60
The Patriot Martyr.
THE PATRIOT MARTYR.
Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, assassinated April, 1865.
WHAT mean these startling bursts of woe,
That echo our green hills along?
A nation's tears—why should they flow?
But yesterday the strains of song
And triumph pealed on every breeze,
That wafted freshness o'er the earth,
Bringing, with spring, new promises
Of a free, loyal country's birth.
That echo our green hills along?
A nation's tears—why should they flow?
But yesterday the strains of song
And triumph pealed on every breeze,
That wafted freshness o'er the earth,
Bringing, with spring, new promises
Of a free, loyal country's birth.
What mean they, the sad, drooping eye?
The compress'd lip? The sorrowing look?
Hand clasping hand so silently?
Voice answering voice, with sobbing shook?
Why, scarcely hushed, their chimes so deep,
Of joy upon the ravished ear,
Wail out the bells in tones that weep,
Curdling the listener's blood to hear?
The compress'd lip? The sorrowing look?
Hand clasping hand so silently?
Voice answering voice, with sobbing shook?
Why, scarcely hushed, their chimes so deep,
Of joy upon the ravished ear,
Wail out the bells in tones that weep,
Curdling the listener's blood to hear?
