The sun s bright lances rout the mists
Of morning; and, By George!
Here s Longstreet, struggling in the lists,
Hemmed in an ugly gorge.
Pope and his Dutchmen! whipped before.
"Bay nets and grape!" hear Stonewall roar. Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby s score, In Stonewall Jackson s Way. Ah, Maiden! wait, and watch, and yearn, For news of Stonewall s band. Ah, Widow! read, with eyes that burn, That ring upon thy hand. Ah, Wife! sew on, pray on, hope on! Thy life shall not be all forlorn. The foe had better ne er been born, That gets in Stonewall s Way.
HENRY LYNDEN FLASH
[Henry Lynden Flash was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1835. He was an officer in the Confederate army and after the war made his home in New Orleans until 1886, when he removed to Los Angeles, California. In 1860 he published a volume entitled "Poems," but his reputation rests chiefly upon several pieces written in war time.]
STONEWALL JACKSON
Not midst the lightning of the stormy fight, Nor in the rush upon the vandal foe, Did kingly Death, with his resistless might, Lay the great leader low.
