boy, with princes of the sky, | |
| Among the Southern dead! | |
| |
| How must he smile on this dull world beneath, | |
| Fevered with swift renown— | |
| He, with the martyr’s amaranthine wreath, | 35 |
| Twining the victor’s crown! | |
| |
