One Of Longstreet's Men
by T. C. Harbaugh
One day deep in the thicket's core,
Where nod the somber pines,
I found a grave with grass o'ergrown
Where stood the battle lines.
The headboard on the ground reclined;
I lifted it, and then
I read: "The soldier sleeping here
Was one of Longstreet's men."
That led the men in gray;
The musket's crash, the cannon's boom
Fore'er had died away;
A little bird with golden crest-
A songster of the glen-
Was singing near her little nest
To one of Longstreet's men.
And deemed it right and just;
Where is the foeman who would ‘sturb
That valiant soldier's dust?
The Shenandoah, as it flowed
Through meadow, brake, and fen,
Recalled the times when life was strife
For one of Longstreet's men.
That dreamy summer day,
And left beneath the soughing pines
The chevalier in gray;
And as I sent a farewell look
Adown the little glen,
A ray of sunshine kissed the grave
Of one of Longstreet's men.
