INSCRIBED TO THE "IRISH BRIGADE." August 2nd, 1864.
O comrades dear,
Well may a tear
Drop on this bier;
More gentle dust
Earth never took in trust,
And ne'er resigned
A mortal mind
Of temper more heroic or more kind.
Malice could harm not, envy could not stir,
Nor mammon tempt this soul to worship her;
Brief honors paled before his generous heart,
For such choice souls earth has no price, no mart.
O brave true heart, O pulses strong and good,
Which throbbed as Christian patriot's only could
O calm, wise will, O swift impetuous thought,
O valorous joy which deeds for history wrought;
O noble presence, with a chieftain's grace
Lighting the tall, grand form, the poet's face;
O sweet, clear voice, which through hoarse battles rang
With all a trumpet's gladness, not its clang!
Weep strong men must,
Since all before us now is lifeless dust;
Majestic clay
Is all, good friends, death leaves to us today;
And well the tear
Beseems this Christian dust, this patriot bier.
Strip the sad altars; Priest in sable stole,
Breathe your best benison upon his soul:
Dread "Dies Iræ," sound the depths forlorn
Of death and judgment; and then Hope, Christ-born,
Tune thy serenest voice to chant at morn
"Requiescat in pace!"
