Jefferson Davis

By Harry Thurston Peck (1856–1914)

(Died November 30, 1879)

NO paltry promptings of unglutted hate

The Nation feels for him who erst assailed

Her life, and strove against the will of fate

To found an Empire and destroy a State.

She stands to-day magnificently mailed

In loyal love, too gloriously great

For thought of vengeance that were all too late.

And he whose death her sons would once have hailed

With joy, now slinks through the dark Oblivion’s gate,

With this his epitaph: When others quailed,

He staked his all upon one cast of fate

And lost—and lived to know that he had failed!