SONGS OF THE SOUTH 505

Then we ll bear our last old soldier

To a quiet place of rest;

And we ll guard his mound of verdure

As an eagle shields her nest;

And we ll deck his grave with violets,

And we ll keep it green each day ;

And we ll carve upon his headboard,

& quot; Lieth here the last old gray. & quot;

Sad, ah, sad, will be our Southland,

. When we have no veteran gray.

Dark, oh, dark, will be the morning,

When the last one s passed away.

Clouds will dim each peaceful voyage

When his quietude they view ;

And when parting all will echo :

& quot; Honored sir, adieu, adieu. & quot;

Shrouded in a mist of sorrow,

As a Cupid s parting lay ;

Will be each Southern valley,

When the last one s passed away.

Close around each hill and mountain,

And around each cabin door,

Will be linked a chain of memory,

As was never linked before.

And through every field of clover,

And among the golden grain ,

And along the battle breastworks,

Where her fairest sons were slain ;

Will be monuments of memory,

While neath every bank of clay,

Myriads of leaden missiles,

To remind us of our gray.

We shall love to teach our children

Of our heroes who are dead;

Of the battle-scars they carried,

Marching to a soldier s tread ;

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