No trophy this--a Stone unhewn, And stands where here the field immures The nameless brave whose palms are won. Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh-- Pure fame of deeds, not doers; Nor deeds of men who bleeding die In cheer of hymns that round them float: In happy dreams such close the eye. But withering famine slowly wore, And slowly fell disease did gloat. Even Nature’s self did aid deny; They choked in horror the pensive sigh. Yea, off from home sad Memory bore (Though anguished Yearning heaved that way), Lest wreck of reason might befall. As men in gales shun the lee shore, Though there the homestead be, and call, And thitherward winds and waters sway-- As such lorn mariners, so fared they. But naught shall now their peace molest. Their fame is this: they did endure-- Endure, when fortitude was vain To kindle any approving strain Which they might hear. To these who rest, This healing sleep alone was sure. Commemorative of a Naval Victory. Sailors there are of gentlest breed, Yet strong, like every goodly thing; The discipline of arms refines, And the wave gives tempering. The damasked blade its beam can fling; It lends the last grave grace: The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman In Titian’s picture for a king, Are of Hunter or warrior race. In social halls a favored guest In years that follow victory won, How sweet to feel your festal fame, In woman’s glance instinctive thrown: Repose is yours--your deed is known, It musks the amber wine; It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days Rich as October sunsets brown, Which make the barren place to shine. But seldom the laurel wreath is seen Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; There’s a light and a shadow on every man Who at last attains his lifted mark-- Nursing through night the ethereal spark. Elate he never can be; He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth, Sleep in oblivion.--The shark Glides white through the prosphorus sea. Presentation to the Authorities, by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the Surrender of Lee. These flags of armies overthrown-- Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one In end foredoomed which closes war; We here, the captors, lay before The altar which of right claims all-- Our Country. And as freely we, Revering ever her sacred call, Could lay our lives down--though life be Thrice loved and precious to the sense Of such as reap the recompense Of life imperiled for just cause-- Imperiled, and yet preserved; While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved, Whose wives were all as dear, lie low. But these flags given, glad we go To waiting homes with vindicated laws. The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle.