<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426719" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Death Of President Lincoln</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(A Romance.) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">December 11th, 1867.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fleecy clouds had passed away <br>Before the bright approach of day, <br>And now the morning's radiance shines <br>Upon an Army's order'd lines, <br>And light the glancing sunbeams play'd <br>On bayonet point and sabre-blade. <br>Slow rolled the ponderous mass along — <br>A hundred thousand bayonets strong, <br>And thirty thousand horses prance <br>Impatient of the slow advance, <br>While o'er those glittering groves of steel <br>The striped and coloured spangles reel <br>And Hail! Columbia! lofty notes <br>Peel from the trumpets brazen throats. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">From post to post the generals ride. <br>The army's steady march to guide, <br>And aides fly swiftly o'er the plain <br>With bloody spur and slacken'd rein; <br>And far and wide on every side <br>The hollow trembling earth replied <br>To those grim legions measured stride <br>On dark Virginia's shore — <br>And many a heart bounds high with pride <br>That soon shall beat no more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The foe, of far inferior force, <br>Scarce sixty thousand foot and horse, <br>Stand watching with undaunted glance <br>The Federal foeman's grim advance; <br>And turn again their hopeful eyes <br>To where their own loved banner flies — <br>That flag of tesselated bars, <br>That on its checks bore seven white stars <br>Which waved on many a field before <br>But now, alas! is seen no more: <br>Its short and bright career is o'er, <br>Its light was quenched in streams of gore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far on the left, where rank on rank, <br>Kentucky's footmen held the flank, <br>A youthful warrior rode alone, <br>To every Southern soldier known, <br>For that long falchion by his side <br>Had turn'd the battle's doubtful tide <br>In many a dark and desperate fight <br>When right still triumphed over might. <br>His simple dress, undeck'd with lace, <br>Bore no brigade's distinctive trace — <br>'Twas Booth, who long had vow'd to stand <br>The Champion of his Fatherland; <br>Unflinching, faithful, firm and fast, <br>And strike for freedom to the last. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He rode a horse of spotless white, <br>With ample chest, and limbs of might — <br>That fiercely strains upon the reins <br>As, slow advancing o'er the plains, <br>He marks the Union ranks of grey <br>And greets them with a furious neigh — <br>He lists the hollow thundering drum <br>Which tells him that the time is come <br>To charge these hostile columns home, <br>And flashing flakes of feathery foam <br>Fly from his chafing mouth. <br>First in the charge's wild career, <br>And in retreat the last in rear, <br>And, first or last, unknowing fear, <br>That noble beast had not his peer <br>In all the spacious South. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At once, on centre, left and right, <br>The loud artillery woke the fight <br>With round-shot, grape and shell — <br>And loud the cry of conflict rose <br>As fiercely now the armies close <br>And vain it were to tell <br>How, charging on the cannon's mouth, <br>The fiery soldiers of the South <br>Were midway met in deadly strife, <br>Where each man fought for death or life <br>And thousands bled and fell. <br>Before the Federals charged — ere yet <br>The heavy armed battalions met <br>In conflict fierce and dire. <br>While skirmishers in scatter'd rank, <br>Extended far on front and flank, <br>Maintained a dropping fire — <br>While every ear was bent to hear <br>Their proud Commander's word. <br>To bid them charge at full career <br>With bayonet and sword. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Booth calmly watched their threatening course <br>And sternly reined his furious horse. <br>But when the opening cannon rung <br>And bugles blew and charged aloud, <br>His weapon from the scabbard sprung <br>Like lightning from the thunder-cloud — <br>And where the bayonets reddest shine <br>Along the Federals' charging line — <br>Where wounded horses wildly leap <br>Through pools of life-blood fetlock deep — <br>There his gigantic battle-horse <br>Swept onward in resistless course. <br>Round his invulnerable head <br>His reeking crescent blade, <br>Still scattering drops of crimson red, <br>In lightning circles played. <br>Through fire and smoke the war horse dash'd <br>Unharm'd by shot or shell, <br>And where that falling weapon flash'd <br>A Federal soldier fell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Lee, who mark'd with eagle glance <br>The Federals' last reserve advance, <br>Call'd up his veterans grim and grey, <br>The flower of Southern infantry — <br>Down where the dark palmettos wave <br>Ten thousand Carolinians brave <br>Their double column shows — <br>Each moment