Part XX

The servile generation had grown old
And then died out. — A new race had grown up
Which with the flush of shame upon their face
Spoke of their sires. They had resolved to live
A nobler life. They did. A brave resolve
Is all that's needful and an iron will.
A new grown, dauntless generation rose, —
What from their fathers as an heirloom came
To them, their chains of slavery, they broke,
And threw upon the graves of those who had
Forged them, that the rattling of the chains
May rouse them up and e'en in their graves
Cause them to shriek with fear. The victors then
With grateful hearts named all the heroes brave, —
The great and saintly men who theretofore
Had fought to free the race from slavery's bonds,
And whose reward had been a shameful death.
Remembered them and wove around their names
Wreaths of the laurel tree, immortalized
Their names in songs and gladly would have borne
Their bones into the nations Dome of Fame!...
Where could t/hey seek, — where could they find
what long
Had mouldered in the ditch beneath the shade
Of gallows and of scaffold where they died?