Читать книгу War Poetry of the South - Various - Страница 33

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A voice is heard in Ramah!

High sounds are on the gale!

Notes to wake buried patriots!

Notes to strike traitors pale!

Wild notes of outraged feeling

Cry aloud and spare him not!

'Tis Virginia's strong appealing,

And she calls to Winfield Scott!

Oh! chief among ten thousand!

Thou whom I loved so well,

Star that has set, as never yet

Since son of morning fell!

I call not in reviling,

Nor to speak thee what thou art;

I leave thee to thy death-bed,

And I leave thee to thy heart!

But by every mortal hope,

And by every mortal fear;

By all that man deems sacred,

And that woman holds most dear;

Yea! by thy mother's honor,

And by thy father's grave,

By hell beneath, and heaven above,

Give back the sword I gave!

Not since God's sword was planted

To guard life's heavenly tree,

Has ever blade been granted,

Like that bestowed on thee!

To pierce me with the steel I gave

To guard mine honor's shrine,

Not since Iscariot lived and died,

Was treason like to thine!

Give back the sword! and sever

Our strong and mighty tie!

We part, and part forever,

To conquer or to die!

In sorrow, not in anger,

I speak the word, "We part!"

For I leave thee to thy death-bed,

And I leave thee to thy heart!

Richmond Whig.