Lee A Poem.
There have been men whose mighty deeds,
On cold historic pages, Are driven like October seeds
Along the reaching ages ;
Whose statues stand like sentinels On whitened shafts and bases,
Whose ashes rest in marble cells And sepulchers and vases ;
But he who in this Autumn time
Was lost beyond the river, Has found a glory path to climb,
Forever and forever !
And monumental marble here, With deeds of honor graven,
What can it be to one so near The inner gates of Heaven ?
By still Potomac's margin dun, Where shrilly calls the plover,
Where lean the heights of Arlington Its glassing water over.
No Autumn voices haunt the moles,
No breezy covert ripples, No longer whirl the leaves in shoals
Beneath the stately maples :
Some vandal's axe has shorn the crest, The woody slopes are shaven,
No longer builds the dove her nest Where mournful croaks the raven ;
But down the Southland's fruity plain
The leaves are all a-quiver, And there his memory shall reign
Forever and forever!
