Roll, Shenandoah, proudly roll, Adown thy rocky glen, Above thee lies the grave of one Of Stonewall Jackson's men. MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND _Stonewall Jackson meets Shields at Port Republic, 1862_ June Tenth The indomitable courage, the patient endurance of privations, the supreme devotion of the Southern soldiers, will stand on the pages of history, as engraven on a monument more enduring than brass. MAJ. JAS. F. HUNTINGTON, U. S. A. _United Confederate Veterans organized at New Orleans, 1889_ _Battle of Bethel, Va., the first regular engagement of the War between the States, 1861_ June Eleventh We believed that it was most desirable that the North should win; we believed in the principle that the Union is indissoluble; but we equally believed that those who stood against us held just as sacred convictions that were the opposite of ours, and we respected them, as every man with a heart must respect those who gave all for their belief. JUSTICE O. W. HOLMES (Massachusetts) June Twelfth The band preceding the coffin smote on their ears with poignant loud lamenting, then carried its sorrow to die moaning on the night. As the shadowy cortege filed by--men bearing lanterns on either side the hearse--a horse, riderless, with boots empty in the stirrups, following--a few soldiers carrying arms reversed--a single carriage with mourners--the effect was infinitely sad. So common the spectacle during the Battle Summer, it did not occur to them to even wonder which of our martyrs was thus journeying to his last home. MRS. BURTON HARRISON June Thirteenth A little bird there was once, with golden wings; In the stars she would build her nest; And so, with a twig in her beak, at eventide When Hesperus sank to rest, Away to the starry deep she flew;--for said she, "In the Pleiades shall my nesting be!" Ah, little bird! There are heights far, far too high For the reach of those tiny wings! Down here by this thicket of haw let us rest, you and I, And list what the brooklet sings! ALLEN KERR BOND June Fourteenth A flash from the edge of a hostile trench, A puff of smoke, a roar Whose echo shall roll from the Kenesaw Hills To the farthermost Christian shore, Proclaims to the world that the warrior priest Will battle for right no more. HENRY LYNDEN FLASH _Gen. Leonidas Polk, the Warrior Bishop, killed at Kenesaw Mountain, 1864_ June Fifteenth O, Art, high gift of Heaven! how oft defamed When seeming praised! To most a craft that fits, By dead, prescriptive Rule, the scattered bits Of gathered knowledge; even so misnamed By some who would invoke thee. WASHINGTON ALLSTON June Sixteenth