fringed their ranks with flame, <br>And fast the withering volleys came <br>Against their flinching foes, <br>And through the batteries of the North <br>Their fatal welcome thunder'd forth <br>In showers of iron rain. <br>Still fiercer rose their music's swell <br>And wilder pealed their battle-yell, <br>While fast and faster still they fell <br>As whistling shot and shrieking shell <br>Clove many a ghastly lane — <br>And thicker still their bullets came, <br>And closer deadlier grew their aim, <br>The Federal lines were heaped with dead <br>And fast the rising panic spread </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Along their wavering force, <br>Till passing round their left-ward flank <br>Their own reserve came rank by rank — <br>New England's hardy horse <br>Forth to the front each troop advanced, <br>Each ready sabre naked glanced, <br>And every horse's flank was lanced <br>And slacken'd every rein — <br>In charging column firm and deep, <br>At racing gallop on they sweep <br>Who seldom charge in vain. <br>That swift advancing avalanche <br>Boasts the same spirit stern and stanch <br>That tamed a haughty tyrant's pride <br>And crushed his servile train <br>On Glorious Marston's swarthy side <br>And Naseby's bloody plain — <br>The Puritan and Cavalier <br>Of other days are pitted here. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But well the rifles played their part <br>For many a steed, shot through the heart <br>Came headlong to the plain. <br>And many another kept the ranks <br>With empty stirrups smote his flanks <br>Whose rider reeling from his seat, <br>And trampled neath the horses' feet, <br>Might never mount again. <br>Till, like a sea that bursts its banks <br>They dash against the bristling ranks <br>And now through whirling clouds of dust <br>And surging wreaths of smoke <br>Is seen the bayonet's furious thrust <br>The sabre's dazzling stroke. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">With fearful slaughter backward driven <br>Their shatter'd columns rent and riven <br>The cavalry recoil — <br>A shout of triumph rose to heaven, <br>And to the Southern ranks is given <br>Brief respite from their toil. <br>Again the madden'd horses wheel, <br>Obedient to the armed heel, <br>And charging to the bugle's peal <br>They rush against the serried steel <br>With tenfold rage and force — <br>But as the wave breaks on the rock <br>That seems its futile rage to mock, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still stagger'd backward from the shock <br>The baffled Northern horse. <br>Five times with spirit unsubdued, <br>They charged in reckless hardihood <br>And still the foe his squares made good, <br>And still the stubborn bayonets stood <br>With more than spartan fortitude. <br>And thicker still the ground was strew'd <br>With many a quivering corse. Though firmly stood the fearless few, <br>And proudly still their banner flew <br>Full well each brave Confederate knew <br>Another charge would pierce them through <br>For hollow was the war-like show — <br>No strength was left to meet the foe, <br>Their rifles clogg'd, their bayonet bent <br>And well nigh every cartridge spent. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Booth has marked their flagging fire <br>And his fierce frown of battle-ire <br>Is changing to a look more dire <br>Like lion turned to bay — <br>For that fell smile proves one desire, <br>To slay, and slay, and slay. <br>Woe to the foe who now presumes <br>To face his savage wrath <br>When gallant zouaves and tall dragoons <br>Lie bleeding in his path; <br>Whose cloven heads and bosoms gored <br>Bear witness of his vengeful sword. <br>Where bristling ranks unbroken frown'd <br>Like dark grey rocks with breakers crown'd. <br>What though his sword no havoc made, <br>His course was but a moment stay'd <br>For where the riven columns reel <br>In hopeless dis-array <br>That slender blade of pliant steel <br>Cleaves deep its murderous way. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once more the charging Federals sped <br>Across the rampart of the dead <br>To where upon the self-same spot <br>Where they had fired their deadliest shot <br>The doomed Confederates calmly wait <br>The charge which is to seal their fate. <br>Why need I tell how patriots die? <br>The tale has often met our eye <br>Of those with Leonidas <br>Braved Xerxes' millions in the pass — <br>Of Ghebers that disdained to yield <br>Upon Kadessa's well fought field — <br>Of Hasting's, Saxons, brave and true, <br>Of the Old Guard at Waterloo. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Despite their valour true and tried <br>The Southern ranks were scattered wide <br>The Federals shout of victory rose, <br>While faster rain'd their sabre-blows, <br>And vain the single bayonets force <br>To check a charger's rushing course, <br>And weak the fence of rifle butt <br>Against the sabre's sweeping cut — <br>The after-carnage has begun <br>And Gettysburg is lost and won. <br>A few unbroken ranks of war <br>Still formed around the sevenfold star, <br>And there regardless of the shot <br>That played against them fast and hot <br>And, meeting with the bayonet's stroke <br>The charging squadrons whirlwind shock <br>Linked in close phalanx side by side <br>They fiercely fought and firmly died. <br>But vainly, one by one, they fell <br>Around the flag they loved so well <br>For dark with dust and torn with shot <br>And stained with many a crimson spot, <br>The haughty conquerors bear it home <br>To Washington's imperial dome. