within it destructively. Shall the spring dawn, and she, still clad in smiles, And with an unscathed brow, Rest in the strong arms of her palm-crowned isles, As fair and free as now? We know not; in the temple of the Fates God has inscribed her doom: And, all untroubled in her faith, she waits The triumph or the tomb.
To the South
O subtle, musky, slumbrous clime! O swart, hot land of pine and palm, Of fig, peach, guava, orange, lime, And terebinth and tropic balm! Land where our Washington was born, When truth in hearts of gold was worn; Mother of Marion, Moultrie, Lee, Widow of fallen chivalry! No longer sadly look behind, But turn and face the morning wind, And feel sweet comfort in the thought: “With each fierce battle's sacrifice I sold the wrong at awful price, And bought the good; but knew it not.” Cheer up!
Breathe in new life Brood not on unsuccessful strife Against the current of the age; The Highest is thy heritage! Leave off this death's-head scowl a