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Lament, lone mother, for his early fate, But, bear thy burden with a hope elate, For thou hast shrined thy jewels in the state,
A priceless boon! And thou, sad wife, thy sacred tears belong To the untarnished and immortal throng", For he shall fire the poet's heart and song",
In thrilling- strains. And the fair virgins of our sunny clime, Shall wed their music to the minstrel's rhyme, Making his fame melodious for all time;
It cannot die.
At Bull Run, when the sun was low, Each Southern face grew pale as snow, While loud as jackdaws rose the crow Of Yankees boasting terribly !
But Bull Run saw another sight, "When, at the deepening shades of night, Toward Fairfax Court House rose the flight Of Yankees running rapidly.
Then broke each corps with terror riven, Then rushed the steeds from battle driven, For men of battery Number Seven Forsook their Red Artillery !