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On the Trail of Yesterday
AT THE GRAVE OF A BORDER CAVALIER
No more ring the shouts and the boisterous laughter, That told of the joy of the bold cavalier; Who lived out his time, caring naught for Hereafter, Counting death as a favor and not as a fear.
Gone, gone are the days and the nights of disorder, When none but the coward from glory was barred, Now the grass decks thy grave, wild son of the border, And vandals thy headstone have mockingly marred.