It was a solemn rite as e’er
Was seen by mortal man.
The celebrants, the people there,
Were all Republican.
There Estee bent his grizzled head,
And General Dimond, too,
And one—’twas Reddick, someone said,
Though no one clearly knew.
I saw the priest, white-robed and tall
(Assistant, Father Stow)—
He was the pious man men call
Dan Burns of Mexico.
Ah, ’twas a high and holy rite
As anyone could swear.
“What does it mean?” I asked a wight
Who knelt apart in prayer.
“A mass for the repose,” he said,
“Of Colonel Markham’s”—“What,
Is gallant Colonel Markham dead?
’Tis sad, ’tis sad, God wot!”
“A mass”—repeated he, and rose
To go and kneel among
The worshipers—“for the repose
Of Colonel Markham’s tongue.”