Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 34.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

[64]

The grand old bard that never dies
     Receive him in our English tongue;
I send thee, but with weeping eyes,
     The story that he sung.

Thy Tory is fallen, thy dear land
     Is marred beneath the spoilers heel,
I can not trust my trembling hand
     To write the things I feel.

Ah, realm of tombs, but let her bear
     This blazon to the last of times;
No nation rose so white and fair,
     Or fell so pure of crimes.

The widow's moan, the orphan's wail
     Come round thee; yet in truth be strong;
Eternal right, though all else fail,
     Can never be made wrong.

An Angel's heart, an Angel's mouth,
     Not Homer's, could atone for me,
Hymn well the great Confederate South,
     Virginia first, and Lee.

On occasions like this our hearts turn to one who was imprisoned, manacled and treated with many indignities, although no more responsible for the action of the Southern States than other public men. His persecutors were unable to bring him to trial. The text books on the Constitution taught at West Point stood in the way. For the Chief Magistracy of the young republic, that arose so full of hope and noble purposes and died so free of crime, the Commonwealth of Mississippi gave Jefferson Davis; soldier, statesman and vicarious sufferer, for a people who will cherish his memory so long as valor has a votary or virtue a shrine.

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Our heroes who fell in the struggle.

We pause to pay a tribute to the mighty host of brave officers, soldiers and sailors who fell under the banner of the Lost Cause forty years ago. We cannot call their names. They are too numerous to be mentioned. All honor to the heroes who gave their lives to the cause of Constitutional Government. We tell