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Richmond (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.46
The Confederate dead. [from the Richmond, Va., times, Jan. 30, 1898.] A beautiful poem by A. C. Gordon, of Staunton. To the Editor of the Times: In reading the excellent address of Capt. R. S. Parks to the veterans [see ante pp. 354-364], as reported in your paper, and the beautiful and fitting verses with which he closed, it occurred to me that you would enjoy, if you have never seen it, or read it, the entire poem as delivered by the author, the Hon. A. C. Gordon, of Staunton, Va., upon the occasion of unveiling the monument erected to the Confederate dead at Staunton, Va., and I enclose you a copy. The late Professor George Fred. Holmes told the writer of this that he considered Mr. Armistead Gordon's poem the finest on such an occasion he had read since the war. With many other distinguishing qualities, I am happy that Virginia has in this son one who writes so beautifully in verse. He has written as well in prose, it may be assumed, for, as fellow student
Waynesboro, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.46
onsidered Mr. Armistead Gordon's poem the finest on such an occasion he had read since the war. With many other distinguishing qualities, I am happy that Virginia has in this son one who writes so beautifully in verse. He has written as well in prose, it may be assumed, for, as fellow student with Thomas Nelson Page at the University of Virginia, he yielded to the latter (it has been admitted), some conceptions-upon which our dialect writer rose to fame and wealth. G. Julian Pratt. Waynesboro, Va., January 25, 1898. The Confederate dead. The grief that circled his brow with a crown of thorns was also that which wreathed them with the splendor of immortality.— Castelar's Savonarola. I. Where are they who marched away, Sped with smiles that changed to tears, Glittering lines of steel and gray Moving down the battle's way— Where are they these many years? Garlands wreathed their shining swords; They were girt about with cheers, Children's lispings, women's words, Sunsh
Staunton, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.46
4-364], as reported in your paper, and the beautiful and fitting verses with which he closed, it occurred to me that you would enjoy, if you have never seen it, or read it, the entire poem as delivered by the author, the Hon. A. C. Gordon, of Staunton, Va., upon the occasion of unveiling the monument erected to the Confederate dead at Staunton, Va., and I enclose you a copy. The late Professor George Fred. Holmes told the writer of this that he considered Mr. Armistead Gordon's poem the finestStaunton, Va., and I enclose you a copy. The late Professor George Fred. Holmes told the writer of this that he considered Mr. Armistead Gordon's poem the finest on such an occasion he had read since the war. With many other distinguishing qualities, I am happy that Virginia has in this son one who writes so beautifully in verse. He has written as well in prose, it may be assumed, for, as fellow student with Thomas Nelson Page at the University of Virginia, he yielded to the latter (it has been admitted), some conceptions-upon which our dialect writer rose to fame and wealth. G. Julian Pratt. Waynesboro, Va., January 25, 1898. The Confederate
G. Julian Pratt (search for this): chapter 1.46
of this that he considered Mr. Armistead Gordon's poem the finest on such an occasion he had read since the war. With many other distinguishing qualities, I am happy that Virginia has in this son one who writes so beautifully in verse. He has written as well in prose, it may be assumed, for, as fellow student with Thomas Nelson Page at the University of Virginia, he yielded to the latter (it has been admitted), some conceptions-upon which our dialect writer rose to fame and wealth. G. Julian Pratt. Waynesboro, Va., January 25, 1898. The Confederate dead. The grief that circled his brow with a crown of thorns was also that which wreathed them with the splendor of immortality.— Castelar's Savonarola. I. Where are they who marched away, Sped with smiles that changed to tears, Glittering lines of steel and gray Moving down the battle's way— Where are they these many years? Garlands wreathed their shining swords; They were girt about with cheers, Children's lispings, wom
Robert E. Lee (search for this): chapter 1.46
ll for naught. It was their way Where they loved. They died to save What was lost. The fight was brave. That is all; and here are they. III. Is that all? Was duty naught? Love and Faith made blind with tears? What the lessons that they taught? What the glory that they caught From the onward sweeping years? Here are they who marched away, Followed by our hopes and fears; Nobler never went than they To a bloodier, madder fray, In the lapse of all the years. Garlands still shall wreathe the swords That they drew amid our cheers; Children's lispings, women's words, Sunshine, and the songs of birds Greet them here through all the years. With them ever shall abide All our love and all our prayers. ‘What of them?’ The battle's tide Hath not scathed them. Lo, they ride Still with Stuart down the years. Where are they who went away, Sped with smiles that changed to tears? Lee yet leads the lines of gray— Stonewall still rides down this way; They are Fame's through all the y
