From the Richmond Dispatch, 6/7/1862, p. 4, c. 1

[Written for the Richmond Dispatch.]
THE DYING ALABAMIAN.*

BY G. W. ALEXANDER, CAPT. AND A. P. M.

I gazed upon his pallid brow,
      His eyes grew dim with tears,
“Have you a wife, my friend?” said I
      “Ah! one I’ve love for years.

“And she is lone, but not alone,
      My babes around her cling,
And when they call on father’s name,
      What tidings shall she bring?

“Alone! Afar! In strangers’ hands,
      I, helpless, feeble, lay;
But friends around, they cool my wound,
      I bless the glorious day.

“When vandal hosts, with many boasts,
      Polluted our happy land,
True Southern hearts have felled their arts,
      And beat back the hireling band.

“But I grow weak – my heart is sick –
      Death’s clammy touch is nigh;
Daughter, I bless thy kindness here –
      For Liberty I die!”

Reader, the story soon is told,
      The warrior is at rest,
The soil he shed his life’s blood for
      Now closes o’er his breast.

The mother, watching, sits at home
      The little cot looks gay;
But father, she he’ll come no more –
      He died that glorious day.

[*The incident which suggested this composition, occurred while the wife of the writer had charge of an impromptu hospital, and was nursing some Alabama soldier.]

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