Thompson and Hope and Hubner and Lanier,
Randall, whose battle-muse sang "Maryland",
And Father Ryan, who, in deathless rhyme,
Has hymn'd "The Conquer'd Banner's" lingering strain.
There carve on horse-back, for the march of Time,
Our storied Stonewall, and to guard the mount,
Summon the sleeping knight of Lexington
From his recumbent couch; bid him come forth,
In all his beauty, to command those heights
And, lest the stone disintegrate too soon,
Re-name the belted Mars, on yonder arch,
And call the war-god-Robert Edward Lee!
Cloud kissing height! The crystal winds of heaven
Around thee play. But not too high art thou
To typify the Private Soldier. Not too proud
To illustrate the Unknown Dead. Deep-bas'd,-
Vast in thine amplitude of solid strength,
A massive boulder wrought of living rock,
That rock itself rob'd in Confederate gray
And lifted into star-land's golden mist-
Where, let me ask, in all the circling hills,
Could worthier stone be found, on which to carve
The story of a Conquer'd Banner's fall,
To hold in keeping Stonewall Jackson's name,
Or lift to the eternal ages, Lee!-
Muse of the mountain, set thy music free!
RAPHAEL SEMMES: THE SINKING OF THE
CULPTOR, fail not to carve on yonder rock,
Among our war-gods, the familiar cap
Of our great admiral. There, too, enroll
Brave Kell. The Alabama's spectral flag
Still sails th' historic seas, her colors bright,
Not one ignoble scar upon her helm,
Nor one dark deed to bend her towering mast.
Picture the great sea captain as he look'd
When flush'd with victory, on Fame's proudest day,
He trod her glorious deck, with eyes agleam,-
The grandest of the vikings. Place him there,
Girt with his jewel'd sword, the generous gift
Of gentle England. Every inch a man!
Well might he pride himself upon his ship.
Her white wings spread to catch the favoring gales—
Key'd for the fight-she was the battle-queen
Of our Confederate navy! Aye, her name,
More terrifying than the lightning's flash,
Reach'd to the Indian ocean-swept the main,
Like an avenging besom-cast its spell,
From equatorial palms to northern lights.
She flew no pirate's pennon, revel'd not
In mere brigandage; on the boundless deep,
Was no devouring ghoul or privateer,
No base marauder upon plunder bent.
Her prizes nobly, in the open, won,
Were the unquestion'd spoil of splendid war,
John McIntosh Kell, of Georgia, Lieutenant, of the Alabama.
And all legitimate. Not whiter was
The lily's cup, when laden with the dew,
Nor one whit prouder was the mountain pine
When on the topmost peak of all it rose
To catch its wreath of snow. Unparallel'd
Her trophies,-she patrol'd the troubl'd seas,
Unchalleng'd in the watery lists of war,-
The dreadnaught of the sixties. But there came,
Alas, a day, when silence steep'd her shroud
And, o'er the wide waste of the ocean wave,
Volley'd the thunder of her guns no more!
On Cherburg's height, a soft June morning looks.
Naught, in the cloudless sky o'erhead, forebodes
The coming storm. Beneath us lies becalm'd
The English Channel, where Sir Francis Drake
Sunk the renown'd Armada. Suddenly
From out a cove, veil'd by the morning mist,
The Kearsarge wheels into the open sea.
Chain armor, double-thick, makes her immune.
She challenges the Alabama! Now
The duel starts! Ye gods, it cannot be!
The Alabama sinks! High mount the waves
Upon her deck, but still her thunders wake
The minstrelsy of battle. Lower still
The vessel slowly lists, till mast and helm
Are all engulf'd in the devouring deep.
The fight is over. Calm once more the field.
Lull'd by the music of her own proud drums,
The Alabama sinks to glorious dreams!
Last of the crew to quit the fated ship
Was her commander. On the bridge he stands,
Amid the seething flames, till all is o'er.
In speechless grief, he bids his boat farewell,
Takes a long look, then leaps into the sea.
|