Mortally wounded--"The Brigade must not know, sir."
Reading edition
"Who've ye got there?"--"Only a dying brother, Hurt in the front just now." "Good boy! he'll do. Somebody tell his mother Where he was killed, and how."
"Whom have you there?"--"A crippled courier, major, Shot by mistake, we hear. He was with Stonewall." "Cruel work they've made here: Quick with him to the rear!"
"Well, who comes next?"--"Doctor, speak low, speak low, sir; Don't let the men find out. It's STONEWALL!" "God!" "The brigade must not know, sir, While there's a foe about."
Whom have we here--shrouded in martial manner, Crowned with a martyr's charm? A grand dead hero, in a living banner, Born of his heart and arm:
The heart whereon his cause hung--see how clingeth That banner to his bier! The arm wherewith his cause struck--hark! how ringeth His trumpet in their rear!
What have we left? His glorious inspiration, His prayers in council met. Living, he laid the first stones of a nation; And dead, he builds it yet.