Into God's land. A golden car And milk-white horses she is there! So sweet-I dream - I float away I cannot cut the cane to-day! A PROPHECY (FROM "LINCOLN'S GRAVE") OLD soldiers true, ah, them all men can trust, Who fought, with conscience clear, on either side; Who bearded Death and thought their cause was just; Their stainless honor cannot be denied; Ring it and sing it, we go hand in hand, And if Virginia's vales shall ring again But both in one, welded in that pure flame Upflaring in us all, When kindred unto kindred, loudly crying, Rally and cheer in freedom's holy name! POE'S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM HERE lived the soul enchanted Here dwelt the spirit haunted Here grief and death were sated; Was he, so frail, so strong. Here wintry winds and cheerless His fancy as they grew. Here, with brow bared to heaven, And of Astarte's bliss, He gazed into the hollow And hopeless vale of Dis; And though earth were surrounded By heaven, it still was mounded With graves. His soul had sounded The dolorous abyss. Proud, mad, but not defiant, He touched at heaven and hell. WHEN wintry days are dark and drear And sheep go huddling close together, When steady streams of smoke ascend From farm-house chimneys, in such weather Give me old Carolina's own, A great log house, a great hearthstone, A cheering pipe of cob or briar, And a red, leaping light'ood fire. When dreary day draws to a close And all the silent land is dark, When Boreas down the chimney blows And sparks fly from the crackling bark, Give me old Carolina's own, |