Of them, their patriot zeal and pride,
The lofty faith that with them died,
No grateful page shall farther tell
Than that so many bravely fell;
And we can only dimly guess
What worlds of all this world's distress,
What utter woe, despair, and dearth,
Their fate has brought to many a hearth.
Just such a sky as this should weep
Above them, always, where they sleep;
Yet, haply, at this very hour
Their graves are like a lover's bower;
And Nature's self, with eyes unwet,
Oblivious of the crimson debt
To which she owes her April grace,
Laughs gayly o'er their burial-place.
[Footnote 92: A native of South Carolina. He has a fine poetic sentiment,
with much beauty of expression, and is an especial favorite in the
South.]
* * * * *
=_Susan A. Talley Von Weiss,_=[93] about =_1830-._=
=_417._= THE SEA-SHELL.
Sadly the murmur, stealing
Through the dim windings of the mazy shell,
Seemeth some ocean-mystery concealing
Within its cell.
And ever sadly breathing,
As with the tone of far-off waves at play,
That dreamy murmur through the sea-shell wreathing
Ne'er dies away.
It is no faint replying
Of far-off melodies of wind and wave,
No echo of the ocean billow, sighing
Through gem-lit cave.
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