THE ARCH AT ARLINGTON.

[Lines suggested by an episode which occurred during the summer of 1920 on the floor of the national House of Representatives and inscribed to Congressman Wm. D. Upshaw, whose courageous and eloquent defense of Lee is thrillingly remembered.]

We thought the war was over, that the clash of angry shields

With silent drums were sleeping, on the Old South's battlefields.

That o'er the discord brooded, not the falcon but the dove, That Friendship's gentler bugles were now lulling hearts to

love.

That Memory's field of roses was without a single thorn, That War's grim sword was melted in the laborer's golden

horn.

That fifty smiling summers, with the fruits of peace, were green,

That former foes were brothers,—that America was queen!

But, hark! in tones of rancor, comes a blast from envy's

gun:

"Write not Lee's name in marble on the arch at Arlington!" Beside the blue Potomac, where the whole round world can

see,

Name all the Northern heroes, but erase the name of Lee! In Fame's perennial forest, aye, let not a hemlock fall, But rend the towering cedar, for it overtops them all! Guard every golden planet, and, along the Milky Way, Spare all the glittering star-dust-but Polaris must not stay!

What boots it if yon temple, from its roll of honor, bars
A name whose arch is heaven's and is fix'd among the

stars?

UNIV

OF

MICH

Here, where his children slumber'd, in the Old South's sweet repose,

Carve not his name in letters, 'tis the garden of his foes!
But who, except a numskull, can forget Virginia's son
When here he stands uncover'd o'er the graves at Arlington?
Who, save the meanest sycophant that ever bent his knee,
When Fame calls up her favorites, can refuse to honor Lee?
However brass may rattle or base demagogues may rant,
Lee bound us to Old Glory when he gave his pledge to Grant.
Then, in the chair at Lexington, this giant taller grew
Till, like an Atlas 'round a world, his belting arms he threw.
We dream'd that all our country was, in patriot-purpose,

one,

That all our warfare slumber'd with the dead at Arlington. We dream'd that all the nations were a unit in his praise, That laurel'd Caesar's chaplet was too mean to match his bays.

That starr'd but stain'd Napoleon could not mate Lee's humblest field,

When myrtle-crowned Marengo was the garland on his

shield.

That not the slave's base fetter was his sword drawn to defend

But Freedom's glorious charter by a great Virginian penned.
That more of Fame's true glory rode upon the battle-breeze,
With Lee at Appomattox than with Nelson on the seas!
He might have led Old Glory,-aye, the chosen chief of all,
But, like a true Virginian, he obey'd Virginia's call.
If Washington had heard it, on Mount Vernon's sacred
breeze,

The choice of Yorktown's victor would have been the same as Lee's.

In grim guerilla warfare yet, the strife might still go on, But Lee refus'd! All honor, to the knight of Arlington!

His fame, in lingering echoes, will all the ages fill

When critic-tongues have crumbl'd and in the dust are still! The trump that sounds the loudest, o'er the land and o'er

the sea,

Alone can lend its music to the lips that thunder "Lee!" Then bid the chosen sculptor not, to put his steel to stone, To carve that name in letters, on the arch at Arlington. Nay, breathe it not in whispers o'er the couches of the slain, A name that spells Manassas might awaken them again!

TO MRS. A. McD. WILSON.

Royal! Ah, yes. With stately mien,
She walks the ways of earth a queen.
Each scepter'd virtue of her race
Has print'd on her brow a grace,
While all the notes of music throng
To set her gentle life to song.
Fragrant with tender thoughts of her,
Each southern soldier's sepulchre.
Hallow'd to her, in Memory's dream,
The glories of an old regime.
"Twill be our lot, to be forgot,

Naught may or can redeem us,
But her bright name, in fadeless fame,
Will live with Uncle Remus.