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Some whistling teamsters still in army vest;
Some quiet citizens with medalled breast.

So died the hatred of our brother feud;
The conflict o'er the triumph was subdued.
What victor King e'er spared the conquered foe?
How much of mercy did strong Prussia show
When anguished Paris at her feet lay prone?
The German trumpet rang above her moan,
The clink of Uhlan spurs her temples knew,
Her Arch of Triumph spanned their triumph, too.

Not thus, O South! when thy proud head was low,
Thy passionate heart laid open to the foe—
Not thus, Virginia, did thy victors meet
At Appomattox him who bore defeat:
No brutal show abased thine honored State:
Grant turned from Eichmond at the very gate!

O Land magnanimous, republican!
The last for Nationhood, the first for Man!
Because thy lines by Freedom's hand were laid
Profound the sin to change or retrograde.