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That was inflicted on that town
By Quantrell's band therebel foe!
Men, women, children, all alike,
Sought refuge from that rebel band, Who, with the power of Bonaparte,
Would lay in ashes all our land.
The frightful flames were bursting loud,
And leaping wildly through the air, As if to add to the piteous shrieks
That rose and fell in sore despair.
The father, with his darling sons,
The mother, with her child, Cried, "burn my house, but spare my life!
Those shrieks were loud and wild!
And helpless children did behold
Those fiends in human form
With unrelenting scorn'
The butchering done by Quantrell's band,
Upon that Autumn day,
Will, like a dagger, pierce my heart-
Killing men had made him brave;
Bnt there his ire grew wild
You've missed part of your game!"
, And said, “I'll shoot Jim Lane!"
Ah! sad was the fate of Lawrence that day,
As the panting steed bore his rider in gray, As their curses, shrieks and deafening cries
Were wafted upward to the skies.
When that awful day had past,
Smoldering ruins marked the spot Where love and friendship reigned supreme,
Ere Quantrell planned his bloody plot.
But a mark of infamy is set
On the men who plotted treason; Who thought to rend our land in twain,
Without just cause or reason.
And now o'er the graves of New England's
sons, O'er the martyrs who fell that day, Year following year, the tear-drops will fall On the ground that has mixed with their
Memory of the Hon. D. G. Haskell.
O-DAY the nation mourns a son,
In early life he was cut down.
His years were few, but well-improved;
He gained a coveted renown,
That he has gained a heavenly crown.
Long had sickness on him preyed;
Anxious friends had watched each mail,