He’s dead! He’s dead! The bravest of the brave
Has fallen in the glorious fight,
Whence he beat back ambition’s slaves,
And once more conquered for the right.
But dear the vict’ry! dear the spoil!
A nation’s wail alone can tell
The worth thus taken back from earth,
When freedom’s champion, “Stonewall” fell!
No more his vet’ran legions see
Their loved leader’s manly form,
His heart’s warm blood is chilled for aye,
All nerveless is the South’s right arm.
The eye that lit the battle field
Is quench’d in death’s eternal sleep!
And flown the soul that ne’er would yield,
Then weep him! matrons, maidens weep!
His was the death the warrior dies
When batt’ling gainst oppression’s hordes;
His the blood that upwards flies,
And cries for vengeance to the Lord.
His was the death that men have sworn
To die, ere Northern minions tread
The soil where Washington was born,
Where honored ancestors are laid.
Yet weep him not, his spirit lives!
And glows in every breast that braves
The chilling storm, the battle’s strife—
Virginia’s sons were not born slaves.
Let hist’ry’s page with honor crown him,
Give all the praise affection gives,
Fame attend him! Southrons avenge him
And shown the foe that “Stonewall” lives.