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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:47 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:47 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12384-0.txt b/12384-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7962f56 --- /dev/null +++ b/12384-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5590 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12384 *** + +Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War. + +By Herman Melville. + + + +1866. + + + + +The Battle-Pieces in this volume are dedicated to the memory of the +THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND who in the war for the maintenance of the Union +fell devotedly under the flag of their fathers. + + + +[With few exceptions, the Pieces in this volume originated in an impulse +imparted by the fall of Richmond. They were composed without reference +to collective arrangement, but being brought together in review, +naturally fall into the order assumed. + +The events and incidents of the conflict--making up a whole, in varied +amplitude, corresponding with the geographical area covered by the +war--from these but a few themes have been taken, such as for any cause +chanced to imprint themselves upon the mind. + +The aspects which the strife as a memory assumes are as manifold as are +the moods of involuntary meditation--moods variable, and at times widely +at variance. Yielding instinctively, one after another, to feelings not +inspired from any one source exclusively, and unmindful, without +purposing to be, of consistency, I seem, in most of these verses, to +have but placed a harp in a window, and noted the contrasted airs which +wayward wilds have played upon the strings.] + + + +The Portent. +(1859.) + + +Hanging from the beam, + Slowly swaying (such the law), +Gaunt the shadow on your green, + Shenandoah! +The cut is on the crown +(Lo, John Brown), +And the stabs shall heal no more. + +Hidden in the cap + Is the anguish none can draw; +So your future veils its face, + Shenandoah! +But the streaming beard is shown +(Weird John Brown), +The meteor of the the war. + + + +Misgivings. +(1860.) + + + When ocean-clouds over inland hills + Sweep storming in late autumn brown, + And horror the sodden valley fills, + And the spire falls crashing in the town, + I muse upon my country’s ills-- + The tempest bursting from the waste of Time +On the world’s fairest hope linked with man’s foulest crime. + + Nature’s dark side is heeded now-- + (Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown)-- + A child may read the moody brow + Of yon black mountain lone. + With shouts the torrents down the gorges go, + And storms are formed behind the storm we feel: +The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel. + + + +The Conflict of Convictions.[1] +(1860-1.) + + +On starry heights + A bugle wails the long recall; +Derision stirs the deep abyss, + Heaven’s ominous silence over all. +Return, return, O eager Hope, + And face man’s latter fall. +Events, they make the dreamers quail; +Satan’s old age is strong and hale, +A disciplined captain, gray in skill, +And Raphael a white enthusiast still; +Dashed aims, at which Christ’s martyrs pale, +Shall Mammon’s slaves fulfill? + + (_Dismantle the fort, + Cut down the fleet-- + Battle no more shall be! + While the fields for fight in æons to come + Congeal beneath the sea._) + +The terrors of truth and dart of death + To faith alike are vain; +Though comets, gone a thousand years, + Return again, +Patient she stands--she can no more-- +And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar. + + (_At a stony gate, + A statue of stone, + Weed overgrown-- + Long ’twill wait!_) + +But God his former mind retains, + Confirms his old decree; +The generations are inured to pains, + And strong Necessity +Surges, and heaps Time’s strand with wrecks. + The People spread like a weedy grass, + The thing they will they bring to pass, +And prosper to the apoplex. +The rout it herds around the heart, + The ghost is yielded in the gloom; +Kings wag their heads--Now save thyself + Who wouldst rebuild the world in bloom. + + (_Tide-mark + And top of the ages’ strike, + Verge where they called the world to come, + The last advance of life-- + Ha ha, the rust on the Iron Dome!_) + +Nay, but revere the hid event; + In the cloud a sword is girded on, +I mark a twinkling in the tent + Of Michael the warrior one. +Senior wisdom suits not now, +The light is on the youthful brow. + + (_Ay, in caves the miner see: + His forehead bears a blinking light; + Darkness so he feebly braves-- + A meagre wight!_) + +But He who rules is old--is old; +Ah! faith is warm, but heaven with age is cold. + + (_Ho ho, ho ho, + The cloistered doubt + Of olden times + Is blurted out!_) + +The Ancient of Days forever is young, + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; +I know a wind in purpose strong-- + It spins _against_ the way it drives. +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare? +So deep must the stones be hurled +Whereon the throes of ages rear +The final empire and the happier world. + + (_The poor old Past, + The Future’s slave, + She drudged through pain and crime + To bring about the blissful Prime, + Then--perished. There’s a grave!_) + + Power unanointed may come-- +Dominion (unsought by the free) + And the Iron Dome, +Stronger for stress and strain, +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main; +But the Founders’ dream shall flee. +Agee after age shall be +As age after age has been, +(From man’s changeless heart their way they win); + +And death be busy with all who strive-- +Death, with silent negative. + + YEA, AND NAY-- + EACH HATH HIS SAY; + BUT GOD HE KEEPS THE MIDDLE WAY. + NONE WAS BY + WHEN HE SPREAD THE SKY; + WISDOM IS VAIN, AND PROPHESY. + + + +Apathy and Enthusiasm. +(1860-1.) + + +I + +O the clammy cold November, + And the winter white and dead, +And the terror dumb with stupor, + And the sky a sheet of lead; +And events that came resounding + With the cry that _All was lost_, +Like the thunder-cracks of massy ice + In intensity of frost-- +Bursting one upon another + Through the horror of the calm. + The paralysis of arm +In the anguish of the heart; +And the hollowness and dearth. + The appealings of the mother + To brother and to brother +Not in hatred so to part-- +And the fissure in the hearth + Growing momently more wide. +Then the glances ’tween the Fates, + And the doubt on every side, +And the patience under gloom +In the stoniness that waits +The finality of doom. + + +II + +So the winter died despairing, + And the weary weeks of Lent; +And the ice-bound rivers melted, + And the tomb of Faith was rent. +O, the rising of the People + Came with springing of the grass, +They rebounded from dejection + And Easter came to pass. +And the young were all elation + Hearing Sumter’s cannon roar, +And they thought how tame the Nation + In the age that went before. +And Michael seemed gigantical, + The Arch-fiend but a dwarf; +And at the towers of Erebus + Our striplings flung the scoff. +But the elders with foreboding + Mourned the days forever o’er, +And re called the forest proverb, + The Iroquois’ old saw: +_Grief to every graybeard + When young Indians lead the war._ + + + +The March into Virginia, +Ending in the First Manassas. +(July, 1861.) + + +Did all the lets and bars appear + To every just or larger end, +Whence should come the trust and cheer? + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend-- +Age finds place in the rear. + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys, +The champions and enthusiasts of the state: + Turbid ardors and vain joys + Not barrenly abate-- + Stimulants to the power mature, + Preparatives of fate. + +Who here forecasteth the event? +What heart but spurns at precedent +And warnings of the wise, +Contemned foreclosures of surprise? + +The banners play, the bugles call, +The air is blue and prodigal. + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed, +No picnic party in the May, +Ever went less loth than they + Into that leafy neighborhood. +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate, +Moloch’s uninitiate; +Expectancy, and glad surmise +Of battle’s unknown mysteries. +All they feel is this: ’tis glory, +A rapture sharp, though transitory, +Yet lasting in belaureled story. +So they gayly go to fight, +Chatting left and laughing right. + +But some who this blithe mood present, + As on in lightsome files they fare, +Shall die experienced ere three days are spent-- + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare; +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, + The throe of Second Manassas share. + + + +Lyon. +Battle of Springfield, Missouri. +(August, 1861.) + + +Some hearts there are of deeper sort, + Prophetic, sad, +Which yet for cause are trebly clad; + Known death they fly on: +This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon. + +“They are more than twenty thousand strong, + We less than five, +Too few with such a host to strive” + “Such counsel, fie on! +’Tis battle, or ’tis shame;” and firm stood Lyon. + +“For help at need in van we wait-- + Retreat or fight: +Retreat the foe would take for flight, + And each proud scion +Feel more elate; the end must come,” said Lyon. + +By candlelight he wrote the will, + And left his all +To Her for whom ’twas not enough to fall; + Loud neighed Orion +Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon. + +The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale + With guard-fires lit; +Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it: + “A field to die on” +Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon. + +We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn-- + Fate seemed malign; +His horse the Leader led along the line-- + Star-browed Orion; +Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon. + +There came a sound like the slitting of air + By a swift sharp sword-- +A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad + Of black Orion +Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon. + +“General, you’re hurt--this sleet of balls!” + He seemed half spent; +With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent: + “The field to die on; +But not--not yet; the day is long,” breathed Lyon. + +For a time becharmed there fell a lull + In the heart of the fight; +The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light; + Warm noon-winds sigh on, +And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon. + +Texans and Indians trim for a charge: + “Stand ready, men! +Let them come close, right up, and then + After the lead, the iron; +Fire, and charge back!” So strength returned to Lyon. + +The Iowa men who held the van, + Half drilled, were new +To battle: “Some one lead us, then we’ll do” + Said Corporal Tryon: +“Men! _I_ will lead,” and a light glared in Lyon. + +On they came: they yelped, and fired; + His spirit sped; +We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled, + Nor stayed the iron, +Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon. + +This seer foresaw his soldier-doom, + Yet willed the fight. +He never turned; his only flight + Was up to Zion, +Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon. + + + +Ball’s Bluff. +A Reverie. +(October, 1861.) + + +One noonday, at my window in the town, + I saw a sight--saddest that eyes can see-- + Young soldiers marching lustily + Unto the wars, +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; + While all the porches, walks, and doors +Were rich with ladies cheering royally. + +They moved like Juny morning on the wave, + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime + (It was the breezy summer time), + Life throbbed so strong, +How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime + Would come to thin their shining throng? +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. + +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed, + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, + On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); + Some marching feet +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; + Wakeful I mused, while in the street +Far footfalls died away till none were left. + + + +Dupont’s Round Fight. +(November, 1861.) + + +In time and measure perfect moves + All Art whose aim is sure; +Evolving ryhme and stars divine + Have rules, and they endure. + +Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right, + And, warring so, prevailed, +In geometric beauty curved, + And in an orbit sailed. + +The rebel at Port Royal felt + The Unity overawe, +And rued the spell. A type was here, + And victory of Law. + + + +The Stone Fleet.[2] +An Old Sailor’s Lament. +(December, 1861.) + + +I have a feeling for those ships, + Each worn and ancient one, +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam; + Ay, it was unkindly done. + But so they serve the Obsolete-- + Even so, Stone Fleet! + +You’ll say I’m doting; do but think + I scudded round the Horn in one-- +The Tenedos, a glorious + Good old craft as ever run-- + Sunk (how all unmeet!) + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +An India ship of fame was she, + Spices and shawls and fans she bore; +A whaler when her wrinkles came-- + Turned off! till, spent and poor, + Her bones were sold (escheat)! + Ah! Stone Fleet. + +Four were erst patrician keels + (Names attest what families be), +The Kensington, and Richmond too, + Leonidas, and Lee: + But now they have their seat + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- + Sack them, and dismast; +They sunk so slow, they died so hard, + But gurgling dropped at last. + Their ghosts in gales repeat + _Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!_ + +And all for naught. The waters pass-- + Currents will have their way; +Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well; + The harbor is bettered--will stay. + A failure, and complete, + Was your Old Stone Fleet. + + + +Donelson. +(February, 1862.) + + +The bitter cup + Of that hard countermand +Which gave the Envoys up, +Still was wormwood in the mouth, + And clouds involved the land, +When, pelted by sleet in the icy street, + About the bulletin-board a band +Of eager, anxious people met, +And every wakeful heart was set +On latest news from West or South. +“No seeing here,” cries one--“don’t crowd--” +“You tall man, pray you, read aloud.” + +IMPORTANT. + _We learn that General Grant, + Marching from Henry overland, +And joined by a force up the Cumberland sent + (Some thirty thousand the command), +On Wednesday a good position won-- +Began the siege of Donelson. + +The stronghold crowns a river-bluff, + A good broad mile of leveled top; +Inland the ground rolls off + Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up-- +A wilderness of trees and brush. + The spaded summit shows the roods +Of fixed intrenchments in their hush; + Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods +Perplex the base.-- + The welcome weather + Is clear and mild; ’tis much like May. +The ancient boughs that lace together +Along the stream, and hang far forth, + Strange with green mistletoe, betray +A dreamy contrast to the North. + +Our troops are full of spirits--say + The siege won’t prove a creeping one. +They purpose not the lingering stay +Of old beleaguerers; not that way; + But, full of _vim_ from Western prairies won, + They’ll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson._ + +Washed by the storm till the paper grew +Every shade of a streaky blue, +That bulletin stood. The next day brought +A second. + + +LATER FROM THE FORT. +_Grant’s investment is complete-- + A semicircular one. +Both wings the Cumberland’s margin meet, +Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat. + On Wednesday this good work was done; + But of the doers some lie prone. +Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for; +The bold inclosing line we wrought for +Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost +A limb or life. But back we forced +Reserves and all; made good our hold; +And so we rest. + + Events unfold. +On Thursday added ground was won, + A long bold steep: we near the Den. +Later the foe came shouting down + In sortie, which was quelled; and then +We stormed them on their left. +A chilly change in the afternoon; +The sky, late clear, is now bereft +Of sun. Last night the ground froze hard-- +Rings to the enemy as they run +Within their works. A ramrod bites +The lip it meets. The cold incites +To swinging of arms with brisk rebound. +Smart blows ’gainst lusty chests resound. + +Along the outer line we ward + A crackle of skirmishing goes on. +Our lads creep round on hand and knee, + They fight from behind each trunk and stone; + And sometimes, flying for refuge, one +Finds ’tis an enemy shares the tree. +Some scores are maimed by boughs shot off + In the glades by the Fort’s big gun. + We mourn the loss of colonel Morrison, + Killed while cheering his regiment on. +Their far sharpshooters try our stuff; +And ours return them puff for puff: +’Tis diamond-cutting-diamond work. + Woe on the rebel cannoneer +Who shows his head. Our fellows lurk + Like Indians that waylay the deer +By the wild salt-spring.