The Dying Hero

His greatness hath not left him; till the years
Have won the nation from her children dead,
And robbed her of remembrance where she rears
Her monuments above the blood they shed,
Will his name want for homage; with sad fears
The Union winds her garlands o'er his head,
And fondly wreathes her love, bedewed with tears,
To bless the hero on his dying bed.

His luster lives untarnished; as he lies
Where Malady has bound him in wild pain,
And only Death can loose the heavy chain
That galls her captive while his nature dies,
He seems far greater in his country's eyes,
Than if an Appomattox spake again.