ASHBY
by John Oliver Crown

A wail swells o'er the valley,
   Virginia, deep with woe;
Thy noble sons and daughters
   In mournful grief bend low,
   In mournful grief bend low,
Above that fallen brave,
   The high-souled, gallant Ashby,
Who sleeps in Glory's grave.

His clarion voice is silent
   That stirred his band to dare
The front and shock of battle
   When cannon rent the air,
   When cannon rent the air,
And armies met in strife,
   Advancing or recoiling
Before the tide of life.

Amid the war-storm's thunder
   A battle god he moved;
But in the hour of victory
   Stern death relentless proved,
   Stern death relentless proved,
As he pressed down the foe
   That came in mocking triumph
To lay Virginians low.

Virginia, with thy glory
   Will live his endless fame!
The Shenandoah's waters
   Will chant his deathless name,
   Will chant his deathless name,
And every rill will tell
   And every breeze will whisper
How, fighting, Ashby fell.

With his proud name we linger
   Like some bright dream that's fled,
And scarce our hearts can echo --
   He sleeps among the dead,
   He sleeps among the dead,
But, oh, his deeds live on,
   That speak in battle's language --
   Strive on till victory's won!
      
    

Turner Ashby

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Last modified 16-April-2001