  Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause; Though yet no marble column craves The pilgrim here to pause. In seeds of laurel in the earth The blossom of your fame is blown, And somewhere, waiting for its birth, The shaft is in the stone. Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years Which keep in trust your storied tombs, Behold! Your sisters bring their tears And these memorial blooms. Small tribute! but your shades will smile More proudly on these wreathes to-day, Than when some cannon-molded pile Shall overlook this bay. Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! There is no holier spot of ground Than where defeated valor lies, By mourning beauty crowned. FOOTNOTE: |
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