VI.

That splendid Leader's name is yours, and he

Flesh of your flesh, himself bone of your bone,

His simple name maketh a history,

Which stands, itself grand, glorious and alone,

Or,‘ tis a trophy, splendidly arrayed,

With all your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade.

His name itself a history? Yes, and none

May halt me here. In war and peace

It challenges the full rays of the sun;

And when the passions of our day shall cease,

‘ Twill stand undying, for all time displayed,

Itself a battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade.

He rose successor of that mighty man

Who was the “right arm”of immortal Lee;

Whose genius put defeat beneath a ban;

Who swept the field as tempest sweeps the sea;

Who fought full hard, and yet full harder prayed.

You knew that man full well, Mahone's Brigade.

And here that great man's shadow claims a place;

Within my mind I see his image rise,

With Cromwell's will and Havelock's Christian grace;

As daring as the Swede, as Frederick wise;

Swift as Napoleon ere his hopes decayed;

You knew the hero well, Mahone's Brigade.

And when he fell his fall shook all the land,

As falling oak shakes mountain side and glen;

But soon men saw his good sword in the hand

Of one, himself born leader among men,—

Of him who led you through the fusilade,

The storm of shot and shell, Mahone's Brigade.

Immortal Lee, who triumphed o'er despair,

Greater than all the heroes I have named.

Whose life has made a Westminster where'er

His name is spoken; he, so wise and famed,

Gave Jackson's duties unto him whose blade

Was lightning to your storms, Mahone's Brigade.

Ere Jackson fell Mahone shone day by day,

A burnished lance amid that crop of spears,—

None rose above him in that grand array;

And Lee, who stood Last of the Cavaliers,

Knew he had found of War's stupendous trade,

A Master at your head, Mahone's Brigade.

O Countrymen! I see the coming days

When he, above all hinderances and lets

Shall stand in Epic form, lit by the rays

Of Fame's eternal sun that never sets,

The first great chapter of his life is made,

And spoken in two words — “Mahone's Brigade.”

O Countrymen! I see historic brass

Leap from the furnace in a blazing tide;

I see it through strange transformations pass

Into a form of energy and pride;

Beneath our Capitol's majestic shade

In bronze I see Mahone — Mahone's Brigade.

O Countrymen! When dust has gone to dust.

Still shall he live in story and in rhyme;

Then History's self shall multiply his bust,

And he defy the silent Conqueror, Time.

My song is sung: My prophecy is made —

The State will make it good, Mahone's Brigade.