--The sky is dun, +Fordooming the fall of Donelson. + +Stern weather is all unwonted here. + The people of the country own +We brought it. Yea, the earnest North +Has elementally issued forth + To storm this Donelson._ + +FURTHER. + A yelling rout +Of ragamuffins broke profuse + To-day from out the Fort. + Sole uniform they wore, a sort +Of patch, or white badge (as you choose) + Upon the arm. But leading these, +Or mingling, were men of face +And bearing of patrician race, +Splendid in courage and gold lace-- + The officers. Before the breeze +Made by their charge, down went our line; +But, rallying, charged back in force, +And broke the sally; yet with loss. +This on the left; upon the right +Meanwhile there was an answering fight; + Assailants and assailed reversed. +The charge too upward, and not down-- +Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown, + A strong redoubt. But they who first +Gained the fort’s base, and marked the trees +Felled, heaped in horned perplexities, + And shagged with brush; and swarming there +Fierce wasps whose sting was present death-- +They faltered, drawing bated breath, + And felt it was in vain to dare; +Yet still, perforce, returned the ball, +Firing into the tangled wall +Till ordered to come down. They came; +But left some comrades in their fame, +Red on the ridge in icy wreath +And hanging gardens of cold Death. + But not quite unavenged these fell; +Our ranks once out of range, a blast + Of shrapnel and quick shell +Burst on the rebel horde, still massed, + Scattering them pell-mell. + (This fighting--judging what we read-- + Both charge and countercharge, + Would seem but Thursday’s told at large, + Before in brief reported.--Ed.) +Night closed in about the Den + Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains. +A night not soon to be forgot, + Reviving old rheumatic pains +And longings for a cot. + + No blankets, overcoats, or tents. +Coats thrown aside on the warm march here-- +We looked not then for changeful cheer; +Tents, coats, and blankets too much care. + No fires; a fire a mark presents; + Near by, the trees show bullet-dents. +Rations were eaten cold and raw. + The men well soaked, come snow; and more-- +A midnight sally. Small sleeping done-- + But such is war; +No matter, we’ll have Fort Donelson._ + + “Ugh! ugh! +’Twill drag along--drag along” +Growled a cross patriot in the throng, +His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover +Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over. +“Hurrah for Grant!” cried a stripling shrill; +Three urchins joined him with a will, +And some of taller stature cheered. +Meantime a Copperhead passed; he sneered. + “Win or lose,” he pausing said, +“Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys; +Any thing to make a noise. + Like to see the list of the dead; +These ‘_craven Southerners_’ hold out; +Ay, ay, they’ll give you many a bout” + “We’ll beat in the end, sir” +Firmly said one in staid rebuke, +A solid merchant, square and stout. + “And do you think it? that way tend, sir” +Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look +Of splenetic pity. “Yes, I do” +His yellow death’s head the croaker shook: +“The country’s ruined, that I know” +A shower of broken ice and snow, + In lieu of words, confuted him; +They saw him hustled round the corner go, + And each by-stander said--Well suited him. + +Next day another crowd was seen +In the dark weather’s sleety spleen. +Bald-headed to the storm came out +A man, who, ’mid a joyous shout, +Silently posted this brief sheet: + +GLORIOUS VICTORY OF THE FLEET! + +FRIDAY’S GREAT EVENT! + +THE ENEMY’S WATER-BATTERIES BEAT! + +WE SILENCED EVERY GUN! + +THE OLD COMMODORE’S COMPLIMENTS SENT +PLUMP INTO DONELSON! + +“Well, well, go on!” exclaimed the crowd +To him who thus much read aloud. +“That’s all,” he said. “What! nothing more” +“Enough for a cheer, though--hip, hurrah!” +“But here’s old Baldy come again--” +“More news!”--And now a different strain. + +(Our own reporter a dispatch compiles, + As best he may, from varied sources.) + +Large re-enforcements have arrived-- + Munitions, men, and horses-- +For Grant, and all debarked, with stores. + + The enemy’s field-works extend six miles-- +The gate still hid; so well contrived. + +Yesterday stung us; frozen shores + Snow-clad, and through the drear defiles + +And over the desolate ridges blew +A Lapland wind. + The main affair + Was a good two hours’ steady fight +Between our gun-boats and the Fort. + The Louisville’s wheel was smashed outright. +A hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound ball +Came planet-like through a starboard port, +Killing three men, and wounding all +The rest of that gun’s crew, +(The captain of the gun was cut in two); +Then splintering and ripping went-- +Nothing could be its continent. + In the narrow stream the Louisville, +Unhelmed, grew lawless; swung around, + And would have thumped and drifted, till +All the fleet was driven aground, +But for the timely order to retire. + +Some damage from our fire, ’tis thought, +Was done the water-batteries of the Fort. + +Little else took place that day, + Except the field artillery in line +Would now and then--for love, they say-- + Exchange a valentine. +The old sharpshooting going on. +Some plan afoot as yet unknown; +So Friday closed round Donelson. + +LATER. + Great suffering through the night-- +A stinging one. Our heedless boys + Were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen + Hapless wounded men were frozen. +During day being struck down out of sight, +And help-cries drowned in roaring noise, +They were left just where the skirmish shifted-- +Left in dense underbrush now-drifted. +Some, seeking to crawl in crippled plight, +So stiffened--perished. + Yet in spite +Of pangs for these, no heart is lost. +Hungry, and clothing stiff with frost, +Our men declare a nearing sun +Shall see the fall of Donelson. + And this they say, yet not disown +The dark redoubts round Donelson, + And ice-glazed corpses, each a stone-- + A sacrifice to Donelson; +They swear it, and swerve not, gazing on +A flag, deemed black, flying from Donelson. +Some of the wounded in the wood + Were cared for by the foe last night, +Though he could do them little needed good, + Himself being all in shivering plight. +The rebel is wrong, but human yet; +He’s got a heart, and thrusts a bayonet. +He gives us battle with wondrous will-- +The blufff’s a perverted Bunker Hill._ + +The stillness stealing through the throng +The silent thought and dismal fear revealed; + They turned and went, + Musing on right and wrong + And mysteries dimly sealed-- +Breasting the storm in daring discontent; +The storm, whose black flag showed in heaven, +As if to say no quarter there was given + To wounded men in wood, + Or true hearts yearning for the good-- +All fatherless seemed the human soul. +But next day brought a bitterer bowl-- + On the bulletin-board this stood; + + _Saturday morning at 3 A.M. + A stir within the Fort betrayed + That the rebels were getting under arms; + Some plot these early birds had laid. + But a lancing sleet cut him who stared + Into the storm. After some vague alarms, + Which left our lads unscared, + Out sallied the enemy at dim of dawn, + With cavalry and artillery, and went + In fury at our environment. + Under cover of shot and shell + Three columns of infantry rolled on, + Vomited out of Donelson-- + Rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell, + Surged at our line, and swelled and poured + Like breaking surf. But unsubmerged + Our men stood up, except where roared + The enemy through one gap. We urged + Our all of manhood to the stress, + But still showed shattered in our desperateness. + Back set the tide, + But soon afresh rolled in; + And so it swayed from side to side-- + Far batteries joining in the din, + Though sharing in another fray-- + Till all became an Indian fight, + Intricate, dusky, stretching far away, + Yet not without spontaneous plan + However tangled showed the plight; + Duels all over ’tween man and man, + Duels on cliff-side, and down in ravine, + Duels at long range, and bone to bone; + Duels every where flitting and half unseen. + Only by courage good as their own, + And strength outlasting theirs, + Did our boys at last drive the rebels off. + Yet they went not back to their distant lairs + In strong-hold, but loud in scoff + Maintained themselves on conquered ground-- + Uplands; built works, or stalked around. + Our right wing bore this onset. Noon + Brought calm to Donelson. + +The reader ceased; the storm beat hard; + ’Twas day, but the office-gas was lit; + Nature retained her sulking-fit, + In her hand the shard. +Flitting faces took the hue +Of that washed bulletin-board in view, +And seemed to bear the public grief +As private, and uncertain of relief; +Yea, many an earnest heart was won, + As broodingly he plodded on, +To find in himself some bitter thing, +Some hardness in his lot as harrowing + As Donelson. + +That night the board stood barren there, + Oft eyes by wistful people passing, + Who nothing saw but the rain-beads chasing +Each other down the wafered square, +As down some storm-beat grave-yard stone. +But next day showed-- + + MORE NEWS LAST NIGHT. + + +STORY OF SATURDAY AFTERNOON. + +VICISSITUDES OF THE WAR. + + _The damaged gun-boats can’t wage fight +For days; so says the Commodore. +Thus no diversion can be had. +Under a sunless sky of lead + Our grim-faced boys in blacked plight +Gaze toward the ground they held before, +And then on Grant. He marks their mood, +And hails it, and will turn the same to good. +Spite all that they have undergone, +Their desperate hearts are set upon +This winter fort, this stubborn fort, +This castle of the last resort, + This Donelson. + +1 P.M. + + An order given + Requires withdrawal from the front + Of regiments that bore the brunt +Of morning’s fray. Their ranks all riven +Are being replaced by fresh, strong men. +Great vigilance in the foeman’s Den; +He snuffs the stormers. Need it is +That for that fell assault of his, +That rout inflicted, and self-scorn-- +Immoderate in noble natures, torn +By sense of being through slackness overborne-- +The rebel be given a quick return: +The kindest face looks now half stern. +Balked of their prey in airs that freeze, +Some fierce ones glare like savages. +And yet, and yet, strange moments are-- +Well--blood, and tears, and anguished War! +The morning’s battle-ground is seen + In lifted glades, like meadows rare; + The blood-drops on the snow-crust there +Like clover in the white-week show-- + Flushed fields of death, that call again-- + Call to our men, and not in vain, +For that way must the stormers go. + +3 P.M. + + The work begins. +Light drifts of men thrown forward, fade + In skirmish-line along the slope, +Where some dislodgments must be made + Ere the stormer with the strong-hold cope. + +Lew Wallace, moving to retake +The heights late lost-- + (Herewith a break. + Storms at the West derange the wires. +Doubtless, ere morning, we shall hear +The end; we look for news to cheer-- + Let Hope fan all her fires.)_ + + +Next day in large bold hand was seen +The closing bulletin: + +VICTORY! + _Our troops have retrieved the day +By one grand surge along the line; +The spirit that urged them was divine. + The first works flooded, naught could stay +The stormers: on! still on! +Bayonets for Donelson! + +Over the ground that morning lost +Rolled the blue billows, tempest-tossed, + Following a hat on the point of a sword. +Spite shell and round-shot, grape and canister, +Up they climbed without rail or banister-- + Up the steep hill-sides long and broad, +Driving the rebel deep within his works. +’Tis nightfall; not an enemy lurks + In sight. The chafing men + Fret for more fight: + “To-night, to-night let us take the Den” +But night is treacherous, Grant is wary; +Of brave blood be a little chary. +Patience! the Fort is good as won; +To-morrow, and into Donelson._ + +LATER AND LAST. + + THE FORT IS OURS. + + _A flag came out at early morn +Bringing surrender. From their towers + Floats out the banner late their scorn. +In Dover, hut and house are full + Of rebels dead or dying. + The national flag is flying +From the crammed court-house pinnacle. +Great boat-loads of our wounded go +To-day to Nashville. The sleet-winds blow; +But all is right: the fight is won, +The winter-fight for Donelson. + Hurrah! +The spell of old defeat is broke, + The Habit of victory begun; +Grant strikes the war’s first sounding stroke + At Donelson. + +For lists of killed and wounded, see +The morrow’s dispatch: to-day ’tis victory._ + +The man who read this to the crowd + Shouted as the end he gained; + And though the unflagging tempest rained, + They answered him aloud. +And hand grasped hand, and glances met +In happy triumph; eyes grew wet. +O, to the punches brewed that night +Went little water. Windows bright +Beamed rosy on the sleet without, +And from the deep street came the frequent shout; +While some in prayer, as these in glee, +Blessed heaven for the winter-victory. + +But others were who wakeful laid + In midnight beds, and early rose, + And, feverish in the foggy snows, +Snatched the damp paper--wife and maid. + The death-list like a river flows + Down the pale sheet, +And there the whelming waters meet. + + Ah God! may Time with happy haste + Bring wail and triumph to a waste, + And war be done; + The battle flag-staff fall athwart + The curs’d ravine, and wither; naught + Be left of trench or gun; + The bastion, let it ebb away, + Washed with the river bed; and Day + In vain seek Donelson. + + + +The Cumberland. +(March, 1862.) + + +Some names there are of telling sound, + Whose voweled syllables free +Are pledge that they shall ever live renowned; + Such seem to be +A Frigate’s name (by present glory spanned)-- + The Cumberland. + + Sounding name as ere was sung, + Flowing, rolling on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +She warred and sunk. There’s no denying + That she was ended--quelled; +And yet her flag above her fate is flying, + As when it swelled +Unswallowed by the swallowing sea: so grand-- + The Cumberland. + + Goodly name as ere was sung, + Roundly rolling on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +What need to tell how she was fought-- + The sinking flaming gun-- +The gunner leaping out the port-- + Washed back, undone! +Her dead unconquerably manned + The Cumberland. + + Noble name as ere was sung, + Slowly roll it on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +Long as hearts shall share the flame + Which burned in that brave crew, +Her fame shall live--outlive the victor’s name; + For this is due. +Your flag and flag-staff shall in story stand-- + Cumberland! + + Sounding name as ere was sung, + Long they’ll roll it on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + + + +In the Turret. +(March, 1862.) + + +Your honest heart of duty, Worden, + So helped you that in fame you dwell; +You bore the first iron battle’s burden + Sealed as in a diving-bell. +Alcides, groping into haunted hell +To bring forth King Admetus’ bride, +Braved naught more vaguely direful and untried. + What poet shall uplift his charm, +Bold Sailor, to your height of daring, + And interblend therewith the calm, +And build a goodly style upon your bearing. + +Escaped the gale of outer ocean-- + Cribbed in a craft which like a log +Was washed by every billow’s motion-- + By night you heard of Og +The huge; nor felt your courage clog +At tokens of his onset grim: +You marked the sunk ship’s flag-staff slim, + Lit by her burning sister’s heart; +You marked, and mused: “Day brings the trial: + Then be it proved if I have part +With men whose manhood never took denial.” + +A prayer went up--a champion’s. Morning + Beheld you in the Turret walled +by adamant, where a spirit forewarning + And all-deriding called: +“Man, darest thou--desperate, unappalled-- +Be first to lock thee in the armored tower? +I have thee now; and what the battle-hour + To me shall bring--heed well--thou’lt share; +This plot-work, planned to be the foeman’s terror, + To thee may prove a goblin-snare; +Its very strength and cunning--monstrous error!” + +“Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter + If here thou seest thy welded tomb? +And let huge Og with thunders batter-- + Duty be still my doom, +Though drowning come in liquid gloom; +First duty, duty next, and duty last; +Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!--” + So nerved, you fought wisely and well; +And live, twice live in life and story; + But over your Monitor dirges swell, +In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory. + + + +The Temeraire.