[17]
On that lightning-chord the South breeze sighed a sad Aeolian moan,
And my heart grew sick, on looking up, to see the dove had flown.
Neighbors say there's been a battle, and that we have lost again;
Was that dove my poor boy's spirit?
Is his name among the slain?
New York, Oct. 26, 1861.
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Van Nostrand. New York, New York. 1862.
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