Judith White McGuire, Diary of a southern refugee during the war, by a lady of Virginia

J. E. B. Stuart.

The smoke above the glimmering woodland wide,
That skirts our southward border with its beauty,
Marked where our heroes stood, and fought and died,
For love, and faith, and duty

And still what time the doubtful strife went on,
We might not find expression for our sorrow;
We could but lay our dear, dumb warrior down,
And gird us for the morrow.

One weary year ago, when came a lull
With victory, in the conflicts' stormy closes,
When the glad Spring, all flushed and beautiful,
First mocked us with her roses-

With dirge and bell, and minute-gun, we paid
Some few poor rites, an inexpressive token