No singer of old story
Luting accustomed lays,
No harper for new glory,
No mendicant for praise,
He struck high chords and splendid,
Wherein were fiercely blended
Tones that unfinished ended
With his unfinished days.
Here through this lowly portal,
Made sacred by his name,
Unheralded immortal
The mortal went and came.
And fate that then denied him,
And envy that decried him,
And malice that belied him,
Have cenotaphed his fame.
WILL HEXRY THOMPSON
[Will Henry Thompson was born in 1848 at Calhoun, Georgia. Like his brother, Maurice Thompson, who has been more widely known through his poems and his novels, Will Henry Thompson served in the Confederate army, and later engaged in the practice of law in Indiana. In 1889 he moved to Seattle, Washington, where he has achieved prominence as an attorney. He is noted as an orator, and he has written a small amount of poetry of high quality.]
THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG
A cloud possessed the hollow field, The gathering battle s smoky shield. Athwart the gloom the lightning flashed, And through the cloud some horsemen dashed, And from the heights the thunder pealed.
