Arms reversed and banners creped —
Muffled drums;
Snowy horses sable-draped —
McPherson comes.
But, tell us, shall we know him more,
Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?
Brave the sword upon the pall —
A gleam in gloom;
So a bright name lighteth all
McPherson's doom.
Bear him through the chapel-door —
Let priest in stole
Pace before the warrior
Who led. Bell —toll!
Lay him down within the nave,
The lesson read —
Man is noble, man is brave,
But man's — a weed.
Take him up again and wend
Graveward, nor weep:
There's a trumpet that shall rend
This Soldier's sleep.
Pass the ropes the coffin round,
And let descend;
Prayer and volley — let it sound
McPherson's end.
True fame is his, for life is o'er —
Sarpedon of the mighty war.
James McPherson was 35 years old and the commanding general of the Union Army of the Tennessee when he blundered into a Confederate raiding party during the Battle of Bald Hill and was killed by a shot in the back as he tried to return to the safety of his own lines.
About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,
How alert in attendance be.
From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw,
They have nothing of harm to dread,
But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank
Or before his Gorgonian head;
Did all the lets and bars appear
To every just or larger end,
Whence should come the trust and cheer?
Youth must its ignorant impulse lend —
Age finds place in the rear.
All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys,
The champions and enthusiasts of the state:
Turbid adors and vain joys
Mortally Wounded at Chancellorsville
The Man who fiercest charged in fight,
Whose sword and prayer were long —
Stonewall!
Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,
How can we praise? Yet coming days
Shall not forget him with this song.
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