ll for naught. It was their way Where they loved. They died to save What was lost. The fight was brave. That is all; and here are they. III. Is that all? Was duty naught? Love and Faith made blind with tears? What the lessons that they taught? What the glory that they caught From the onward sweeping years? Here are they who marched away, Followed by our hopes and fears; Nobler never went than they To a bloodier, madder fray, In the lapse of all the years. Garlands still shall wreathe the swords That they drew amid our cheers; Children's lispings, women's words, Sunshine, and the songs of birds Greet them here through all the years. With them ever shall abide All our love and all our prayers. ‘What of them?’ The battle's tide Hath not scathed them. Lo, they ride Still with Stuart down the years. Where are they who went away, Sped with smiles that changed to tears? Lee yet leads the lines of gray— Stonewall still rides down this way; They are Fame's through all the y
R. S. Parks (search for this): chapter 1.46
The Confederate dead. [from the Richmond, Va., times, Jan. 30, 1898.] A beautiful poem by A. C. Gordon, of Staunton. To the Editor of the Times: In reading the excellent address of Capt. R. S. Parks to the veterans [see ante pp. 354-364], as reported in your paper, and the beautiful and fitting verses with which he closed, it occurred to me that you would enjoy, if you have never seen it, or read it, the entire poem as delivered by the author, the Hon. A. C. Gordon, of Staunton, Va., upon the occasion of unveiling the monument erected to the Confederate dead at Staunton, Va., and I enclose you a copy. The late Professor George Fred. Holmes told the writer of this that he considered Mr. Armistead Gordon's poem the finest on such an occasion he had read since the war. With many other distinguishing qualities, I am happy that Virginia has in this son one who writes so beautifully in verse. He has written as well in prose, it may be assumed, for, as fellow student
Alexander Stuart (search for this): chapter 1.46
All for naught. It was their way Where they loved. They died to save What was lost. The fight was brave. That is all; and here are they. III. Is that all? Was duty naught? Love and Faith made blind with tears? What the lessons that they taught? What the glory that they caught From the onward sweeping years? Here are they who marched away, Followed by our hopes and fears; Nobler never went than they To a bloodier, madder fray, In the lapse of all the years. Garlands still shall wreathe the swords That they drew amid our cheers; Children's lispings, women's words, Sunshine, and the songs of birds Greet them here through all the years. With them ever shall abide All our love and all our prayers. ‘What of them?’ The battle's tide Hath not scathed them. Lo, they ride Still with Stuart down the years. Where are they who went away, Sped with smiles that changed to tears? Lee yet leads the lines of gray— Stonewall still rides down this way; They are Fame's through all the y
Armistead Gordon (search for this): chapter 1.46
the veterans [see ante pp. 354-364], as reported in your paper, and the beautiful and fitting verses with which he closed, it occurred to me that you would enjoy, if you have never seen it, or read it, the entire poem as delivered by the author, the Hon. A. C. Gordon, of Staunton, Va., upon the occasion of unveiling the monument erected to the Confederate dead at Staunton, Va., and I enclose you a copy. The late Professor George Fred. Holmes told the writer of this that he considered Mr. Armistead Gordon's poem the finest on such an occasion he had read since the war. With many other distinguishing qualities, I am happy that Virginia has in this son one who writes so beautifully in verse. He has written as well in prose, it may be assumed, for, as fellow student with Thomas Nelson Page at the University of Virginia, he yielded to the latter (it has been admitted), some conceptions-upon which our dialect writer rose to fame and wealth. G. Julian Pratt. Waynesboro, Va., January 25,
George Frederick Holmes (search for this): chapter 1.46
Times: In reading the excellent address of Capt. R. S. Parks to the veterans [see ante pp. 354-364], as reported in your paper, and the beautiful and fitting verses with which he closed, it occurred to me that you would enjoy, if you have never seen it, or read it, the entire poem as delivered by the author, the Hon. A. C. Gordon, of Staunton, Va., upon the occasion of unveiling the monument erected to the Confederate dead at Staunton, Va., and I enclose you a copy. The late Professor George Fred. Holmes told the writer of this that he considered Mr. Armistead Gordon's poem the finest on such an occasion he had read since the war. With many other distinguishing qualities, I am happy that Virginia has in this son one who writes so beautifully in verse. He has written as well in prose, it may be assumed, for, as fellow student with Thomas Nelson Page at the University of Virginia, he yielded to the latter (it has been admitted), some conceptions-upon which our dialect writer ro
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