 | War poets of the South and Confederate camp-fire songs. |  |
PRESIDENT DAVIS.
The cell is lonely, and the night
Has filled it with a darker gloom;
The little rays of friendly light,
Which through each crack and chink found room
To press in with their noiseless feet,
All merciful and fleet,
And bring, like Noah's trembling dove,
God's silent messages of love—
These, too, are gone,
Shut out, and gone,
And that great heart is left alone.
Has filled it with a darker gloom;
The little rays of friendly light,
Which through each crack and chink found room
To press in with their noiseless feet,
All merciful and fleet,
And bring, like Noah's trembling dove,
God's silent messages of love—
These, too, are gone,
Shut out, and gone,
And that great heart is left alone.
50
Alone, with darkness and with wo,
Around him Freedom's temple lies,
Its arches crushed, its columns low,
The night-wind through its ruins sighs;
Rash, cruel hands that temple razed,
Then stood the world amazed;
And now those hands—ah, ruthless deeds!
Their captive pierce—his brave heart bleeds,
And yet no groan
Is heard—no groan!
He suffers silently, alone.
Around him Freedom's temple lies,
Its arches crushed, its columns low,
The night-wind through its ruins sighs;
Rash, cruel hands that temple razed,
Then stood the world amazed;
And now those hands—ah, ruthless deeds!
Their captive pierce—his brave heart bleeds,
And yet no groan
Is heard—no groan!
He suffers silently, alone.
For all his bright and happy home,
He has that cell, so drear and dark;
The narrow walls, for heaven's blue dome,
The clank of chains, for song of lark;
And for the grateful voice of friends—
That voice which ever lends
Its charm where human hearts are found—
He hears the key's dull, grating sound;
No heart is near,
No kind heart near,
No sigh of sympathy, no tear!
He has that cell, so drear and dark;
The narrow walls, for heaven's blue dome,
The clank of chains, for song of lark;
And for the grateful voice of friends—
That voice which ever lends
Its charm where human hearts are found—
He hears the key's dull, grating sound;
No heart is near,
No kind heart near,
No sigh of sympathy, no tear!
51
Oh, dream not thus, thou true and good!
Unnumbered hearts on thee await,
By thee invisibly have stood,
Have crowded through thy prison-gate;
Nor dungeon bolts, nor dungeon bars,
Nor floating "stripes and stars,"
Nor glittering gun or bayonet,
Can ever cause us to forget
Our faith to thee,
Our love to thee,
Thou glorious soul! thou strong! thou free!
Unnumbered hearts on thee await,
By thee invisibly have stood,
Have crowded through thy prison-gate;
Nor dungeon bolts, nor dungeon bars,
Nor floating "stripes and stars,"
Nor glittering gun or bayonet,
Can ever cause us to forget
Our faith to thee,
Our love to thee,
Thou glorious soul! thou strong! thou free!
| War poets of the South and Confederate camp-fire songs. | |