The year was eighteen sixty-three, a time of war and strife,
When whispers of dissent and doubt, threatened to unravel life.
From Union ranks, a voice arose, a man with words of fire,
Edward Everett, a silver tongue, a heart filled with desire.
He spoke of peace and compromise, a halt to bloody war,
His words, like honeyed poison, seeped into the hearts of more.
He called the conflict senseless, a fight for power and gain,
And painted Lincoln’s noble cause as a cruel and wicked stain.
His words inflamed the passions of those weary of the fight,
The Copperheads, the peace-seekers, they saw in him a guiding light.
He spoke of states' rights and freedom, a nation free from chains,
But his whispers of division sowed seeds of doubt, of sorrow, and of pains.
The government, its patience spent, saw treason in his words,
A threat to unity and strength, a challenge to the sword.
They branded him a traitor, a snake in the nation’s soul,
And sentenced him to banishment, a fate to make him whole.
From his home in Massachusetts, he was sent across the sea,
To exile in a foreign land, where liberty was meant to be.
But in his heart, a fire burned, a burning, silent rage,
For he believed his words were just, a plea for a new age.
Years passed, the war still raged, and Edward’s voice grew faint,
He watched from afar, the nation heal, the wounds of conflict taint.
But deep within his exiled soul, a spark remained alight,
A longing for his homeland, a hope for a future bright.
Then came the news, the war was done, the Union strong and free,
And Edward Everett, banished man, was granted liberty.
He returned to his beloved land, a stranger in his own,
His words now silenced, his voice unheard, his spirit overthrown.
But in the halls of history, his story lives anew,
A cautionary tale of dissent, a shadow cast on blue.
For Edward Everett’s story stands, a reminder stark and clear,
That even in the darkest hour, the truth can be held dear.
And though his words were judged as wrong, his heart was true and bold,
He fought for what he thought was right, though his story remained untold.
He walked the path of opposition, a lonely, tragic plight,
And in the end, his legacy, a whisper in the night.