C. G. Fall

“ That night in phantom phalanx his splendid heroes march.
'Twas like a shield all gory, that sun of Austerlitz!
No bloody, ghostly phantom before our hero flits!
Ye idols of the people, who lead an army well,
Shall wield a nation's sceptre, in capitols shall dwell!
Past ages grim and hoary their victors loved to crown:
The flaming sword of conquest still wins sublime renown. ”

“ Till rising higher, higher, with loud, exultant roar,
The foaming, raging billows sweep o'er the crumbling shore.
Now he sees a planter's dwelling in Appomattox vale:
The earth is piled in breastworks, 'tis rent with iron hail ”