[3] + +_(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by +the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)_ + + +The gloomy hulls, in armor grim, + Like clouds o’er moors have met, +And prove that oak, and iron, and man + Are tough in fibre yet. + +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields + No front of old display; +The garniture, emblazonment, + And heraldry all decay. + +Towering afar in parting light, + The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine-- +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show + Of Ships-of-the-Line. + +The fighting Temeraire, + Built of a thousand trees, +Lunging out her lightnings, + And beetling o’er the seas-- +O Ship, how brave and fair, + That fought so oft and well, +On open decks you manned the gun + Armorial.[4] +What cheering did you share, + Impulsive in the van, +When down upon leagued France and Spain + We English ran-- +The freshet at your bowsprit + Like the foam upon the can. +Bickering, your colors + Licked up the Spanish air, +You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- + Your challenge, Temeraire! +The rear ones of our fleet + They yearned to share your place, +Still vying with the Victory + Throughout that earnest race-- +The Victory, whose Admiral, + With orders nobly won, +Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- + The angel in that sun. +Parallel in story, + Lo, the stately pair, +As late in grapple ranging, + The foe between them there-- +When four great hulls lay tiered, + And the fiery tempest cleared, +And your prizes twain appeared, + Temeraire! + +But Trafalgar’ is over now, + The quarter-deck undone; +The carved and castled navies fire + Their evening-gun. +O, Tital Temeraire, + Your stern-lights fade away; +Your bulwarks to the years must yield, + And heart-of-oak decay. +A pigmy steam-tug tows you, + Gigantic, to the shore-- +Dismantled of your guns and spars, + And sweeping wings of war. +The rivets clinch the iron-clads, + Men learn a deadlier lore; +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- + Your ghost it sails before: +O, the navies old and oaken, + O, the Temeraire no more! + + + +A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight. + + +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, + More ponderous than nimble; +For since grimed War here laid aside +His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit + Overmuch to ply +The Rhyme’s barbaric cymbal. + +Hail to victory without the gaud + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans +Of banners; plain mechanic power +Plied cogently in War now placed-- + Where War belongs-- +Among the trades and artisans. + +Yet this was battle, and intense-- + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; +Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm; +No passion; all went on by crank, + Pivot, and screw, +And calculations of caloric. + +Needless to dwell; the story’s known. + the ringing of those plates on plates +Still ringeth round the world-- +The clangor of that blacksmith’s fray. + The anvil-din +Resounds this message from the Fates: + +War shall yet be, and to the end; + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; +War yet shall be, but warriors +Are now but operatives; War’s made + Less grand than Peace, +And a singe runs through lace and feather. + + + +Shiloh. +A Requiem. +(April, 1862.) + + +Skimming lightly, wheeling still, + The swallows fly low +Over the field in clouded days, + The forest-field of Shiloh-- +Over the field where April rain +Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain +Through the pause of night +That followed the Sunday fight + Around the church of Shiloh-- +The church so lone, the log-built one, +That echoed to many a parting groan + And natural prayer +Of dying foemen mingled there-- +Foemen at morn, but friends at eve-- + Fame or country least their care: +(What like a bullet can undeceive!) + But now they lie low, +While over them the swallows skim, + And all is hushed at Shiloh. + + + +The Battle for the Mississipppi. +(April, 1862.) + + +When Israel camped by Migdol hoar, + Down at her feet her shawm she threw, +But Moses sung and timbrels rung + For Pharaoh’s standed crew. +So God appears in apt events-- + The Lord is a man of war! +So the strong wind to the muse is given + In victory’s roar. + +Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet-- + The fight by night--the fray +Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream, + And led it up to day. +Dully through din of larger strife + Shall bay that warring gun; +But none the less to us who live + It peals--an echoing one. + +The shock of ships, the jar of walls, + The rush through thick and thin-- +The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom-- + Eddies, and shells that spin-- +The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged, + The jam of gun-boats driven, +Or fired, or sunk--made up a war + Like Michael’s waged with leven. + +The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled + The odds which hard beset; +The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze, + Passed on and thundered yet; +While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame, + The Ram Manassas--hark the yell!-- +Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright, + The River gave a startled swell. + +They fought through lurid dark till dawn; + The war-smoke rolled away +With clouds of night, and showed the fleet + In scarred yet firm array, +Above the forts, above the drift + Of wrecks which strife had made; +And Farragut sailed up to the town + And anchored--sheathed the blade. + +The moody broadsides, brooding deep, + Hold the lewd mob at bay, +While o’er the armed decks’ solemn aisles + The meek church-pennons play; +By shotted guns the sailors stand, + With foreheads bound or bare; +The captains and the conquering crews + Humble their pride in prayer. + +They pray; and after victory, prayer + Is meet for men who mourn their slain; +The living shall unmoor and sail, + But Death’s dark anchor secret deeps detain. +Yet glory slants her shaft of rays + Far through the undisturbed abyss; +There must be other, nobler worlds for them + Who nobly yield their lives in this. + + + +Malvern Hill. +(July, 1862.) + + +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill + In prime of morn and May, +Recall ye how McClellan’s men + Here stood at bay? +While deep within yon forest dim + Our rigid comrades lay-- +Some with the cartridge in their mouth, +Others with fixed arms lifted South-- + Invoking so +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! + +The spires of Richmond, late beheld + Through rifts in musket-haze, +Were closed from view in clouds of dust + On leaf-walled ways, +Where streamed our wagons in caravan; + And the Seven Nights and Days +Of march and fast, retreat and fight, +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- + Does the elm wood +Recall the haggard beards of blood? + +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, + We followed (it never fell!)-- +In silence husbanded our strength-- + Received their yell; +Till on this slope we patient turned + With cannon ordered well; +Reverse we proved was not defeat; +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!-- + Does Malvern Wood +Bethink itself, and muse and brood? + + _We elms of Malvern Hill + Remember every thing; + But sap the twig will fill: + Wag the world how it will, + Leaves must be green in Spring._ + + + + +The Victor of Antietam.[5] +(1862.) + + +When tempest winnowed grain from bran; +And men were looking for a man, +Authority called you to the van, + McClellan: +Along the line the plaudit ran, +As later when Antietam’s cheers began. + +Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move +Each Cause and Man, dear to the stars and Jove; +Nor always can the wisest tell +Deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell-- +The struggler from the floundering ne’er-do-well. +A pall-cloth on the Seven Days fell, + Mcclellan-- +Unprosperously heroical! +Who could Antietam’s wreath foretell? + +Authority called you; then, in mist +And loom of jeopardy--dismissed. +But staring peril soon appalled; +You, the Discarded, she recalled-- +Recalled you, nor endured delay; +And forth you rode upon a blasted way, +Arrayed Pope’s rout, and routed Lee’s array, + McClellan: +Your tent was choked with captured flags that day, + McClellan. +Antietam was a telling fray. + +Recalled you; and she heard your drum +Advancing through the glastly gloom. +You manned the wall, you propped the Dome, +You stormed the powerful stormer home, + McClellan: +Antietam’s cannon long shall boom. + +At Alexandria, left alone, + McClellan-- +Your veterans sent from you, and thrown +To fields and fortunes all unknown-- +What thoughts were yours, revealed to none, +While faithful still you labored on-- +Hearing the far Manassas gun! + McClellan, +Only Antietam could atone. + +You fought in the front (an evil day, + McClellan)-- +The fore-front of the first assay; +The Cause went sounding, groped its way; +The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay; +Quills thwarted swords; divided sway; +The rebel flushed in his lusty May: +You did your best, as in you lay, + McClellan. +Antietam’s sun-burst sheds a ray. + +Your medalled soldiers love you well, + McClellan: +Name your name, their true hearts swell; +With you they shook dread Stonewall’s spell,[6] +With you they braved the blended yell +Of rebel and maligner fell; +With you in shame or fame they dwell, + McClellan: +Antietam-braves a brave can tell. + +And when your comrades (now so few, + McClellan-- +Such ravage in deep files they rue) +Meet round the board, and sadly view +The empty places; tribute due +They render to the dead--and you! +Absent and silent o’er the blue; +The one-armed lift the wine to _you_, + McClellan, +And great Antietam’s cheers renew. + + + +Battle of Stone River, Tennessee. +A View from Oxford Cloisters. +(January, 1863.) + + +With Tewksbury and Barnet heath + In days to come the field shall blend, +The story dim and date obscure; + In legend all shall end. +Even now, involved in forest shade + A Druid-dream the strife appears, +The fray of yesterday assumes + The haziness of years. + In North and South still beats the vein + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian. + +Our rival Roses warred for Sway-- + For Sway, but named the name of Right; +And Passion, scorning pain and death, + Lent sacred fervor to the fight. +Each lifted up a broidered cross, + While crossing blades profaned the sign; +Monks blessed the fraticidal lance, + And sisters scarfs could twine. + Do North and South the sin retain + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian? + +But Rosecrans in the cedarn glade, + And, deep in denser cypress gloom, +Dark Breckenridge, shall fade away + Or thinly loom. +The pale throngs who in forest cowed + Before the spell of battle’s pause, +Forefelt the stillness that shall dwell + On them and on their wars. + North and South shall join the train + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian. + +But where the sword has plunged so deep, + And then been turned within the wound +By deadly Hate; where Climes contend + On vasty ground-- +No warning Alps or seas between, + And small the curb of creed or law, +And blood is quick, and quick the brain; + Shall North and South their rage deplore, + And reunited thrive amain + Like Yorkist and Lancastrian? + + + +Running the Batteries, +As observed from the Anchorage above Vicksburgh. +(April, 1863.) + + +A moonless night--a friendly one; + A haze dimmed the shadowy shore +As the first lampless boat slid silent on; + Hist! and we spake no more; +We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw. + +We felt the dew, and seemed to feel + The secret like a burden laid. +The first boat melts; and a second keel + Is blent with the foliaged shade-- +Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made? + +Unspied as yet. A third--a fourth-- + Gun-boat and transport in Indian file +Upon the war-path, smooth from the North; + But the watch may they hope to beguile? +The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile. + +A flame leaps out; they are seen; + Another and another gun roars; +We tell the course of the boats through the screen + By each further fort that pours, +And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores. + +Converging fires. We speak, though low: + “That blastful furnace can they threadd” +“Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego + Came out all right, we read; +The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.” + +How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun + A golden growing flame appears-- +Confirms to a silvery steadfast one: + “The town is afire!” crows Hugh: “three cheers” +Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.” + +A purposed light; it shows our fleet; + Yet a little late in its searching ray, +So far and strong, that in phantom cheat + Lank on the deck our shadows lay; +The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play. + +How dread to mark her near the glare + And glade of death the beacon throws +Athwart the racing waters there; + One by one each plainer grows, +Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes. + +The impartial cresset lights as well + The fixed forts to the boats that run; +And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell + Back to each fortress dun: +Ponderous words speaks every monster gun. + +Fearless they flash through gates of flame, + The salamanders hard to hit, +Though vivid shows each bulky frame; + And never the batteries intermit, +Nor the boats huge guns; they fire and flit. + +Anon a lull. The beacon dies: + “Are they out of that strait accurst” +But other flames now dawning rise, + Not mellowly brilliant like the first, +But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst. + +A baleful brand, a hurrying torch + Whereby anew the boats are seen-- +A burning transport all alurch! + Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean +Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean. + +The effulgence takes an amber glow + Which bathes the hill-side villas far; +Affrighted ladies mark the show + Painting the pale magnolia-- +The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War. + +The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one. + Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly. +But the gauntlet now is nearly run, + The spleenful forts by fits reply, +And the burning boat dies down in morning’s sky. + +All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs! + Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun. +So burst we through their barriers + And menaces every one: +So Porter proves himself a brave man’s son.[7] + + + +Stonewall Jackson. +Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville. +(May, 1863.) + + +The Man who fiercest charged in fight, + Whose sword and prayer were long-- + Stonewall! + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, +How can we praise? Yet coming days + Shall not forget him with this song. + +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, + Vainly he died and set his seal-- + Stonewall! + Earnest in error, as we feel; +True to the thing he deemed was due, + True as John Brown or steel. + +Relentlessly he routed us; + But _we_ relent, for he is low-- + Stonewall! + Justly his fame we outlaw; so +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier, + Because no wreath we owe. + + + +Stonewall Jackson. +(Ascribed to a Virginian.) + + +One man we claim of wrought renown + Which not the North shall care to slur; +A Modern lived who sleeps in death, + Calm as the marble Ancients are: + ’Tis he whose life, though a vapor’s wreath, + Was charged with the lightning’s burning breath-- + Stonewall, stormer of the war. + +But who shall hymn the roman heart? + A stoic he, but even more: +The iron will and lion thew + Were strong to inflict as to endure: + Who like him could stand, or pursue? + His fate the fatalist followed through; + In all his great soul found to do + Stonewall followed his star. + +He followed his star on the Romney march + Through the sleet to the wintry war; +And he followed it on when he bowed the grain-- + The Wind of the Shenandoah; + At Gaines’s Mill in the giant’s strain-- + On the fierce forced stride to Manassas-plain, + Where his sword with thunder was clothed again, + Stonewall followed his star. + +His star he followed athwart the flood + To Potomac’s Northern shore, +When midway wading, his host of braves + “_My Maryland!