Ode to Stonewall

ODE TO STONEWALL
by Miles O'Reiley, a Union Officer

He sleeps all quietly and cold beneath the soil that gave him birth
Then break his battle brand in twain, and lay it with him in the earth.

No more at midnight shall he urge his toilsome march among the pines.
Nor hear upon the morning air the war shout of his charging lines.

No more for him shall cannon park or tents gleam white upon the plain;
And where his camp fires blazed of yore, brown reapers laugh amid the grain!

No more above his narrow bed shall sound the tread of marching feet.
The rifle volley and the crash of sabres when the foeman meet.

Young April o'er his lowly mound shall shake the violets from her hair.
And glorious June with fervid kiss shall bid the roses blossom there.

And white-winged peace o'er all the land broods like a dove upon her nest,
While iron war, with slaughter gorged, at length hath laid him down to rest.

And where we won our onward way, with fire and steel through yonder wood,
The blackbird whistles and the quail gives answer to her timid brood.

And oft when white-haired grandsires tell of bloody struggles past and gone.
The children at their knees will hear how Jackson led his columns on!