TO ———.
157
No eye, in my own, ever truthfully read That I could forget, and be gay with the foe.
'T is true that, as conquerors, many have proved All courteous, kind, and respectful to me;Yet still they have robbed me of all that I loved; My heart is against them, and must ever be.
But there comes a voice from a tent in the wild wood: "Why have you, among them, your destiny thrown?"I answer you, dear cherished friend of my childhood, I have in dear "Dixie" no home of my own.
Fate rules with a rod that the Medes and the Persians Would tremble to see raised above them in wrath;No piteous plea, no attempted diversion, Avail us when duty shapes for us our path.
