While the bass drums boomed like thunder,
And the music fell like rain,
And the air was rent asunder
With a jubliant, martial strain--
The 'Cello seem talking under
Its breath like a thing in pain
And I questioned: Why, O 'Cello,
Are you dipping your notes in tears
When the joyous voice of each fellow
About you is charged with cheers,
And the stern old World grows mellow
And glad with the strain it hears?
Then the 'Cello's voice replying,
Said: Mine is the grief alway
To remember the dead and dying,
While Happier comrads play
For the victor with banners flying,
And the living who gained the day.
The Age-Herald [Birmingham, Ala.] 24 Oct. 1900: 4.
Courtesy of John M. Freiermuth.
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