THOU look'st, with sorrowful and anxious gaze
Across the graves that hold the sacred bones
Of many fallen in the strife to raise
The curse of slavery from their land. No tones
Come from those sweet yet steadfast lips, no word
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Of blame to those who erred yet are forgiven.
Though senseless stone, thou look'st as if, were heard
One whisper 'gainst the land that once was riven
By civil strife, or saw one deed of shame
That would make blush thy dead could they but live,
Thou wouldst avenge the once unspotted fame
Of that fair land whose honors men can give
And buy for gold. And yet thy lips are mute and still,
Nor gives thy form, e'en at such shame as ours, one thrill.
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THE NEW PHYSICAL LABORATORY.