_” loud did roar-- + To red Antietam’s field of graves, + Through mountain-passes, woods and waves, + They followed their pagod with hymns and glaives, + For Stonewall followed a star. + +Back it led him to Marye’s slope, + Where the shock and the fame he bore; +And to green Moss-Neck it guided him-- + Brief respite from throes of war: + To the laurel glade by the Wilderness grim, + Through climaxed victory naught shall dim, + Even unto death it piloted him-- + Stonewall followed his star. + +Its lead he followed in gentle ways + Which never the valiant mar; +A cap we sent him, bestarred, to replace + The sun-scorched helm of war: + A fillet he made of the shining lace + Childhood’s laughing brow to grace-- + Not his was a goldsmith’s star. + +O, much of doubt in after days + Shall cling, as now, to the war; +Of the right and the wrong they’ll still debate, + Puzzled by Stonewall’s star: + “Fortune went with the North elate” + “Ay, but the south had Stonewall’s weight, + And he fell in the South’s vain war.” + + + +Gettysburg. +The Check. +(July, 1863.) + + +O pride of the days in prime of the months + Now trebled in great renown, +When before the ark of our holy cause + Fell Dagon down-- +Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed, +Never his impious heart enlarged +Beyond that hour; god walled his power, +And there the last invader charged. + +He charged, and in that charge condensed + His all of hate and all of fire; +He sought to blast us in his scorn, + And wither us in his ire. +Before him went the shriek of shells-- +Aerial screamings, taunts and yells; +Then the three waves in flashed advance + Surged, but were met, and back they set: +Pride was repelled by sterner pride, + And Right is a strong-hold yet. + +Before our lines it seemed a beach + Which wild September gales have strown +With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith + Pale crews unknown-- +Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun +Died on the face of each lifeless one, +And died along the winding marge of fight + And searching-parties lone. + +Sloped on the hill the mounds were green, + Our center held that place of graves, +And some still hold it in their swoon, + And over these a glory waves. +The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,[8] +Shall soar transfigured in loftier light, + A meaning ampler bear; +Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer +Have laid the stone, and every bone + Shall rest in honor there. + + + +The House-top. +A Night Piece. +(July, 1863.) + + +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air +And binds the brain--a dense oppression, such +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, +Balefully glares red Arson--there-and there. +The Town is taken by its rats--ship-rats. +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms +And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe-- +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve, +And man rebounds whole æons back in nature.[9] +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall. +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll +Of black artillery; he comes, though late; +In code corroborating Calvin’s creed +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings; +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town redeemed, +Give thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds +The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied, +Which holds that Man is naturally good, +And--more--is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged. + + + +Look-out Mountain. +The Night Fight. +(November, 1863.) + + +Who inhabiteth the Mountain + That it shines in lurid light, +And is rolled about with thunders, + And terrors, and a blight, +Like Kaf the peak of Eblis-- + Kaf, the evil height? +Who has gone up with a shouting + And a trumpet in the night? + +There is battle in the Mountain-- + Might assaulteth Might; +’Tis the fastness of the Anarch, + Torrent-torn, an ancient height; +The crags resound the clangor + Of the war of Wrong and Right; +And the armies in the valley + Watch and pray for dawning light. + +Joy, Joy, the day is breaking, + And the cloud is rolled from sight; +There is triumph in the Morning + For the Anarch’s plunging flight; +God has glorified the Mountain + Where a Banner burneth bright, +And the armies in the valley + They are fortified in right. + + + +Chattanooga. +(November, 1863.) + + +A kindling impulse seized the host + Inspired by heaven’s elastic air;[9] +Their hearts outran their General’s plan, + Though Grant commanded there-- + Grant, who without reserve can dare; +And, “Well, go on and do your will” + He said, and measured the mountain then: +So master-riders fling the rein-- + But you must know your men. + +On yester-morn in grayish mist, + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought, +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud + The Cumberlands far had caught: + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, + And smoked as one who feels no cares; +But mastered nervousness intense + Alone such calmness wears. + +The summit-cannon plunge their flame + Sheer down the primal wall, +But up and up each linking troop + In stretching festoons crawl-- + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink, + Looks far along the breadth of slope, +And sees two miles of dark dots creep, + And knows they mean the cope. + +He sees them creep. Yet here and there + Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go; +As men who ply through traceries high + Of turreted marbles show-- + So dwindle these to eyes below. +But fronting shot and flanking shell + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways; +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, + But never the climbing stays. + +From right to left, from left to right + They roll the rallying cheer-- +Vie with each other, brother with brother, + Who shall the first appear-- + What color-bearer with colors clear +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, + Whose cigar must now be near the stump-- +While in solicitude his back + Heap slowly to a hump. + +Near and more near; till now the flags + Run like a catching flame; +And one flares highest, to peril nighest-- + _He_ means to make a name: + Salvos! they give him his fame. +The staff is caught, and next the rush, + And then the leap where death has led; +Flag answered flag along the crest, + And swarms of rebels fled. + +But some who gained the envied Alp, + And--eager, ardent, earnest there-- +Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms, + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air-- + Forever they slumber young and fair, +The smile upon them as they died; + Their end attained, that end a height: +Life was to these a dream fulfilled, + And death a starry night. + + + +The Armies of the Wilderness. +(1683-64.) + + +I + +Like snows the camps on southern hills + Lay all the winter long, +Our levies there in patience stood-- + They stood in patience strong. +On fronting slopes gleamed other camps + Where faith as firmly clung: +Ah, froward king! so brave miss-- + The zealots of the Wrong. + + _In this strife of brothers + (God, hear their country call), + However it be, whatever betide, + Let not the just one fall._ + +Through the pointed glass our soldiers saw + The base-ball bounding sent; +They could have joined them in their sport + But for the vale’s deep rent. +And others turned the reddish soil, + Like diggers of graves they bent: +The reddish soil and tranching toil + Begat presentiment. + + _Did the Fathers feel mistrust? + Can no final good be wrought? + Over and over, again and again + Must the fight for the Right be fought?_ + +They lead a Gray-back to the crag: + “Your earth-works yonder--tell us, man” +“A prisoner--no deserter, I, + Nor one of the tell-tale clan” +His rags they mark: “True-blue like you + Should wear the color--your Country’s, man” +He grinds his teeth: “However that be, + Yon earth-works have their plan.” + + _Such brave ones, foully snared + By Belial’s wily plea, + Were faithful unto the evil end-- + Feudal fidelity._ + +“Well, then, your camps--come, tell the names” + Freely he leveled his finger then: +“Yonder--see--are our Georgians; on the crest, + The Carolinians; lower, past the glen, +Virginians--Alabamians--Mississippians--Kentuckians + (Follow my finger)--Tennesseeans; and the ten +Camps _there_--ask your grave-pits; they’ll tell. + Halloa! I see the picket-hut, the den +Where I last night lay.” “Where’s Lee” + “In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men!” + + _The tribes swarm up to war + As in ages long ago, + Ere the palm of promise leaved + And the lily of Christ did blow._ + +Their mounted pickets for miles are spied + Dotting the lowland plain, +The nearer ones in their veteran-rags-- + Loutish they loll in lazy disdain. +But ours in perilous places bide + With rifles ready and eyes that strain +Deep through the dim suspected wood + Where the Rapidan rolls amain. + + _The Indian has passed away, + But creeping comes another-- + Deadlier far. Picket, + Take heed--take heed of thy brother!_ + +From a wood-hung height, an outpost lone, + Crowned with a woodman’s fort, +The sentinel looks on a land of dole, + Like Paran, all amort. +Black chimneys, gigantic in moor-like wastes, + The scowl of the clouded sky retort; +The hearth is a houseless stone again-- + Ah! where shall the people be sought? + + _Since the venom such blastment deals, + The south should have paused, and thrice, + Ere with heat of her hate she hatched + The egg with the cockatrice._ + +A path down the mountain winds to the glade + Where the dead of the Moonlight Fight lie low; +A hand reaches out of the thin-laid mould + As begging help which none can bestow. +But the field-mouse small and busy ant + Heap their hillocks, to hide if they may the woe: +By the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen, + And the drum which the drummer-boy dying let go. + + _Dust to dust, and blood for blood-- + Passion and pangs! Has Time + Gone back? or is this the Age + Of the world’s great Prime?_ + +The wagon mired and cannon dragged + Have trenched their scar; the plain +Tramped like the cindery beach of the damned-- + A site for the city of Cain. +And stumps of forests for dreary leagues + Like a massacre show. The armies have lain +By fires where gums and balms did burn, + And the seeds of Summer’s reign. + + _Where are the birds and boys? + Who shall go chestnutting when + October returns? The nuts-- + O, long ere they grow again._ + +They snug their huts with the chapel-pews, + In court-houses stable their steeds-- +Kindle their fires with indentures and bonds, + And old Lord Fairfax’s parchment deeds; +And Virginian gentlemen’s libraries old-- + Books which only the scholar heeds-- +Are flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range, + And gardens are left to weeds. + + _Turned adrift into war + Man runs wild on the plain, + Like the jennets let loose + On the Pampas--zebras again._ + +Like the Pleiads dim, see the tents through the storm-- + Aloft by the hill-side hamlet’s graves, +On a head-stone used for a hearth-stone there + The water is bubbling for punch for our braves. +What if the night be drear, and the blast + Ghostly shrieks? their rollicking staves +Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords, + What care they if Winter raves? + + _Is life but a dream? and so, + In the dream do men laugh aloud? + So strange seems mirth in a camp, + So like a white tent to a shroud._ + + +II + +The May-weed springs; and comes a Man + And mounts our Signal Hill; +A quiet Man, and plain in garb-- + Briefly he looks his fill, +Then drops his gray eye on the ground, + Like a loaded mortar he is still: +Meekness and grimness meet in him-- + The silent General. + + _Were men but strong and wise, + Honest as Grant, and calm, + War would be left to the red and black ants, + And the happy world disarm._ + +That eve a stir was in the camps, + Forerunning quiet soon to come +Among the streets of beechen huts + No more to know the drum. +The weed shall choke the lowly door, + And foxes peer within the gloom, +Till scared perchange by Mosby’s prowling men, + Who ride in the rear of doom. + + _Far West, and farther South, + Wherever the sword has been, + Deserted camps are met, + And desert graves are seen._ + +The livelong night they ford the flood; + With guns held high they silent press, +Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets’ sheen-- + On Morning’s banks their ranks they dress; +Then by the forests lightly wind, + Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless, +Borne by the cavalry scouting on-- + Sounding the Wilderness. + + _Like shoals of fish in spring + That visit Crusoe’s isle, + The host in the lonesome place-- + The hundred thousand file._ + +The foe that held his guarded hills + Must speed to woods afar; +For the scheme that was nursed by the Culpepper hearth + With the slowly-smoked cigar-- +The scheme that smouldered through winter long + Now bursts into act--into war-- +The resolute scheme of a heart as calm + As the Cyclone’s core. + + _The fight for the city is fought + In Nature’s old domain; + Man goes out to the wilds, + And Orpheus’ charm is vain._ + +In glades they meet skull after skull + Where pine-cones lay--the rusted gun, +Green shoes full of bones, the mouldering coat + And cuddled-up skeleton; +And scores of such. Some start as in dreams, + And comrades lost bemoan: +By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged-- + But the Year and the Man were gone. + + _At the height of their madness + The night winds pause, + Recollecting themselves; + But no lull in these wars._ + +A gleam!--a volley! And who shall go + Storming the swarmers in jungles dread? +No cannon-ball answers, no proxies are sent-- + They rush in the shrapnel’s stead. +Plume and sash are vanities now-- + Let them deck the pall of the dead; +They go where the shade is, perhaps into Hades, + Where the brave of all times have led. + + _There’s a dust of hurrying feet, + Bitten lips and bated breath, + And drums that challenge to the grave, + And faces fixed, forefeeling death._ + +What husky huzzahs in the hazy groves-- + What flying encounters fell; +Pursuer and pursued like ghosts disappear + In gloomed shade--their end who shall tell? +The crippled, a ragged-barked stick for a crutch, + Limp to some elfin dell-- +Hobble from the sight of dead faces--white + As pebbles in a well. + + _Few burial rites shall be; + No priest with book and band + Shall come to the secret place + Of the corpse in the foeman’s land._ + +Watch and fast, march and fight--clutch your gun? + Day-fights and night-fights; sore is the strees; +Look, through the pines what line comes on? + Longstreet slants through the hauntedness? +’Tis charge for charge, and shout for yell: + Such battles on battles oppress-- +But Heaven lent strength, the Right strove well, + And emerged from the Wilderness. + + _Emerged, for the way was won; + But the Pillar of Smoke that led + Was brand-like with ghosts that went up + Ashy and red._ + +None can narrate that strife in the pines, + A seal is on it--Sabaean lore! +Obscure as the wood, the entangled rhyme + But hints at the maze of war-- +Vivid glimpses or livid through peopled gloom, + And fires which creep and char-- +A riddle of death, of which the slain + Sole solvers are. + + _Long they withhold the roll + Of the shroudless dead. It is right; + Not yet can we bear the flare + Of the funeral light._ + + + +On the Photograph of a Corps Commander. + + +Ay, man is manly. Here you see + The warrior-carriage of the head, +And brave dilation of the frame; + And lighting all, the soul that led +In Spottsylvaniaa’s charge to victory, + Which justifies his fame. + +A cheering picture. It is good + To look upon a Chief like this, +In whom the spirit moulds the form. + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss, +With eagle mien expressive has endued + A man to kindle strains that warm. + +Trace back his lineage, and his sires, + Yeoman or noble, you shall find +Enrolled with men of Agincourt, + Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind. +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, + And front the Templars bore. + +Nothing can lift the heart of man + Like manhood in a fellow-man. +The thought of heaven’s great King afar + But humbles us--too weak to scan; +But manly greatness men can span, + And feel the bonds that draw. + + + +The Swamp Angel.