My thoughts refuse thy trial's depth to fathom,
How, reft of friends, hedged round by War and Foe,
Weak woman, thou stoodst pitted 'gainst the Man
Before whose might nine millions bow. And still
Thou hast prevailed! What fortitude,
Wliat lofty height of virtue, what resolve
Of more than manly virtue hast thou shown!
WHiat prizeless, unheard triumph hast thou won!
Before the radiance of thy victory,
The martyrs must conceal their thorny crowns.
The heroes hide the trophies of their fame.
The angels selves begrudge thy glory's halo,—
Oh, Elsie, Elsie! I deserve thee not!
Say rather: I am worthy now of thee,
The heroine (if I am justified
To call me so), the equal hero's bride.
Col. Wm. Travis.
His bride? Alas! the poorest swain on earth,
The meanest beggar can afford his bride
A life, a fortune he would deem most royal
Compared to what I can bestow on thee:
He has a cot, I but a heap of ruins;
He owns a bedstead, I not e'en a bier;
His wedding is made gay by festive music,
Mine terrible with hissing, crashing shell.
Nought, nought I have to give to thee but Death—