FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.
THE LAST BULLETIN.
GARFIELD, SEPTEMBER, 1881.
Day after day as morning skies did flame,—
"How fares our Liege?" we cried with eager breath,—
"How fares our Liege, who fights the fight with death?"
And ever with fresh hope the answer came.
"How fares our Liege?" we cried with eager breath,—
"How fares our Liege, who fights the fight with death?"
And ever with fresh hope the answer came.
Until that solemn midnight when the clang
Of woful bells tolled out their tale of dread,
That he, the good and gifted one, was dead,
And through his weeping land the message rang!
Of woful bells tolled out their tale of dread,
That he, the good and gifted one, was dead,
And through his weeping land the message rang!
Then in the darkness every heart was bowed:
While thinking on the direful ways of Fate,
Where Love could thus be overthrown by Hate,—
"So wrong hath conquered right!" we said aloud:
While thinking on the direful ways of Fate,
Where Love could thus be overthrown by Hate,—
"So wrong hath conquered right!" we said aloud:
