Fallen in hero prime of conscious power His fame lives on and soothes her anguished hour, Yields to the land of Calhoun and of Clay His name as heirloom to her later day,— A legacy by life’s oblation left, A breathing solace to a home bereft. That knightly nature’s gift—that intellect’s grace, Relieved attrition wrought by clash of race, That reason poised in sympathy supreme, Revealed translucent pathos in his theme, Bade clamor cease—taught candor’s part to cure— Bade truth appear more true, pure thought more pure. But is the zenith reached—his record done, His duty closed beneath meridian sun? Was it for him like meteor flash to sweep Athwart the heavens, as vaulting lightnings leap— On living errand our dimmed orbit cleave— On mission radiate, yet no message leave? Ah, no! his flame rose not to fall anon; His words as phrase to glitter and be gone; Not evanescent in the minds of men, His ling’ring oratory speaks again— An era’s nuncio in a Nation’s view, An envoy of another South, and new: For now in prescience ’neath his Southern skies The grander vision greets our Northern eyes; The proud mirage he conjured up we see— His picturing of her potency to be, Her virile wealth of sun and soil and ore, Her new-born Freedom’s force—far nobler store. With sectional lines and warring feuds effaced, Their racial problems solved—their blots erased— Full in that vision circumfused shall rise A symbol that his life-rays crystallize, For all our state-loves lit in him to stand— For bonds that Georgia’s Genius lent to all our land. HENRY O’MEARA. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ HENRY W. GRADY. ------- Upon the winds from shores uncharted blown, That phantom came, stoled in his trailing mists; He set his cruel gyves upon thy wrists:— Thine ear was dulled save to his subtle tone:— He led thee down where fade the paths unknown In the deep hollows of the Shadow Land: Love’s tears,—the tendance of her gentle hand,— Thou didst remember not: her deepest groan Stayed not thy feet—thine eyes were fixed away Upon the mountains of some other clime! Among the noblest, gathered from all time, In God’s great universe somewhere to-day He wanders where the cool all-healing trees Uplift their fronds in fair Champs Elysées. HENRY JEROME STOCKARD. GRAHAM, N.C.