But over them lying there, shattered and mute, What deep echo rolls? ’Tis a death salute From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved Your fate not in vain: the army was saved! Over them now--year following year-- Over their graves the pine-cones fall, And the whippoorwill chants his spectre-call; But they stir not again; they raise no cheer: They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease, Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace. The rush of their charge is resounding still, That saved the army at Chancellorsville. [Illustration] [Illustration] DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON. BY HARRY L. FLASH. Not ’mid the lightning of the stormy fight, Not in the rush upon the vandal foe, Did kingly Death, with his resistless might, Lay the great leader low. His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke In the full sunshine of a peaceful town; When all the storm was hushed, the trusty oak That propped our cause went down. Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground, Recording all his grand, heroic deeds, Freedom herself is writhing with the wound, And all the country bleeds. He entered not the Nation’s Promised Land At the red belching of the cannon’s mouth; But broke the House of Bondage with his hand-- The Moses of the South! O gracious God! not gainless is the loss: A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest frown; And while his country staggers with the Cross, He rises with the Crown. [Southern.] [Illustration] [Illustration] UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES. BY MARGARET J. PRESTON. [The last words of Stonewall Jackson were: “Let us cross the river and rest under the shade of the trees.”--_Editor._] What are the thoughts that are stirring his breast? What is the mystical vision he sees? --“Let us pass over the river, and rest Under the shade of the trees.” Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks? Sighs the worn spirit for respite or ease? Is it a moment’s cool halt that he asks Under the shade of the trees? Is it the gurgle of waters whose flow Ofttime has come to him, borne on the breeze, Memory listens to, lapsing so low, Under the shade of the trees? Nay--though the rasp of the flesh was so sore, Faith, that had yearnings far keener than these, Saw the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore Under the shade of the trees;-- Caught the high psalms of ecstatic delight-- Heard the harps harping, like soundings of seas-- Watched earth’s assoilèd ones walking in white Under the shade of the trees. Oh, was it strange he should pine for release, Touched to the soul with such transports as these,-- He who so needed the balsam of peace, Under the shade of the trees?