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Booth had seen the battle lost <br>And every hope of freedom cross'd <br>His comrades dead and wounded lie <br>Or fiercely fighting but to die <br>He turned his panting horse's rein <br>And urged him from that fatal plain; <br>Nor does that charger flinch or fail <br>Though fast behind his streaming tail, <br>The shower of bullets thick as hail <br>Upon the winter's piercing gale, <br>In whizzing tempests came — <br>But came in vain — the rider's hand <br>Still waves the broken battle-brand <br>And mocks their surest aim. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Far different sights now meet the eye <br>Where triumph reigns supreme <br>Where captured colours hung on high <br>In shot rent fragments stream <br>And for the cannon's boom of fear <br>And rifles ringing sharp and clear <br>And soldiers dying groans. <br>Voluptuous music greets the ear <br>In soft and melting tones, <br>And for the blinding solar rays <br>Shed through the battle's sulphurous haze <br>The chastened light falls soft and clear <br>From many a sparkling chandelier <br>The dreadful civil war is past <br>America has peace at last, <br>Her fertile fields shall now no more <br>With brothers blood be stained; <br>The long and hard fought war is o'er <br>The dear-bought victory's gain'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The theatre is filled to-night <br>With soldiers brave and ladies bright <br>And Lincoln sat in chair of state <br>And gaily laughed and spoke elate <br>Surrounded by the wise and great <br>How could he fear the stroke of fate? <br>Or dread the final call <br>Invested with despotic power <br>By these his courtiers of the hour <br>He glanced around well pleased to shower <br>His smiles upon them all. <br>But forth the young avenger sprung <br>And loud the death shot rung <br>Throughout the lofty hall <br>A thousand eyes have seen the smoke <br>That from the pistol's muzzle broke <br>But Lincoln felt the ball. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Booth with one triumphant cry <br>Leapt down upon the stage <br>And brandishing his weapon high <br>With thundering voice and flashing cry <br>He dared the audience rage <br>'So perish tyrants — there he lies <br>Who drenched the land with kindred gore <br>Look on him Minions, trust your eyes; <br>So perish tyrants evermore.' <br>Then wildly did the tumult swell </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And women shrieked and fainting fell <br>Who saw that desperate deed: <br>Sprung many a soldier from his seat <br>All Lincoln's friends leapt to their feet <br>But Booth had reached the open street <br>Where stood his trusty steed. <br>But moon and stars now reel and swim <br>Before his vision, faint and dim <br>And scarce his saddle could he keep <br>For not till then he knew his limb <br>Was shatter'd in his reckless leap. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The courser flew with wings of wind, <br>But oft the rider looked behind <br>It seemed as while his flight he held <br>Dark demons still pursue <br>Ten thousand fiends triumphant yell'd <br>Behind him as he flew. <br>They told him how his dreadful deed <br>Would never serve his country's need <br>But make her bondage worse; <br>And how his hated victim's name <br>Would shine upon the scroll of fame <br>When his would be a curse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As through the night he wildly ranged <br>Those maddening words were hurl'd <br>'The assassin's deed has never changed <br>The history of the world.' <br>And still before his aching eye <br>He saw those fatal words on high <br>Emblazon'd on the starry sky; <br>And on the darken'd earth they shone <br>Wherever he might gaze upon, <br>In characters of red — <br>That message passed o'er land and sea <br>Transmitting faith and courage free, <br>But thrilling him with dread: <br>And lofty England's wise'st peer <br>Has caught it with prophetic ear <br>And recognized its truth — <br>And Booth fled on o'er dale and hill <br>Those thundering words pursuing still <br>The mad and desperate youth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now till welcome death shall bring <br>Release from pain and fear <br>Shall that Sybilline sentence <br>Still on he races — onward yet — <br>His hands are clench'd his teeth are set, <br>And, faint with agonizing pain <br>He sinks upon his horse's mane <br>Till the brave beast that bore him well <br>On many a battle plain, <br>Spent with his fearful gallop fell <br>No more to rise again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon hung high upon the sky <br>And