A LAMENT
A wail from the city of blood!
A voice from the grave of the martyr,
It cometh o'er mountain and wood,
It mourneth the good man's departure.
Where rolls Mississippi along,
The bard of the doomed city strung
His harp to a sorrowful song,
As he wandered its ruins among.
I.
Lament! for our desolate home;
O Harp! pour the song of our woe,
Our guilt, and our terrible doom,
And sad be the numbers that flow.
Il.
We were one day the pride of the West
We joyed that our name was in story:
Our sires far away thought us blest,
As they heard of our fast rising glory.
III.
We gave to the breezes our name,
The waves bore the tale of renown;
And gladly we saw that the fame
Was great of our river-nursed town.
IV.
But woe for our fair city then,
A sorrowful day came upon us:
We in wrath slew the noblest of men,
And indelible shame it hath won us.
V.
Alas! we shed innocent blood,
And the day of our glory went over,
And now are we stricken of God
Smote down by the wrath of Jehovah.
VI.
The wild grass grows rank in our streets,
And the wretch unpitied by death,
On the hearth-stone, the howling wolf meets
While the serpent is coiling beneath.
VII.
The buzzard is seen where we tread,
The forest birds start not with fear,
The eagle is wheeling o'er head,
And the bat and the screech-owl are here.
VIII.
The traveller looks back as he goes,
Where the blood of the martyr was spilt;
Then heaveth a sigh, for he knows,
The horrible tale of our guilt.
IX.
We mourn for the deed we have done,
But alas! we mourn unforgiven;
Our day of repentance is gone,
We're deserted by man and by Heaven.
X.
The wave of oblivion rolls on,
It hath swept o'er the place where we stood:
A moment and we shall be gone,
The last of the CITY OF BLOOD.
George Shepard Burleigh