[10] + + +There is a coal-black Angel + With a thick Afric lip, +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) + In a swamp where the green frogs dip. +But his face is against a City + Which is over a bay of the sea, +And he breathes with a breath that is blastment, + And dooms by a far decree. + +By night there is fear in the City, + Through the darkness a star soareth on; +There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith, + Then the poise of a meteor lone-- +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, + And downward the coming is seen; +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, + And wails and shrieks between. + +It comes like the thief in the gloaming; + It comes, and none may foretell +The place of the coming--the glaring; + They live in a sleepless spell +That wizens, and withers, and whitens; + It ages the young, and the bloom +Of the maiden is ashes of roses-- + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom. + +Swift is his messengers’ going, + But slowly he saps their halls, +As if by delay deluding. + They move from their crumbling walls +Farther and farther away; + But the Angel sends after and after, +By night with the flame of his ray-- + By night with the voice of his screaming-- +Sends after them, stone by stone, + And farther walls fall, farther portals, +And weed follows weed through the Town. + +Is this the proud City? the scorner + Which never would yield the ground? +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? + The cup of despair goes round. +Vainly she calls upon Michael + (The white man’s seraph was he), +For Michael has fled from his tower + To the Angel over the sea. + +Who weeps for the woeful City + Let him weep for our guilty kind; +Who joys at her wild despairing-- + Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. + + + +The Battle for the Bay. +(August, 1864.) + + +O mystery of noble hearts, + To whom mysterious seas have been +In midnight watches, lonely calm and storm, + A stern, sad disciple, +And rooted out the false and vain, + And chastened them to aptness for + Devotion and the deeds of war, +And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain. + +Beyond the bar the land-wind dies, + The prows becharmed at anchor swim: +A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down-- + Fair eve of battle grim. +The sentries pace, bonetas glide; + Below, the sleeping sailor swing, + And if their dreams to quarters spring, +Or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide. + +But drums are beat: _Up anchor all!_ + The triple lines steam slowly on; +Day breaks, and through the sweep of decks each man + Stands coldly by his gun-- +As cold as it. But he shall warm-- + Warm with the solemn metal there, + And all its ordered fury share, +In attitude a gladiatorial form. + +The Admiral--yielding the love + Which held his life and ship so dear-- +Sailed second in the long fleet’s midmost line; + Yet thwarted all their care: +He lashed himself aloft, and shone + Star of the fight, with influence sent + Throughout the dusk embattlement; +And so they neared the strait and walls of stone. + +No sprintly fife as in the field, + The decks were hushed like fanes in prayer; +Behind each man a holy angel stood-- + He stood, though none was ’ware. +Out spake the forts on either hand, + Back speak the ships when spoken to, + And set their flags in concert true, +And _On and in!_ is Farragut’s command. + +But what delays? ’mid wounds above + Dim buoys give hint of death below-- +Sea-ambuscades, where evil art had aped + Hecla that hides in snow. +The centre-van, entangled, trips; + The starboard leader holds straight on: + A cheer for the Tecumseh!--nay, +Before their eyes the turreted ship goes down! + +The fire redoubles, While the fleet + Hangs dubious--ere the horror ran-- +The Admiral rushes to his rightful place-- + Well met! apt hour and man!-- +Closes with peril, takes the lead, + His action is a stirring call; + He strikes his great heart through them all, +And is the genius of their daring deed. + +The forts are daunted, slack their fire, + Confounded by the deadlier aim +And rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet, + And fierce denouncing flame. +Yet shots from four dark hulls embayed + Come raking through the loyal crews, + Whom now each dying mate endues +With his last look, anguished yet undismayed. + +A flowering time to guilt is given, + And traitors have their glorying hour; +O late, but sure, the righteous Paramount comes-- + Palsy is on their power! +So proved it with the rebel keels, + The strong-holds past: assailed, they run; + The Selma strikes, and the work is done: +The dropping anchor the achievement seals. + +But no, she turns--the Tennessee! + The solid Ram of iron and oak, +Strong as Evil, and bold as Wrong, though lone-- + A pestilence in her smoke. +The flag-ship is her singled mark, + The wooden Hartford. Let her come; + She challenges the planet of Doom, +And naught shall save her--not her iron bark. + +_Slip anchor, all! and at her, all!_ + _Bear down with rushing beaks--and_ now! +First the Monongahela struck--and reeled; + The Lackawana’s prow +Next crashed--crashed, but not crashing; then + The Admiral rammed, and rasping nigh + Sloped in a broadside, which glanced by: +The Monitors battered at her adamant den. + +The Chickasaw plunged beneath the stern + And pounded there; a huge wrought orb +From the Manhattan pierced one wall, but dropped; + Others the seas absorb. +Yet stormed on all sides, narrowed in, + Hampered and cramped, the bad one fought-- + Spat ribald curses from the port +Who shutters, jammed, locked up this Man-of-Sin. + +No pause or stay. They made a din + Like hammers round a boiler forged; +Now straining strength tangled itself with strength, + Till Hate her will disgorged. +The white flag showed, the fight was won-- + Mad shouts went up that shook the Bay; + But pale on the scarred fleet’s decks there lay +A silent man for every silenced gun. + +And quiet far below the wave, + Where never cheers shall move their sleep, +Some who did boldly, nobly earn them, lie-- + Charmed children of the deep. +But decks that now are in the seed, + And cannon yet within the mine, + Shall thrill the deeper, gun and pine, +Because of the Tecumseh’s glorious deed. + + + +Sheridan at Cedar Creek. +(October, 1864.) + + +Shoe the steed with silver + That bore him to the fray, +When he heard the guns at dawning-- + Miles away; +When he heard them calling, calling-- + Mount! nor stay: + Quick, or all is lost; + They’ve surprised and stormed the post, + They push your routed host-- + Gallop! retrieve the day. + +House the horse in ermine-- + For the foam-flake blew +White through the red October; + He thundered into view; +They cheered him in the looming, + Horseman and horse they knew. + The turn of the tide began, + The rally of bugles ran, + He swung his hat in the van; + The electric hoof-spark flew. + +Wreathe the steed and lead him-- + For the charge he led +Touched and turned the cypress + Into amaranths for the head +Of Philip, king of riders, + Who raised them from the dead. + The camp (at dawning lost), + By eve, recovered--forced, + Rang with laughter of the host + At belated Early fled. + +Shroud the horse in sable-- + For the mounds they heap! +There is firing in the Valley, + And yet no strife they keep; +It is the parting volley, + It is the pathos deep. + There is glory for the brave + Who lead, and noblys ave, + But no knowledge in the grave + Where the nameless followers sleep. + + + +In the Prison Pen. +(1864.) + + +Listless he eyes the palisades + And sentries in the glare; +’Tis barren as a pelican-beach-- + But his world is ended there. + +Nothing to do; and vacant hands + Bring on the idiot-pain; +He tries to think--to recollect, + But the blur is on his brain. + +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts + Like those on Virgil’s shore-- +A wilderness of faces dim, + And pale ones gashed and hoar. + +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; + He totters to his lair-- +A den that sick hands dug in earth + Ere famine wasted there, + +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, + Walled in by throngs that press, +Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead-- + Dead in his meagreness. + + + +The College Colonel. + + +He rides at their head; + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view, +One slung arm is in splints, you see, + Yet he guides his strong steed--how coldly too. + +He brings his regiment home-- + Not as they filed two years before, +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn, +Like castaway sailors, who--stunned + By the surf’s loud roar, + Their mates dragged back and seen no more-- +Again and again breast the surge, + And at last crawl, spent, to shore. + +A still rigidity and pale-- + An Indian aloofness lones his brow; +He has lived a thousand years +Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers, + Marches and watches slow. + +There are welcoming shouts, and flags; + Old men off hat to the Boy, +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet, + But to _him_--there comes alloy. + +It is not that a leg is lost, + It is not that an arm is maimed. +It is not that the fever has racked-- + Self he has long disclaimed. + +But all through the Seven Day’s Fight, + And deep in the wilderness grim, +And in the field-hospital tent, + And Petersburg crater, and dim +Lean brooding in Libby, there came-- + Ah heaven!--what _truth_ to him. + + + +The Eagle of the Blue.[12] + + +Aloft he guards the starry folds + Who is the brother of the star; +The bird whose joy is in the wind + Exultleth in the war. + +No painted plume--a sober hue, + His beauty is his power; +That eager calm of gaze intent + Foresees the Sibyl’s hour. + +Austere, he crowns the swaying perch, + Flapped by the angry flag; +The hurricane from the battery sings, + But his claw has known the crag. + +Amid the scream of shells, his scream + Runs shrilling; and the glare +Of eyes that brave the blinding sun + The vollied flame can bear. + +The pride of quenchless strength is his-- + Strength which, though chained, avails; +The very rebel looks and thrills-- + The anchored Emblem hails. + +Though scarred in many a furious fray, + No deadly hurt he knew; +Well may we think his years are charmed-- + The Eagle of the Blue. + + + +A Dirge for McPherson,[13] +Killed in front of Atlanta. +(July, 1864.) + + +Arms reversed and banners craped-- + Muffled drums; +Snowy horses sable-draped-- + McPherson comes. + + _But, tell us, shall we know him more, + Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?_ + +Brave the sword upon the pall-- + A gleam in gloom; +So a bright name lighteth all + McPherson’s doom. + +Bear him through the chapel-door-- + Let priest in stole +Pace before the warrior + Who led. Bell--toll! + +Lay him down within the nave, + The Lesson read-- +Man is noble, man is brave, + But man’s--a weed. + +Take him up again and wend + Graveward, nor weep: +There’s a trumpet that shall rend + This Soldier’s sleep. + +Pass the ropes the coffin round, + And let descend; +Prayer and volley--let it sound + McPherson’s end. + + _True fame is his, for life is o’er-- + Sarpedon of the mighty war._ + + + +At the Cannon’s Mouth. +Destruction of the Ram Albermarle by the Torpedo-Launch. +(October, 1864.) + + +Palely intent, he urged his keel + Full on the guns, and touched the spring; +Himself involved in the bolt he drove +Timed with the armed hull’s shot that stove +His shallop--die or do! +Into the flood his life he threw, + Yet lives--unscathed--a breathing thing +To marvel at. + + He has his fame; +But that mad dash at death, how name? + +Had Earth no charm to stay the Boy + From the martyr-passion? Could he dare +Disdain the Paradise of opening joy + Which beckons the fresh heart every where? +Life has more lures than any girl + For youth and strength; puts forth a share +Of beauty, hinting of yet rarer store; +And ever with unfathomable eyes, + Which baffingly entice, +Still strangely does Adonis draw. +And life once over, who shall tell the rest? +Life is, of all we know, God’s best. +What imps these eagles then, that they +Fling disrespect on life by that proud way +In which they soar above our lower clay. + +Pretense of wonderment and doubt unblest: + In Cushing’s eager deed was shown + A spirit which brave poets own-- +That scorn of life which earns life’s crown; + Earns, but not always wins; but he-- + The star ascended in his nativity. + + + +The March to the Sea. +(December, 1864.) + + +Not Kenesaw high-arching, + Nor Allatoona’s glen-- +Though there the graves lie parching-- + Stayed Sherman’s miles of men; +From charred Atlanta marching + They launched the sword again. + The columns streamed like rivers + Which in their course agree, + And they streamed until their flashing + Met the flashing of the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + That marching to the sea. + +They brushed the foe before them + (Shall gnats impede the bull?); +Their own good bridges bore them + Over swamps or torrents full, +And the grand pines waving o’er them + Bowed to axes keen and cool. + The columns grooved their channels. + Enforced their own decree, + And their power met nothing larger + Until it met the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + A marching glad and free. + +Kilpatrick’s snare of riders + In zigzags mazed the land, +Perplexed the pale Southsiders + With feints on every hand; +Vague menace awed the hiders + In forts beyond command. + To Sherman’s shifting problem + No foeman knew the key; + But onward went the marching + Unpausing to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + The swinging step was free. + +The flankers ranged like pigeons + In clouds through field or wood; +The flocks of all those regions, + The herds and horses good, +Poured in and swelled the legions, + For they caught the marching mood. + A volley ahead! They hear it; + And they hear the repartee: + Fighting was but frolic + In that marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + A marching bold and free. + +All nature felt their coming, + The birds like couriers flew, +And the banners brightly blooming + The slaves by thousands drew, +And they marched beside the drumming, + And they joined the armies blue. + The cocks crowed from the cannon + (Pets named from Grant and Lee), + Plumed fighters and campaigners + In the marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + For every man was free. + +The foragers through calm lands + Swept in tempest gay, +And they breathed the air of balm-lands + Where rolled savannas lay, +And they helped themselves from farm-lands-- + As who should say them nay? + The regiments uproarious + Laughed in Plenty’s glee; + And they marched till their broad laughter + Met the laughter of the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + That marching to the sea. + +The grain of endless acres + Was threshed (as in the East) +By the trampling of the Takers, + Strong march of man and beast; +The flails of those earth-shakers + Left a famine where they ceased. + The arsenals were yielded; + The sword (that was to be), + Arrested in the forging, + Rued that marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + But ah, the stern decree! + +For behind they left a wailing, + A terror and a ban, +And blazing cinders sailing, + And houseless households wan, +Wide zones of counties paling, + And towns where maniacs ran. + Was it Treason’s retribution-- + Necessity the plea? + They will long remember Sherman + And his streaming columns free-- + They will long remember Sherman + Marching to the sea. + + + +The Frenzy in the Wake.[14] +Sherman’s advance through the Carolinas. +(February, 1865.) + + +So strong to suffer, shall we be + Weak to contend, and break +The sinews of the Oppressor’s knee + That grinds upon the neck? + O, the garments rolled in blood + Scorch in cities wrapped in flame, + And the African--the imp! + He gibbers, imputing shame. + +Shall Time, avenging every woe, + To us that joy allot +Which Israel thrilled when Sisera’s brow + Showed gaunt and showed the clot? + Curse on their foreheads, cheeks, and eyes-- + The Northern faces--true + To the flag we hate, the flag whose stars + Like planets strike us through. + +From frozen Maine they come, + Far Minnesota too; +They come to a sun whose rays disown-- + May it wither them as the dew! + The ghosts of our slain appeal: + “Vain shall our victories be” + But back from its ebb the flood recoils-- + Back in a whelming sea. + +With burning woods our skies are brass, + The pillars of dust are seen; +The live-long day their cavalry pass-- + No crossing the road between. + We were sore deceived--an awful host! + They move like a roaring wind. + Have we gamed and lost? but even despair + Shall never our hate rescind. + + + +The Fall of Richmond. +The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis. +(April, 1865.) + + +What mean these peals from every tower, + And crowds like seas that sway? +The cannon reply; they speak the heart + Of the People impassioned, and say-- +A city in flags for a city in flames, + Richmond goes Babylon’s way-- + _Sing and pray._ + +O weary years and woeful wars, + And armies in the grave; +But hearts unquelled at last deter +The helmed dilated Lucifer-- + Honor to Grant the brave, +Whose three stars now like Orion’s rise + When wreck is on the wave-- + _Bless his glaive._ + +Well that the faith we firmly kept, + And never our aim forswore +For the Terrors that trooped from each recess +When fainting we fought in the Wilderness, + And Hell made loud hurrah; +But God is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town, + And Right through might is Law-- + _God’s way adore._ + + + +The Surrender at Appomattox. +(April, 1865.) + + +As billows upon billows roll, + On victory victory breaks; +Ere yet seven days from Richmond’s fall + And crowning triumph wakes +The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run + By sea-shore, streams, and lakes. + The hope and great event agree + In the sword that Grant received from Lee. + +The warring eagles fold the wing, + But not in Cæsar’s sway; +Not Rome o’ercome by Roman arms we sing, + As on Pharsalia’s day, +But Treason thrown, though a giant grown, + And Freedom’s larger play. + All human tribes glad token see + In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee. + + + +A Canticle: +Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at +the close of the War. + + +O the precipice Titanic + Of the congregated Fall, +And the angle oceanic + Where the deepening thunders call-- + And the Gorge so grim, + And the firmamental rim! +Multitudinously thronging + The waters all converge, +Then they sweep adown in sloping + Solidity of surge. + + The Nation, in her impulse + Mysterious as the Tide, + In emotion like an ocean + Moves in power, not in pride; + And is deep in her devotion + As Humanity is wide. + + Thou Lord of hosts victorious, + The confluence Thou hast twined; + By a wondrous way and glorious + A passage Thou dost find-- + A passage Thou dost find: + Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, + The hosts of human kind. + +Stable in its baselessness + When calm is in the air, +The Iris half in tracelessness + Hovers faintly fair. +Fitfully assailing it + A wind from heaven blows, +Shivering and paling it + To blankness of the snows; +While, incessant in renewal, + The Arch rekindled grows, +Till again the gem and jewel + Whirl in blinding overthrows-- +Till, prevailing and transcending, + Lo, the Glory perfect there, +And the contest finds an ending, + For repose is in the air. + +But the foamy Deep unsounded, + And the dim and dizzy ledge, +And the booming roar rebounded, + And the gull that skims the edge! + The Giant of the Pool + Heaves his forehead white as wool-- +Toward the Iris every climbing + From the Cataracts that call-- +Irremovable vast arras + Draping all the Wall. + + The Generations pouring + From times of endless date, + In their going, in their flowing + Ever form the steadfast State; + And Humanity is growing + Toward the fullness of her fate. + + Thou Lord of hosts victorious, + Fulfill the end designed; + By a wondrous way and glorious + A passage Thou dost find-- + A passage Thou dost find: + Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, + The hosts of human kind. + + + +The Martyr. +Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of +April, 1865. + + +Good Friday was the day + Of the prodigy and crime, +When they killed him in his pity, + When they killed him in his prime +Of clemency and calm-- + When with yearning he was filled + To redeem the evil-willed, +And, though conqueror, be kind; + But they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And they killed him from behind. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + +He lieth in his blood-- + The father in his face; +They have killed him, the Forgiver-- + The Avenger takes his place, [15] +The Avenger wisely stern, + Who in righteousness shall do + What the heavens call him to, +And the parricides remand; + For they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And his blood is on their hand. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + + + +“The Coming Storm:” +A Picture by S.R. Gifford, and owned by E.B. +Included in the N.A. Exhibition, April, 1865. + + +All feeling hearts must feel for him + Who felt this picture. Presage dim-- +Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere + Fixed him and fascinated here. + +A demon-cloud like the mountain one + Burst on a spirit as mild +As this urned lake, the home of shades. + But Shakspeare’s pensive child + +Never the lines had lightly scanned, + Steeped in fable, steeped in fate; +The Hamlet in his heart was ’ware, + Such hearts can antedate. + +No utter surprise can come to him + Who reaches Shakspeare’s core; +That which we seek and shun is there-- + Man’s final lore. + + + +Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh:[16] +A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly +after the surrender at Appomattox. + + +The color-bearers facing death +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, + Stand boldly out before the line +Right and left their glances go, +Proud of each other, glorying in their show; +Their battle-flags about them blow, + And fold them as in flame divine: +Such living robes are only seen +Round martyrs burning on the green-- +And martyrs for the Wrong have been. + +Perish their Cause! but mark the men-- +Mark the planted statues, then +Draw trigger on them if you can. + +The leader of a patriot-band +Even so could view rebels who so could stand; + And this when peril pressed him sore, +Left aidless in the shivered front of war-- + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, +And fighting with a broken brand. +The challenge in that courage rare-- +Courage defenseless, proudly bare-- +Never could tempt him; he could dare +Strike up the leveled rifle there. + +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day +When Stonewall charged--McClellan’s crimson May, +And Chickamauga’s wave of death, +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath-- + All these have passed away. +The life in the veins of Treason lags, +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, + And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? + Can poor spite be? +Shall nobleness in victory less aspire +Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, + And think how Grant met Lee. + + + +The Muster:[17] +Suggested by the Two Days’ Review at Washington +(May, 1865.) + + +The Abrahamic river-- + Patriarch of floods, +Calls the roll of all his streams + And watery mutitudes: + Torrent cries to torrent, + The rapids hail the fall; + With shouts the inland freshets + Gather to the call. + + The quotas of the Nation, + Like the water-shed of waves, + Muster into union-- + Eastern warriors, Western braves. + + Martial strains are mingling, + Though distant far the bands, + And the wheeling of the squadrons + Is like surf upon the sands. + + The bladed guns are gleaming-- + Drift in lengthened trim, + Files on files for hazy miles-- + Nebulously dim. + + O Milky Way of armies-- + Star rising after star, + New banners of the Commonwealths, + And eagles of the War. + +The Abrahamic river + To sea-wide fullness fed, +Pouring from the thaw-lands + By the God of floods is led: + His deep enforcing current + The streams of ocean own, + And Europe’s marge is evened + By rills from Kansas lone. + + + +Aurora-Borealis. +Commemorative of the Dissolution of Armies at the Peace. +(May, 1865.) + + +What power disbands the Northern Lights + After their steely play? +The lonely watcher feels an awe + Of Nature’s sway, + As when appearing, + He marked their flashed uprearing +In the cold gloom-- + Retreatings and advancings, +(Like dallyings of doom), + Transitions and enhancings, + And bloody ray. + +The phantom-host has faded quite, + Splendor and Terror gone-- +Portent or promise--and gives way + To pale, meek Dawn; + The coming, going, + Alike in wonder showing-- +Alike the God, + Decreeing and commanding +The million blades that glowed, + The muster and disbanding-- + Midnight and Morn. + + + +The Released Rebel Prisoner.[18] +(June, 1865.) + + +Armies he’s seen--the herds of war, + But never such swarms of men +As now in the Nineveh of the North-- + How mad the Rebellion then! + +And yet but dimly he divines + The depth of that deceit, +And superstition of vast pride + Humbled to such defeat. + +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms-- + His steel the nearest magnet drew; +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives-- + ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue. + +His face is hidden in his beard, + But his heart peers out at eye-- +And such a heart! like mountain-pool + Where no man passes by. + +He thinks of Hill--a brave soul gone; + And Ashby dead in pale disdain; +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume, + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again. + +He hears the drum; he sees our boys + From his wasted fields return; +Ladies feast them on strawberries, + And even to kiss them yearn. + +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, + The rifle proudly borne; +They bear it for an heir-loom home, + And he--disarmed--jail-worn. + +Home, home--his heart is full of it; + But home he never shall see, +Even should he stand upon the spot; + ’Tis gone!--where his brothers be. + +The cypress-moss from tree to tree + Hangs in his Southern land; +As weird, from thought to thought of his + Run memories hand in hand. + +And so he lingers--lingers on + In the City of the Foe-- +His cousins and his countrymen + Who see him listless go. + + + +A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia.[19] + + +Head-board and foot-board duly placed-- + Grassed in the mound between; +Daniel Drouth is the slumberer’s name-- + Long may his grave be green! + +Quick was his way--a flash and a blow, + Full of his fire was he-- +A fire of hell--’tis burnt out now-- + Green may his grave long be! + +May his grave be green, though he + Was a rebel of iron mould; +Many a true heart--true to the Cause, + Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold. + +May his grave be green--still green + While happy years shall run; +May none come nigh to disinter + The--_Buried Gun_. + + + +“Formerly a Slave.” +An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring +Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865. + + +The sufferance of her race is shown, + And retrospect of life, +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; + Yet is she not at strife. + +Her children’s children they shall know + The good withheld from her; +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer-- + In spirit she sees the stir + +Far down the depth of thousand years, + And marks the revel shine; +Her dusky face is lit with sober light, + Sibylline, yet benign. + + + +The Apparition. +(A Retrospect.) + + +Convulsions came; and, where the field + Long slept in pastoral green, +A goblin-mountain was upheaved +(Sure the scared sense was all deceived), + Marl-glen and slag-ravine. + +The unreserve of Ill was there, + The clinkers in her last retreat; +But, ere the eye could take it in, +Or mind could comprehension win, + It sunk!--and at our feet. + +So, then, Solidity’s a crust-- + The core of fire below; +All may go well for many a year, +But who can think without a fear + Of horrors that happen so? + + + +Magnanimity Baffled. + + +“Sharp words we had before the fight; + But--now the fight is done-- +Look, here’s my hand,” said the Victor bold, + “Take it--an honest one! +What, holding back? I mean you well; + Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man; +The odds were great; I honor you; + Man honors man. + +“Still silent, friend? can grudges be? + Yet am I held a foe?-- +Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies-- + Never I’ll leave him so! +Brave one! I here implore your hand; + Dumb still? all fellowship fled? +Nay, then, I’ll have this stubborn hand” + He snatched it--it was dead. + + + +On the Slain Collegians.[20] + + +Youth is the time when hearts are large, + And stirring wars +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn + To the blade it draws. +If woman incite, and duty show + (Though made the mask of Cain), +Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause, + Who can aloof remain +That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow + Of wisdom or sordid gain? + +The liberal arts and nurture sweet +Which give his gentleness to man-- + Train him to honor, lend him grace +Through bright examples meet-- +That culture which makes never wan +With underminings deep, but holds + The surface still, its fitting place, + And so gives sunniness to the face +And bravery to the heart; what troops + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred-- + Saturnians through life’s Tempe led, +Went from the North and came from the South, +With golden mottoes in the mouth, + To lie down midway on a bloody bed. + +Woe for the homes of the North, +And woe for the seats of the South; +All who felt life’s spring in prime, +And were swept by the wind of their place and time-- + All lavish hearts, on whichever side, +Of birth urbane or courage high, +Armed them for the stirring wars-- +Armed them--some to die. + Apollo-like in pride, +Each would slay his Python--caught +The maxims in his temple taught-- + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze +Perforce enwrapped him--social laws, + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days-- +Vows, kisses--every heart unmoors, +And launches into the seas of wars. +What could they else--North or South? +Each went forth with blessings given +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; + And honor in both was chief. +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? +So be it; but they both were young-- +Each grape to his cluster clung, +All their elegies are sung. + +The anguish of maternal hearts + Must search for balm divine; +But well the striplings bore their fated parts + (The heavens all parts assign)-- +Never felt life’s care or cloy. +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; +Nor dreamed what death was--thought it mere +Sliding into some vernal sphere. +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf-- +Which storms lay low in kindly doom, +And kill them in their flush of bloom. + + + +America. + + +I. + +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand +I saw a Banner in gladsome air-- +Starry, like Berenice’s Hair-- +Afloat in broadened bravery there; +With undulating long-drawn flow, +As rolled Brazilian billows go +Voluminously o’er the Line. +The Land reposed in peace below; + The children in their glee +Were folded to the exulting heart + Of young Maternity. + + +II. + +Later, and it streamed in fight + When tempest mingled with the fray, +And over the spear-point of the shaft + I saw the ambiguous lightning play. +Valor with Valor strove, and died: +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; +And the lorn Mother speechless stood, +Pale at the fury of her brood. + + +III. + +Yet later, and the silk did wind + Her fair cold form; +Little availed the shining shroud, + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. +A watcher looked upon her low, and said-- +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. + But in that sleep contortion showed +The terror of the vision there-- + A silent vision unavowed, +Revealing earth’s foundation bare, + And Gorgon in her hidden place. +It was a thing of fear to see + So foul a dream upon so fair a face, +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. + + +IV. + +But from the trance she sudden broke-- + The trance, or death into promoted life; +At her feet a shivered yoke, +And in her aspect turned to heaven + No trace of passion or of strife-- +A clear calm look. It spake of pain, +But such as purifies from stain-- +Sharp pangs that never come again-- + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, + And youth matured for age’s seat-- +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. + So she, with graver air and lifted flag; +While the shadow, chased by light, +Fled along the far-drawn height, + And left her on the crag. + + + + +Verses +Inscriptive and Memorial + + + +On the Home Guards +who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri. + + +The men who here in harness died + Fell not in vain, though in defeat. +They by their end well fortified + The Cause, and built retreat +(With memory of their valor tried) +For emulous hearts in many an after fray-- +Hearts sore beset, which died at bay. + + + +Inscription +for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas. + + +Let none misgive we died amiss + When here we strove in furious fight: +Furious it was; nathless was this + Better than tranquil plight, +And tame surrender of the Cause +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. + We here who warred for Man and Right, +The choice of warring never laid with us. + There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice. + Nor long we stood to trim and poise, +But marched, and fell--victorious! + + + +The Fortitude of the North +under the Disaster of the Second Manassas. + + +They take no shame for dark defeat + While prizing yet each victory won, +Who fight for the Right through all retreat, + Nor pause until their work is done. +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; + Vainly against that foreland beat +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: + The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. + + + +On the Men of Maine +killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. + + +Afar they fell. It was the zone + Of fig and orange, cane and lime +(A land how all unlike their own, +With the cold pine-grove overgrown), + But still their Country’s clime. +And there in youth they died for her-- + The Volunteers, +For her went up their dying prayers: + So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie. +What doubt shall come, then, to deter + The Republic’s earnest faith and courage high. + + + +An Epitaph. + + +When Sunday tidings from the front + Made pale the priest and people, +And heavily the blessing went, + And