The Old World and the New, from sea to sea, Utter one voice of sympathy and shame. Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high! Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came! A deed accurst! Strokes have been struck before By the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt If more of horror or disgrace they bore; But thy foul crime, like Cain's, stands darkly out, Vile hand, that brandest murder on a strife, Whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly striven, And with the martyr's crown crownest a life With much to praise, little to be forgiven. [E] The authorship of this poem seems to be surrounded by somewhat of a doubt. Mark Lemon, editor of Punch at the time when this was written, is sometimes accredited with writing the tribute; then again, Spielman's History of Punch ascribes it to Shirley Brooks, who also was editor of Punch for a few years. The poem first appeared anonymously in the London Punch, May 6, 1865. Accompanying it was an engraving of Brittania mourning at Lincoln's bier and placing a wreath thereon. Columbia was represented as weeping at the head of the President, and at the foot of the bier was a slave with broken shackles. Underneath was the inscription, "Brittania sympathizes with Columbia." It is now generally believed that the author of the famous tribute was the journalist and dramatist, Tom Taylor, the author of the comedy, Our American Cousin, a performance of which President Lincoln was witnessing at the time of his assassination. LINCOLN Henry Tyrrell Lincoln arose! the masterful, great man, Girt with rude grandeur, quelling doubt and fear,-- A more than king, yet in whose veins there ran The red blood of the people, warm, sincere, Blending of Puritan and Cavalier. A will whose force stern warriors came to ask, A heart that melted at a mother's tear-- These brought he to his superhuman task: Over a tragic soul he wore a comic mask. He was the South's child more than of the North! His soul was not compact of rock and snow, But such as old Kentucky's soil gives forth,-- The splendid race of giants that we know, Firm unto friend, and loyal unto foe, Such birthrights all environment forestall, Resistlessly their tides of impulse flow. This man who answered to his country's call Was full of human faults, and nobler for them all. He is a life, and not a legend, yet: For thousands live who shook him by the hand, Millions whose sympathies with his were set, Whose hopes and griefs alike with his were grand, Who deeply mourned his passing. They demand Our homage to the greatest man they saw,-- They, his familiars; and throughout our land The years confirm them, over race and law: Even of rancor now the voice is hush'd in awe. THE BLUE AND THE GRAY Francis Miles Finch