Classic Poem

Bright floweret from a lowly spot
Where rests a son of earth,
Thou speakest trumpet-toned to me
Of thy far place of birth,
And of my enemy who rests
Where blossoms smile o'er manly breasts.

That land! by slavery accursed,
Now Freedom's blood-stained ground,
Henceforth within its borders shall
The free alone be found.
O God of battles! thanks to thee
Who victory gave to Liberty.

That grave! My enemy lies there;
And thus shall yet lie low
The hydra-headed treason which
Made him my country's foe:
Thus may each rebel soldier lie,
If only thus may treason die.

My enemy! alas, that thou
Should'st die in such a cause!
Rebelling 'gainst the truth, the right,
In government and laws.
I will not say thou wast not brave,
But thine is not an honored grave.

My heart is sad for those who weep
Within thy Southern home,
Since thou to greet them canst no more
With rapid footsteps come:
I pity every loving heart
Which feels the sting of sorrow's dart.

Yet, blossom from a rebel's grave!
With golden hue so fair,
I would that he had nobler lived
Who silent sleepeth there.
So, lived that he in death could claim
A loyal hero's honored name.
No laurel wreath I'd twine for him
Whose fratricidal hand
Was raised to scatter blight and death
Far o'er our favored land.
Thank God! his power for ill is o'er;
So perish traitors evermore.