Classic Poem

It fell upon us like a crushing woe,
Sudden and terrible. " Can it be? " we said,
" That he from whom we hoped so much, is dead,
Most foully murdered ere he met the foe? "
Why not? The men that would disrupt the State
By such base plots as theirs — frauds, thefts, and lies —
What code of honor do they recognize?
They thirst for blood to satisfy their hate,
Our blood: so be it; but for every blow
Woe shall befall them; not in their wild way,
But stern and pitiless, we will repay,
Until, like swollen streams, their blood shall flow:
And should we pause; the thought of Ellsworth slain,
Will steel our aching hearts to strike again!