. Poems . conda writhing its fold, And then with a clutch that was steady and twisted it up in a sort of a loop. And jerked out—at least forty feet of steel hoop! IN MEMORIAM. [Lieutenant Boyd Mercer, Eleventh Kentucky Infantry, U. S. A., 1861.] Some souls, unmoved by lust of fame or their whole hves without a thought of self;No selfish schemes their high ideals smother—Such was thy soul, my noble-hearted in manner as a gentle lion bold was dutys call man nor devil made thy soul home, to God and Country ever skylark spring
. Poems . conda writhing its fold, And then with a clutch that was steady and twisted it up in a sort of a loop. And jerked out—at least forty feet of steel hoop! IN MEMORIAM. [Lieutenant Boyd Mercer, Eleventh Kentucky Infantry, U. S. A., 1861.] Some souls, unmoved by lust of fame or their whole hves without a thought of self;No selfish schemes their high ideals smother—Such was thy soul, my noble-hearted in manner as a gentle lion bold was dutys call man nor devil made thy soul home, to God and Country ever skylark springing from the morning dew,Thine upward, sunlit flight thou didst oceans costliest pearls he neath its richest gems in undiscovered caves,And like the wealth oer which the ocean rollsGod knows the value of his purest and Christian soldier—why lamentA life so truly planned, so nobly spent?Now without taint or mixture of alloyChrists soldier marches in eternal joy. 60. LIEUTENANT BOYD MERCER First Kentucky Regiment, U. S. A. THE SORROWS OF HINDA AND KLEINFELTER- The course of true love never did run smooth.— Maidens, say, heard ye the sorrowful story Of a turreted castle all mossy and hoary, That stood on the banks of the dark-flowing Rhine, Where the tall hills are clad with the grape-laden vine. Where the strains of the flute and the plaintive guitar Are echoed each night neath the glow of the star, Where the days glide as smooth as the waves of the river, And vSwift as the shaft from an Indian quiver? Oh, Heaven has showered with a bountiful hand All, all that is lovely and gorgeous and grand On the Rhines noble valley, that beautiful land, Yet alas!—for the tale I am going to tell Is as sad as the chime of a funeral bell. And oft as they pause at their leisure to listen. The tear on the pale cheek of beauty will glisten. Weeping they will turn away. Sighing have I heard them say,Of all the woes that blight us from abo
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