bells were dumb in the steeple; +The Soldier’s widow (summering sweerly here, + In shade by waving beeches lent) + Felt deep at heart her faith content, +And priest and people borrowed of her cheer. + + + +Inscription +for Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg. + + +To them who crossed the flood +And climbed the hill, with eyes + Upon the heavenly flag intent, + And through the deathful tumult went +Even unto death: to them this Stone-- +Erect, where they were overthrown-- + Of more than victory the monument. + + + +The Mound by the Lake. + + +The grass shall never forget this grave. +When homeward footing it in the sun + After the weary ride by rail, +The stripling soldiers passed her door, + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, +She left her household work undone-- +Duly the wayside table spread, + With evergreens shaded, to regale +Each travel-spent and grateful one. +So warm her heart--childless--unwed, +Who like a mother comforted. + + + +On the Slain at Chickamauga. + + +Happy are they and charmed in life + Who through long wars arrive unscarred +At peace. To such the wreath be given, +If they unfalteringly have striven-- + In honor, as in limb, unmarred. +Let cheerful praise be rife, + And let them live their years at ease, +Musing on brothers who victorious died-- + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please. + +And yet mischance is honorable too-- + Seeming defeat in conflict justified +Whose end to closing eyes is his from view. +The will, that never can relent-- +The aim, survivor of the bafflement, + Make this memorial due. + + + +An uninscribed Monument +on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness. + + +Silence and Solitude may hint + (Whose home is in yon piny wood) +What I, though tableted, could never tell-- +The din which here befell, + And striving of the multitude. +The iron cones and spheres of death + Set round me in their rust, + These, too, if just, +Shall speak with more than animated breath. + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, +Not narrowed down to personal cheer, +Take in the import of the quiet here-- + The after-quiet--the calm full fraught; +Thou too wilt silent stand-- +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. + + + +On Sherman’s Men +who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia. + + +They said that Fame her clarion dropped + Because great deeds were done no more-- +That even Duty knew no shining ends, +And Glory--’twas a fallen star! + But battle can heroes and bards restore. + Nay, look at Kenesaw: +Perils the mailed ones never knew +Are lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue, +And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war. + + + +On the Grave +of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia. + + +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends-- + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he +Whom here low violets veil from eyes. + But all these gifts transcended be: +His happier fortune in this mound you see. + + + +A Requiem +for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports. + + +When, after storms that woodlands rue, + To valleys comes atoning dawn, +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn, +Caroling fly in the languid blue; +The while, from many a hid recess, +Alert to partake the blessedness, +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. + So, after ocean’s ghastly gales, +When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks, + Every finny hider wakes-- + From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales; + Through the delightsome sea he sails, +With shoals of shining tiny things +Frolic on every wave that flings + Against the prow its showery spray; +All creatures joying in the morn, +Save them forever from joyance torn, + Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play; +Save them that by the fabled shore, + Down the pale stream are washed away, +Far to the reef of bones are borne; + And never revisits them the light, +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; + Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour. + + + +On a natural Monument +in a field of Georgia.[21] + + +No trophy this--a Stone unhewn, + And stands where here the field immures +The nameless brave whose palms are won. +Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh-- + Pure fame of deeds, not doers; +Nor deeds of men who bleeding die + In cheer of hymns that round them float: +In happy dreams such close the eye. +But withering famine slowly wore, + And slowly fell disease did gloat. +Even Nature’s self did aid deny; +They choked in horror the pensive sigh. + Yea, off from home sad Memory bore +(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way), +Lest wreck of reason might befall. + As men in gales shun the lee shore, +Though there the homestead be, and call, +And thitherward winds and waters sway-- +As such lorn mariners, so fared they. +But naught shall now their peace molest. + Their fame is this: they did endure-- +Endure, when fortitude was vain +To kindle any approving strain +Which they might hear. To these who rest, + This healing sleep alone was sure. + + + +Commemorative of a Naval Victory. + + +Sailors there are of gentlest breed, + Yet strong, like every goodly thing; +The discipline of arms refines, + And the wave gives tempering. + The damasked blade its beam can fling; +It lends the last grave grace: +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman + In Titian’s picture for a king, +Are of Hunter or warrior race. + +In social halls a favored guest + In years that follow victory won, +How sweet to feel your festal fame, + In woman’s glance instinctive thrown: + Repose is yours--your deed is known, +It musks the amber wine; +It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days + Rich as October sunsets brown, +Which make the barren place to shine. + +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; +There’s a light and a shadow on every man + Who at last attains his lifted mark-- + Nursing through night the ethereal spark. +Elate he never can be; +He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth, + Sleep in oblivion.--The shark +Glides white through the prosphorus sea. + + + +Presentation to the Authorities, +by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the +Surrender of Lee. + + +These flags of armies overthrown-- +Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one +In end foredoomed which closes war; +We here, the captors, lay before + The altar which of right claims all-- +Our Country. And as freely we, + Revering ever her sacred call, +Could lay our lives down--though life be +Thrice loved and precious to the sense +Of such as reap the recompense + Of life imperiled for just cause-- +Imperiled, and yet preserved; +While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved, +Whose wives were all as dear, lie low. +But these flags given, glad we go + To waiting homes with vindicated laws. + + + +The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle. + + +Over the hearth--my father’s seat-- + Repose, to patriot-memory dear, +Thou tried companion, whom at last I greet + By steepy banks of Hudson here. +How oft I told thee of this scene-- +The Highlands blue--the river’s narrowing sheen. +Little at Gettysburg we thought +To find such haven; but God kept it green. +Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen. + + + + +The Scout toward Aldie. + + +The cavalry-camp lies on the slope + Of what was late a vernal hill, +But now like a pavement bare-- +An outpost in the perilous wilds + Which ever are lone and still; + But Mosby’s men are there-- + Of Mosby best beware. + +Great trees the troopers felled, and leaned + In antlered walls about their tents; +Strict watch they kept; ’twas _Hark!_ and _Mark!_ +Unarmed none cared to stir abroad + For berries beyond their forest-fence: + As glides in seas the shark, + Rides Mosby through green dark. + +All spake of him, but few had seen + Except the maimed ones or the low; +Yet rumor made him every thing-- +A farmer--woodman--refugee-- + The man who crossed the field but now; + A spell about his life did cling-- + Who to the ground shall Mosby bring? + +The morning-bugles lonely play, + Lonely the evening-bugle calls-- +Unanswered voices in the wild; +The settled hush of birds in nest + Becharms, and all the wood enthralls: + Memory’s self is so beguiled + That Mosby seems a satyr’s child. + +They lived as in the Eerie Land-- + The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam; +And yet from pine-tops one might ken +The Capitol dome--hazy--sublime-- + A vision breaking on a dream: + So strange it was that Mosby’s men + Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen. + +A scout toward Aldie broke the spell.-- + The Leader lies before his tent +Gazing at heaven’s all-cheering lamp +Through blandness of a morning rare; + His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent: + His sunny bride is in the camp-- + But Mosby--graves are beds of damp! + +The trumpet calls; he goes within; + But none the prayer and sob may know: +Her hero he, but bridegroom too. +Ah, love in a tent is a queenly thing, + And fame, be sure, refines the vow; + But fame fond wives have lived to rue, + And Mosby’s men fell deeds can do. + +_Tan-tara! tan-tara! tan-tara!_ + Mounted and armed he sits a king; +For pride she smiles if now she peep-- +Elate he rides at the head of his men; + He is young, and command is a boyish thing: + They file out into the forest deep-- + Do Mosby and his rangers sleep? + +The sun is gold, and the world is green, + Opal the vapors of morning roll; +The champing horses lightly prance-- +Full of caprice, and the riders too + Curving in many a caricole. + But marshaled soon, by fours advance-- + Mosby had checked that airy dance. + +By the hospital-tent the cripples stand-- + Bandage, and crutch, and cane, and sling, +And palely eye the brave array; +The froth of the cup is gone for them + (Caw! caw! the crows through the blueness wing); + Yet these were late as bold, as gay; + But Mosby--a clip, and grass is hay. + +How strong they feel on their horses free, + Tingles the tendoned thigh with life; +Their cavalry-jackets make boys of all-- +With golden breasts like the oriole; + The chat, the jest, and laugh are rife. + But word is passed from the front--a call + For order; the wood is Mosby’s hall. + +To which behest one rider sly + (Spurred, but unarmed) gave little heed-- +Of dexterous fun not slow or spare, +He teased his neighbors of touchy mood, + Into plungings he pricked his steed: + A black-eyed man on a coal-black mare, + Alive as Mosby in mountain air. + +His limbs were long, and large and round; + He whispered, winked--did all but shout: +A healthy man for the sick to view; +The taste in his mouth was sweet at morn; + Little of care he cared about. + And yet of pains and pangs he knew-- + In others, maimed by Mosby’s crew. + +The Hospital Steward--even he + (Sacred in person as a priest), +And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice +Wore the caduceus, black and green. + No wonder he sat so light on his beast; + This cheery man in suit of price + Not even Mosby dared to slice. + +They pass the picket by the pine + And hollow log--a lonesome place; +His horse adroop, and pistol clean; +’Tis cocked--kept leveled toward the wood; + Strained vigilance ages his childish face. + Since midnight has that stripling been + Peering for Mosby through the green. + +Splashing they cross the freshet-flood, + And up the muddy bank they strain; +A horse at the spectral white-ash shies-- +One of the span of the ambulance, + Black as a hearse. They give the rein: + Silent speed on a scout were wise, + Could cunning baffle Mosby’s spies. + +Rumor had come that a band was lodged + In green retreats of hills that peer +By Aldie (famed for the swordless charge[22]). +Much store they’d heaped of captured arms + And, peradventure, pilfered cheer; + For Mosby’s lads oft hearts enlarge + In revelry by some gorge’s marge. + +“Don’t let your sabres rattle and ring; + To his oat-bag let each man give heed-- +There now, that fellow’s bag’s untied, +Sowing the road with the precious grain. + Your carbines swing at hand--you need! + Look to yourselves, and your nags beside, + Men who after Mosby ride.” + +Picked lads and keen went sharp before-- + A guard, though scarce against surprise; +And rearmost rode an answering troop, +But flankers none to right or left. + No bugle peals, no pennon flies: + Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop + On Mosby with an Indian whoop. + +On, right on through the forest land, + Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen-- +Not even a dog. The air was still; +The blackened hut they turned to see, + And spied charred benches on the green; + A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill + Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill. + +By worn-out fields they cantered on-- + Drear fields amid the woodlands wide; +By cross-roads of some olden time, +In which grew groves; by gate-stones down-- + Grassed ruins of secluded pride: + A strange lone land, long past the prime, + Fit land for Mosby or for crime. + +The brook in the dell they pass. One peers + Between the leaves: “Ay, there’s the place-- +There, on the oozy ledge--’twas there +We found the body (Blake’s you know); + Such whirlings, gurglings round the face-- + Shot drinking! Well, in war all’s fair-- + So Mosby says. The bough--take care!” + +Hard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould + Danked and decayed the shaded roof; +The porch was punk; the clapboards spanned +With ruffled lichens gray or green; + Red coral-moss was not aloof; + And mid dry leaves green dead-man’s-hand + Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land. + +They leave the road and take the wood, + And mark the trace of ridges there-- +A wood where once had slept the farm-- +A wood where once tobacco grew + Drowsily in the hazy air, + And wrought in all kind things a calm-- + Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm. + +To ease even yet the place did woo-- + To ease which pines unstirring share, +For ease the weary horses sighed: +Halting, and slackening girths, they feed, + Their pipes they light, they loiter there; + Then up, and urging still the Guide, + On, and after Mosby ride. + +This Guide in frowzy coat of brown, + And beard of ancient growth and mould, +Bestrode a bony steed and strong, +As suited well with bulk he bore-- + A wheezy man with depth of hold + Who jouncing went. A staff he swung-- + A wight whom Mosby’s wasp had stung. + +Burnt out and homeless--hunted long! + That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood +Crouching (a fat man) for his life, +And spied his lean son ’mong the crew + That probed the covert. Ah! black blood + Was his ’gainst even child and wife-- + Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife. + +A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths, + Strains hard to readjust his seat +Ere the main body show the gap +’Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near + He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet; + Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap-- + “Let Mosby fine!” nor heeds mishap. + +A gable time-stained peeps through trees: + “You mind the fight in the haunted house? +That’s it; we clenched them in the room-- +An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought, + But proved sly rebels on a house! + Luke lies in the yard.” The chimneys loom: + Some muse on Mosby--some on doom. + +Less nimbly now through brakes they wind, + And ford wild creeks where men have drowned; +They skirt the pool, a void the fen, +And so till night, when down they lie, + They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground: + Rein in hand they slumber then, + Dreaming of Mosby’s cedarn den. + +But Colonel and Major friendly sat + Where boughs deformed low made a seat. +The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred) +Of the partisan’s blade he longed to win, + And frays in which he meant to beat. + The grizzled Major smoked, and heard: + “But what’s that--Mosby?” “No, a bird.” + +A contrast here like sire and son, + Hope and Experience sage did meet; +The Youth was brave, the Senior too; +But through the Seven Days one had served, + And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat: + So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew-- + “Any _sure_ news of Mosby’s crew?” + +He smoked and smoked, eying the while + A huge tree hydra-like in growth-- +Moon-tinged--with crook’d boughs rent or lopped-- +Itself a haggard forest. “Come” + The Colonel cried, “to talk you’re loath; + D’ye hear? I say he must be stopped, + This Mosby--caged, and hair close cropped.” + +“Of course; but what’s that dangling there” + “Where?” “From the tree--that gallows-bough; + A bit of frayed bark, is it not” +“Ay--or a rope; did _we_ hang last?-- + Don’t like my neckerchief any how” + He loosened it: “O ay, we’ll stop + This Mosby--but that vile jerk and drop!”