Oh men, with the souls undaunted,

Seeking the goal of time, Forward you went-courageous, Backward you came-sublime.

Hark, now the muffled beat
Signals the slow retreat
Into the ages.

For not with the sword surrendered,
Was the work of the legions done;
They turned from the silenced canon
To a struggle just begun.

Stirred by no banner's flare,
Thrilled by no trumpet's blare
Warm through the blood.

The fireside's pallid embers
What pledges of guerdon had?
Ah, heroes scarred and wasted
Was battlefield more sad?

What though the storm obscures?
Through darkest night endures
Light of the stars.

Great in the glare of warfare,
Grand in the gloom of peace,

You forged from your fetters-freedom,

You wrung

from your

bonds-release.

Strong where hope onward led,

Stronger where hope lay dead,
Battling, you conquered.

Through the hush of centuries dawning, From the dusk of centuries dead,

Do prophecies nobler quicken,

Are holier memories shed?

Shafts graven for your ken,
Shrines in the hearts of men-
These your reward.

For we of the South remember,
And we of the South revere;

As the souls of the brave are garnered
We garner their glories here.

Murmured 'twixt earth and sky,
Hear ye the mingled cry

Hail and farewell!

[The author of November 21, 1844. Hotel, at Lexington,

IN KENTUCKY

By JAMES HILARY MULLIGAN

this widely parodied poem was born in Lexington, Kentucky,
"In Kentucky" was first read at a banquet held in the Phoenix
on the evening of February 11, 1902.]

The moonlight falls the softest
In Kentucky;

The summer days come oftest
In Kentucky;

Friendship is the strongest,
Love's light glows the longest;
Yet, wrong is always wrongest
In Kentucky.

Life's burdens bear the lightest,
In Kentucky;

The home fires burn the brightest
In Kentucky;

While players are the keenest

Cards come out the meanest,
The pocket empties cleanest
In Kentucky.

The sun shines ever brightest
In Kentucky;

The breezes whisper lightest
In Kentucky;

Plain girls are the fewest,
Maidens' eyes the bluest,
Their little hearts are truest
In Kentucky.

Orators are the grandest

In Kentucky;

Officials are the blandest

In Kentucky;

Boys are all the fliest,

Danger ever nighest,

Taxes are the highest

In Kentucky.

The bluegrass waves the bluest
In Kentucky;

Yet, bluebloods are the fewest?
In Kentucky;

Moonshine is the clearest,
By no means the dearest,
And yet, it acts the queerest
In Kentucky.

The dove-notes are the saddest
In Kentucky;

The streams dance on the gladdest
In Kentucky;

Hip pockets are the thickest,

Pistol hands the slickest,

The cylinder turns quickest,

LAST INTERVIEW BETWEEN HECTOR
AND ANDROMACHE

By WILLIAM MUNFORD

[The author was born in Virginia in 1775, studied at William and Mary College, entered politics, but found time to complete his version of the 'Iliad' a few months before his death in 1825. It was not published till 1846. The following extract is from the sixth book.]

This said, illustrious Hector stretch'd his arms

To take his child; but to the nurse's breast
The babe clung, crying, hiding in her robe
His little face, affrighted to behold

His father's awful aspect, fearing too

The brazen helm, and crest with horse-hair crown'd,
Which nodding dreadful from its lofty cone,
Alarm'd him! Sweetly then the father smil'd,
And sweetly smil'd the mother! Soon the chief
Remov'd the threatening helmet from his head,
And plac'd it on the ground all beaming bright,
Then having fondly kiss'd his son belov'd,
And toss'd him playfully, he thus to Jove,
And all the immortals pray'd: O grant me, Jove,
And other powers divine, that this my son
May be, as I am, of the Trojan race
In glory chief! So let him be renown'd
For warlike prowess and commanding sway,
With power and wisdom join'd of Ilion king!
And may his people say, This chief excels

His father much; when from his fields of fame
Triumphant he returns, bearing aloft
The bloody spoils, some hostile hero slain,
And his fond mother's heart expands with joy!
He said; and plac'd his child within the arms
Of his beloved spouse: she him received,
And softly on her fragrant bosom laid,
Smiling with tearful eyes. To pity mov'd,
Her husband saw; with kind consoling hand
He wip'd the tears away, and thus he spake :
My dearest love! grieve not thy mind for me
Excessively! No man can send me hence,

To Pluto's hall, before the appointed time;
And surely none of all the human race,

Base or e'en brave, has ever shunn'd his fate;
His fate foredoom'd when first he saw the light.
But now, returning home, thy works attend,
The loom and distaff, and direct thy maids
In household duties, while the war shall be
Of men the care; of all indeed, but most
The care of me, of all in Ilion born.

THE MARTIN'S SONG

By WILL D. MUSE

[Uncle Remus's The Home Magazine, August, 1908.]

Dear Heart, to-day, somewhere I heard a mating martin sing,
In his wild flight above my head upon a tireless wing.
And with the note so new and sweet, so plaintive, strange and
low,

There seemed to flood within my soul love songs of long ago.

He did not linger in his flight to rest nor yet to sing,
I only caught a fleeting glimpse of polished breast and wing;
But with it came the fragrant scent of climbing roses red,
And with it came the memory of Summer days long dead.

Sweet Summer days and glorious nights, when hearts beat fast and true;

When down the primrose path of Life I wandered, Love, with you;

But now the days of youth are dead-the path of Life is long; And only memories of all come with the martin's song.

THE BARDS

By JOHN W. OVERALL

['The Louisiana Book”, 1894.]

In their high heroic measure,
In their high heroic truth,
Live the bards throughout all ages,
In the quenchless fire of youth;