Читать книгу The Continental Monthly, Vol. 6, No 4, August, 1864 - Various - Страница 5

He lay on the field of Antietam,

As the sun sank low in the west,

And the life from his heart was ebbing

Through a ghastly wound in his breast.

All around were the dead and the dying—

A pitiful sight to see—

And afar, in the vapory distance,

Were the flying hosts of Lee.

He raised himself on his elbow,

And wistfully gazed around;

Till he spied far off a soldier

Threading the death-strewn ground.

'Come here to me, Union soldier,

Come here to me where I lie;

I've a word to say to you, soldier;

I must say it before I die.'

The soldier came at his bidding.

He raised his languid head:

'From the hills of North Carolina

They forced me hither,' he said.

'Though I stood in the ranks of the rebels,

And carried yon traitorous gun,

I have never been false to my country,

For I fired not a shot, not one.

'Here I stood while the balls rained around me,

Unmoved as yon mountain crag—

Still true to our glorious Union,

Still true to the dear old flag!'

Brave soldier of North Carolina!

True patriot hero wert thou!

Let the laurel that garlands Antietam,

Spare a leaf for thy lowly brow!1