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Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,
Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause;
Though yet no marble column craves
The pilgrim here to pause. Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!
There is no holier spot of ground
Than where defeated valor lies,
By mourning beauty crowned!

— Henry Timrod

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Thy skirts indeed the foe may part,
Thy robe be pierced with sword and dart,
They shall not touch thy noble heart,
Carolina!

Throw thy bold banner to the breeze!
Front with thy ranks the threatening seas
Like thine own proud armorial trees,
Carolina! Fling down thy gauntlet to the Huns,
And roar the challenge from thy guns;
Then leave the future to thy sons,
Carolina!

And down the dunes a thousand guns lie crouched,
Unseen, beside the flood —
Like tigers in some Orient jungle crouched
That wait and watch for blood. Meanwhile, through streets still echoing with trade,
Walk grave and thoughtful men,
Whose hands may one day wield the patriot's blade
As lightly as the pen.

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Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Henry Timrod (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.