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Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 27. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 1.35 (search)
r hastened the death of Napoleon Bonaparte, and caused him more mental anguish and suffering than his incarceration upon the island of St. Helena. The soldier of every army has feared it; the martyr in every noble cause has dreaded it; the Confederate soldier shivers at the thought to-day, and looks appealingly to the Sons of Veterans for aid and comfort. Sad, indeed, is the thought, some day I shall be forgotten. Beautiful, yet pathetic, is the description of this given us by the poet, Wilde: My life is like the summer rose, That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground to die: Yet on the rose's humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to see; But none shall weep a tear for me. My life is like the autumn leaf, That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold is frail—its date is brief, Restless and soon to pass away. Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The w