Rich in red honors, that upon him lie <br />As lightly as the Summer dews <br />Fall where he won his fame beneath the sky <br />Of tropic Vera Cruz; <br /> <br />Bold scorner of the cant that has its birth <br />In feeble or in failing powers; <br />A lover of all frank and genial mirth <br />That wreathes the sword with flowers; <br /> <br />He moves amid the warriors of the day, <br />Just such a soldier as the art <br />That builds its trophies upon human clay <br />Moulds of a cheerful heart. <br /> <br />I see him in the battle that shall shake, <br />Ere long, old Sumter's haughty crown, <br />And from their dreams of peaceful traffic wake <br />The wharves of yonder town; <br /> <br />As calm as one would greet a pleasant guest, <br />And quaff a cup to love and life, <br />He hurls his deadliest thunders with a jest, <br />And laughs amid the strife. <br /> <br />Yet not the gravest soldier of them all <br />Surveys a field with broader scope; <br />And who behind that sea-encircled wall <br />Fights with a loftier hope? <br /> <br />Gay Chieftain! on the crimson rolls of Fame <br />Thy deeds are written with the sword; <br />But there are gentler thoughts which, with thy name, <br />Thy country's page shall hoard. <br /> <br />A nature of that rare and happy cast <br />Which looks, unsteeled, on murder's face; <br />Through what dark scenes of bloodshed hast thou passed, <br />Yet lost no social grace? <br /> <br />So, when the bard depicts thee, thou shalt wield <br />The weapon of a tyrant's doom, <br />Round which, inscribed with many a well-fought field, <br />The rose of joy shall bloom.<br /><br />Henry Timrod<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ripley/