ruled the silent night; <br>The midnight hour was calm and still <br>And river, forest, plain and hill <br>Were bathed in ivory light, <br>When suddenly a sombre cloud <br>Eclipsed the moon's pale face — <br>The rising tempest moan'd aloud <br>And blacker grew the inky shroud <br>That overhung the place. <br>And Booth lay sleepless on the floor <br>And sadly thought that never more <br>He might behold the Southern shore <br>Before his life would close — <br>Wrapp'd though he was in mournful thought <br>Upon the burdened night-wind brought <br>A coming sound with danger fraught <br>To him whose life was fiercely sought <br>By his relentless foes. <br>At last he started from the ground, <br>And reached his rifle with a bound; <br>Full well he knew the fatal sound <br>For, as it came more near, <br>The clattering beat of horses' feet <br>Rose plainly in his ear <br>No time for flight, though dark the night <br>For, closing round on left and right <br>The dusky figures met his sight — <br>He raised his rifle then <br>Full levelled at the leader's breast, <br>But ere his hand the trigger press'd <br>The muzzle sank again — <br>'Why should another life be shed <br>In such a fruitless strife,' he said. <br>But as he spoke six jets of flame <br>Flash'd redly forth — six bullets came; <br>Two struck the splintering wall, the rest <br>Were buried in his dauntless breast. <br>A lightning's flash shone broad and bright, <br>And, by its angry, lurid light, <br>The troopers gathering round the wall <br>Their hapless victim saw <br>His rifle drop, and backward fall <br>Upon his couch of straw. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just then the threatening tempest woke, <br>And loud the rolling thunder broke, <br>As if the voice of Nature spoke <br>Against the cruel wrong, <br>While from the stable's roof the smoke <br>Came issuing thick and strong. <br>Too prisoned in volume pent <br>The crackling thatch at length gave vent, <br>And, fierce as bloodhounds on the scent, <br>To seize their prey the soldiers went, <br>So vainly had the hero spent <br>The efforts of his dying hour <br>To save his body from their power. <br>With maledictions deep and dire <br>They dragged him from his bed of fire <br>His suffering spirit had not pass'd, <br>Though each pulsation semed his last; <br>The scorching fire had left its trace <br>On his burnt hair and ghastly face, <br>And paler grew his livid cheek <br>The while he gathered strength to speak:— <br>'I ask no mercy at your hands — <br>I know the law my life demands — <br>But were existence yours to give <br>I would not wish one hour to live; <br>My bleeding country's race is run <br>And my avenging work is done — <br>And when my spirit strays afar <br>Where Bothwellhaugh and Brutus are <br>'Twill find, I trust, more mercy there <br>Than men shall grant my memory here. <br>But tell my mother how I died — <br>As I have lived — on Freedom's side.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then steel blue chains of lightning flash'd <br>And deafening thunder roar'd and crash'd <br>And rushing raindrops swept and dash'd <br>Unheeded by them all. <br>And thus the gallant patriot dies — <br>And thus he breathes his latest sighs <br>As on the bloodstained grass he lies <br>Without a friend to close his eyes <br>Or sorrow for his fall; <br>But when a trooper rais'd his foot <br>And spurned him with his arm'd boot, <br>The dying warrior changed his place <br>And drew his mantle o'er his face. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now let the howling tempest roar <br>For Booth can feel its force no more; <br>Now let the captors bend their steel <br>Against the form that cannot feel <br>Their tyranny has spent its hour <br>And Booth is far beyond their power. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Above the spot where Lincoln lies <br>The tall funereal sculptures rise — <br>And awful is the solemn gloom <br>That lingers round his stately tomb, <br>For well the artist's efforts show <br>A grateful nation's pride and woe; <br>But nobler is the burial place <br>Where human art has left no trace <br>And simple wildflowers gently wave <br>Above the hapless hero's grave — <br>Who with devoted heart and hand <br>Still strove to save his native land, <br>And failing in his generous aim <br>Died to avenge her wrongs and shame. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So may his spirit rest in peace <br>Even while his country's woes increase; <br>While pale Columbia mourns her lord, <br>And poets thus his praise record.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joseph+Furphy">Joseph Furphy</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426719" data-title="The Death Of President Lincoln de Joseph Furphy" data-description="(A Romance.) December 11th, 1867. The fleecy clouds had passed away Before the bright approach of day, And now the morning's radiance shines Upon an Army's order'd lines, And light the glancing sunbeams play'd On bayonet point and sabre-bl..."></div> </div> </div>

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