Captives Going Home
No flaunting banners o’er them wave,
No arms flash back the sun’s bright ray,
No shouting crowds around them throng,
No music cheers them on their way:
They’re going home. By adverse fate
Compelled their trusty swords to sheathe;
True soldiers they, even though disarmed—
Heroes, though robbed of victory’s wreath.
Brave Southrons! ’Tis with sorrowing hearts
We gaze upon them through our tears,
And sadly feel how vain were all
Their heroic deeds through weary years;
Yet ’mid their enemies they move
With firm, bold step and dauntless mien:
Oh, Liberty! in every age,
Such have thy chosen heroes been.
Going home! Alas, to them the words
Bring visions fraught with gloom and woe:
Since last they saw those cherished homes
The legions of the invading foe
Have swept them, simoon-like, along,
Spreading destruction with the wind!
“They found a garden, but they left
A howling wilderness behind.”
Ah! in those desolated homes
To which the “fate of war has come,”
Sad is the welcome—poor the feast—
That waits the soldier’s coming home;
Yet loving ones will round him throng,
With smiles more tender, if less gay,
And joy will brighten pallid cheeks
At sight of the dear boys in gray.
Aye, give them welcome home, fair South,
For you they’ve made a deathless name;
Bright through all after-time will glow
The glorious record of their fame.
They made a nation. What, though soon
Its radiant sun has seemed to set;
The past has shown what they can do,
The future holds bright promise yet.