[23] + +By peep of light they feed and ride, + Gaining a grove’s green edge at morn, +And mark the Aldie hills upread +And five gigantic horsemen carved + Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn; + Are more behind? an open snare? + Or Mosby’s men but watchmen there? + +The ravaged land was miles behind, + And Loudon spread her landscape rare; +Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood, +Cows were feeding, a cock loud crew, + But not a friend at need was there; + The valley-folk were only good + To Mosby and his wandering brood. + +What best to do? what mean yon men? + Colonel and Guide their minds compare; +Be sure some looked their Leader through; +Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned + As one who feigns an easy air; + And yet perplexed he was they knew-- + Perplexed by Mosby’s mountain-crew. + +The Major hemmed as he would speak, + But checked himself, and left the ring +Of cavalrymen about their Chief-- +Young courtiers mute who paid their court + By looking with confidence on their king; + They knew him brave, foresaw no grief-- + But Mosby--the time to think is brief. + +The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green) + Was glad ’twas not for _him_ to say +What next should be; if a trooper bleeds, +Why he will do his best, as wont, + And his partner in black will aid and pray; + But judgment bides with him who leads, + And Mosby many a problem breeds. + +The Surgeon was the kindliest man + That ever a callous trace professed; +He felt for him, that Leader young, +And offered medicine from his flask: + The Colonel took it with marvelous zest. + For such fine medicine good and strong, + Oft Mosby and his foresters long. + +A charm of proof. “Ho, Major, come-- + Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop, +Through the thickets wind--pray speedy be-- +And gain their read. And, Captain Morn, + Picket these roads--all travelers stop; + The rest to the edge of this crest with me, + That Mosby and his scouts may see.” + +Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep, + Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays, +Ten riding double--luckless ten!-- +Five horses gone, and looped hats lost, + And love-locks dancing in a maze-- + Certes, but sophomores from the glen + Of Mosby--not his veteran men. + +“Colonel,” said the Major, touching his cap, + “We’ve had our ride, and here they are” +“Well done! how many found you there” +“As many as I bring you here” + “And no one hurt?” “There’ll be no scar-- + One fool was battered.” “Find their lair” + “Why, Mosby’s brood camp every where.” + +He sighed, and slid down from his horse, + And limping went to a spring-head nigh. +“Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope” +“Battered my knee against a bar + When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.-- + Halloa! they gave you too much rope-- + Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?” + +Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood + The guard, remiss, had given a chance +For a sudden sally into the cover-- +But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot, + Though the issue was a deadly trance; + For, hurled ’gainst an oak that humped low over, + Mosby’s man fell, pale as a lover. + +They pulled some grass his head to ease + (Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred). +The Surgeon came--“Here’s a to-do” +“Ah!” cried the Major, darting a glance, + “This fellow’s the one that fired and spurred + Down hill, but met reserves below-- + My boys, not Mosby’s--so we go!” + +The Surgeon--bluff, red, goodly man-- + Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee +He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too-- +(Who went to the wars for cure of souls, + And his own student-ailments)--he + Bent over likewise; spite the two, + Mosby’s poor man more pallid grew. + +Meanwhile the mounted captives near + Jested; and yet they anxious showed; +Virginians; some of family-pride, +And young, and full of fire, and fine + In open feature and cheek that glowed; + And here thralled vagabonds now they ride-- + But list! one speaks for Mosby’s side. + +“Why, three to one--your horses strong-- + Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise-- +Surrender we account no shame! +We live, are gay, and life is hope; + We’ll fight again when fight is wise. + There are plenty more from where we came; + But go find Mosby--start the game!” + +Yet one there was who looked but glum; + In middle-age, a father he, +And this his first experience too: +“They shot at my heart when my hands were up-- + This fighting’s crazy work, I see” + But noon is high; what next do? + The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe. + +“Save what we’ve got,” the Major said; + “Bad plan to make a scout too long; +The tide may turn, and drag them back, +And more beside. These rides I’ve been, + And every time a mine was sprung. + To rescue, mind, they won’t be slack-- + Look out for Mosby’s rifle-crack.” + +“We’ll welcome it! give crack for crack! + Peril, old lad, is what I seek” +“O then, there’s plenty to be had-- +By all means on, and have our fill” + With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck, + Showing a scar by buck-shot made-- + Kind Mosby’s Christmas gift, he said. + +“But, Colonel, my prisoners--let a guard + Make sure of them, and lead to camp. +That done, we’re free for a dark-room fight +If so you say.” The other laughed; + “Trust me, Major, nor throw a damp. + But first to try a little sleight-- + Sure news of Mosby would suit me quite.” + +Herewith he turned--“Reb, have a dram” + Holding the Surgeon’s flask with a smile +To a young scapegrace from the glen. +“O yes!” he eagerly replied, + “And thank you, Colonel, but--any guile? + For if you think we’ll blab--why, then + You don’t know Mosby or his men.” + +The Leader’s genial air relaxed. + “Best give it up,” a whisperer said. +“By heaven, I’ll range their rebel den” +“They’ll treat you well,” the captive cried; + “They’re all like us--handsome--well bred: + In wood or town, with sword or pen, + Polite is Mosby, bland his men.” + +“Where were you, lads, last night?--come, tell” + “We?--at a wedding in the Vale-- +The bridegroom our comrade; by his side +Belisent, my cousin--O, so proud + Of her young love with old wounds pale-- + A Virginian girl! God bless her pride-- + Of a crippled Mosby-man the bride!” + +“Four wall shall mend that saucy mood, + And moping prisons tame him down” +Said Captain Cloud. “God help that day” +Cried Captain Morn, “and he so young. + But hark, he sings--a madcap one” + “_O we multiply merrily in the May, + The birds and Mosby’s men, they say!_” + +While echoes ran, a wagon old, + Under stout guard of Corporal Chew +Came up; a lame horse, dingy white, +With clouted harness; ropes in hand, + Cringed the humped driver, black in hue; + By him (for Mosby’s band a sight) + A sister-rebel sat, her veil held tight. + +“I picked them up,” the Corporal said, + “Crunching their way over stick and root, +Through yonder wood. The man here--Cuff-- +Says they are going to Leesburg town” + The Colonel’s eye took in the group; + The veiled one’s hand he spied--enough! + Not Mosby’s. Spite the gown’s poor stuff, + +Off went his hat: “Lady, fear not; + We soldiers do what we deplore-- +I must detain you till we march” +The stranger nodded. Nettled now, + He grew politer than before:-- + “’Tis Mosby’s fault, this halt and search” + The lady stiffened in her starch. + +“My duty, madam, bids me now + Ask what may seem a little rude. +Pardon--that veil--withdraw it, please +(Corporal! make every man fall back); + Pray, now I do but what I should; + Bethink you, ’tis in masks like these + That Mosby haunts the villages.” + +Slowly the stranger drew her veil, + And looked the Soldier in the eye-- +A glance of mingled foul and fair; +Sad patience in a proud disdain, + And more than quietude. A sigh + She heaved, and if all unaware, + And far seemed Mosby from her care. + +She came from Yewton Place, her home, + So ravaged by the war’s wild play-- +Campings, and foragings, and fires-- +That now she sought an aunt’s abode. + Her Kinsmen? In Lee’s army, they. + The black? A servant, late her sire’s. + And Mosby? Vainly he inquires. + +He gazed, and sad she met his eye; + “In the wood yonder were you lost” +No; at the forks they left the road +Because of hoof-prints (thick they were-- + Thick as the words in notes thrice crossed), + And fearful, made that episode. + In fear of Mosby? None she showed. + +Her poor attire again he scanned: + “Lady, once more; I grieve to jar +On all sweet usage, but must plead +To have what peeps there from your dress; + That letter--’tis justly prize of war” + She started--gave it--she must need. + “’Tis not from Mosby? May I read?” + +And straight such matter he perused + That with the Guide he went apart. +The Hospital Steward’s turn began: +“Must squeeze this darkey; every tap + Of knowledge we are bound to start” + “Garry,” she said, “tell all you can + Of Colonel Mosby--that brave man.” + +“Dun know much, sare; and missis here + Know less dan me. But dis I know--” +“Well, what?” “I dun know what I know” +“A knowing answer!” The hump-back coughed, + Rubbing his yellowish wool like tow. + “Come--Mosby--tell!” “O dun look so! + My gal nursed missis--let we go.” + +“Go where?” demanded Captain Cloud; + “Back into bondage? Man, you’re free” +“Well, _let_ we free!” The Captain’s brow +Lowered; the Colonel came--had heard: + “Pooh! pooh! his simple heart I see-- + A faithful servant.--Lady” (a bow), + “Mosby’s abroad--with us you’ll go. + +“Guard! look to your prisoners; back to camp! + The man in the grass--can he mount and away? +Why, how he groans!” “Bad inward bruise-- +Might lug him along in the ambulance” + “Coals to Newcastle! let him stay. + Boots and saddles!--our pains we lose, + Nor care I if Mosby hear the news!” + +But word was sent to a house at hand, + And a flask was left by the hurt one’s side. +They seized in that same house a man, +Neutral by day, by night a foe-- + So charged his neighbor late, the Guide. + A grudge? Hate will do what it can; + Along he went for a Mosby-man. + +No secrets now; the bugle calls; + The open road they take, nor shun +The hill; retrace the weary way. +But one there was who whispered low, + “This is a feint--we’ll back anon; + Young Hair-Brains don’t retreat, they say; + A brush with Mosby is the play!” + +They rode till eve. Then on a farm + That lay along a hill-side green, +Bivouacked. Fires were made, and then +Coffee was boiled; a cow was coaxed + And killed, and savory roasts were seen; + And under the lee of a cattle-pen + The guard supped freely with Mosby’s men. + +The ball was bandied to and fro; + Hits were given and hits were met; +“Chickamauga, Feds--take off your hat” +“But the Fight in the Clouds repaid you, Rebs” + “Forgotten about Manassas yet” + Chatting and chaffing, and tit for tat, + Mosby’s clan with the troopers sat. + +“Here comes the moon!” a captive cried; + “A song! what say? Archy, my lad” +Hailing are still one of the clan +(A boyish face with girlish hair), + “Give us that thing poor Pansy made + Last Year.” He brightened, and began; + And this was the song of Mosby’s man: + + _Spring is come; she shows her pass-- + Wild violets cool! + South of woods a small close grass-- + A vernal wool! + Leaves are a’bud on the sassafras-- + They’ll soon be full; + Blessings on the friendly screen-- + I’m for the South! says the leafage green._ + + _Robins! fly, and take your fill + Of out-of-doors-- + Garden, orchard, meadow, hill, + Barns and bowers; + Take your fill, and have your will-- + Virginia’s yours! + But, bluebirds! keep away, and fear + The ambuscade in bushes here._ + +“A green song that,” a seargeant said; + “But where’s poor Pansy? gone, I fear” +“Ay, mustered out at Ashby’s Gap” +“I see; now for a live man’s song; + Ditty for ditty--prepare to cheer. + My bluebirds, you can fling a cap! + You barehead Mosby-boys--why--clap!” + + _Nine Blue-coats went a-nutting + Slyly in Tennessee-- + Not for chestnuts--better than that-- + Hugh, you bumble-bee! + Nutting, nutting-- + All through the year there’s nutting!_ + + _A tree they spied so yellow, + Rustling in motion queer; + In they fired, and down they dropped-- + Butternuts, my dear! + Nutting, nutting-- + Who’ll ’list to go a-nutting?_ + +Ah! why should good fellows foemen be? + And who would dream that foes they were-- +Larking and singing so friendly then-- +A family likeness in every face. + But Captain Cloud made sour demur: + “Guard! keep your prisoners _in_ the pen, + And let none talk with Mosby’s men.” + +That captain was a valorous one + (No irony, but honest truth), +Yet down from his brain cold drops distilled, +Making stalactites in his heart-- + A conscientious soul, forsooth; + And with a formal hate was filled + Of Mosby’s band; and some he’d killed. + +Meantime the lady rueful sat, + Watching the flicker of a fire +Were the Colonel played the outdoor host +In brave old hall of ancient Night. + But ever the dame grew shyer and shyer, + Seeming with private grief engrossed-- + Grief far from Mosby, housed or lost. + +The ruddy embers showed her pale. + The Soldier did his best devoir: +“Some coffee?--no?--cracker?--one” +Cared for her servant--sought to cheer: + “I know, I know--a cruel war! + But wait--even Mosby’ll eat his bun; + The Old Hearth--back to it anon!” + +But cordial words no balm could bring; + She sighed, and kept her inward chafe, +And seemed to hate the voice of glee-- +Joyless and tearless. Soon he called + An escort: “See this lady safe + In yonder house.--Madam, you’re free. + And now for Mosby.--Guide! with me.” + +(“A night-ride, eh?”) “Tighten your girths! + But, buglers! not a note from you. +Fling more rails on the fires--a blaze” +(“Sergeant, a feint--I told you so-- + Toward Aldie again. Bivouac, adieu!”) + After the cheery flames they gaze, + Then back for Mosby through the maze. + +The moon looked through the trees, and tipped + The scabbards with her elfin beam; +The Leader backward cast his glance, +Proud of the cavalcade that came-- + A hundred horses, bay and cream: + “Major! look how the lads advance-- + Mosby we’ll have in the ambulance!” + +“No doubt, no doubt:--was that a hare?-- + First catch, then cook; and cook him brown” +“Trust me to catch,” the other cried-- +“The lady’s letter!--a dance, man, dance + This night is given in Leesburg town” + “He’ll be there too!” wheezed out the Guide; + “That Mosby loves a dance and ride!” + +“The lady, ah!--the lady’s letter-- + A _lady_, then, is in the case” +Muttered the Major. “Ay, her aunt +Writes her to come by Friday eve + (To-night), for people of the place, + At Mosby’s last fight jubilant, + A party give, though table-cheer be scant.” + +The Major hemmed. “Then this night-ride + We owe to her?--One lighted house +In a town else dark.--The moths, begar! +Are not quite yet all dead!” “How? how” + “A mute, meek mournful little mouse!-- + Mosby has wiles which subtle are-- + But woman’s wiles in wiles of war!” + +“Tut, Major! by what craft or guile--” + “Can’t tell! but he’ll be found in wait. +Softly we enter, say, the town-- +Good! pickets post, and all so sure-- + When--crack! the rifles from every gate, + The Gray-backs fire--dashes up and down-- + Each alley unto Mosby known!” + +“Now, Major, now--you take dark views + Of a moonlight night.” “Well, well, we’ll see” +And smoked as if each whiff were gain. +The other mused; then sudden asked, + “What would you do in grand decree” + I’d beat, if I could, Lee’s armies--then + Send constables after Mosby’s men.” + +“Ay! ay!--you’re odd.” The moon sailed up; + On through the shadowy land they went. +“_Names must be made and printed be!_” +Hummed the blithe Colonel. “Doc, your flask! + Major, I drink to your good content. + My pipe is out--enough for me! + One’s buttons shine--does Mosby see? + +“But what comes here?” A man from the front + Reported a tree athwart the road. +“Go round it, then; no time to bide; +All right--go on! Were one to stay + For each distrust of a nervous mood, + Long miles we’d make in this our ride + Through Mosby-land.--Oh! with the Guide!” + +Then sportful to the Surgeon turned: + “Green sashes hardly serve by night” +“Nor bullets nor bottles,” the Major sighed, +“Against these moccasin-snakes--such foes + As seldom come to solid fight: + They kill and vanish; through grass they glide; + Devil take Mosby!--” his horse here shied. + +“Hold! look--the tree, like a dragged balloon; + A globe of leaves--some trickery here; +My nag is right--best now be shy” +A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl; + Little was plain--they blindly steer. + The Pleiads, as from ambush sly, + Peep out--Mosby’s men in the sky! + +As restive they turn, how sore they feel, + And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen, +And curse the war. “Fools, North and South” +Said one right out. “O for a bed! + O now to drop in this woodland green” + He drops as the syllables leave his mouth-- + Mosby speaks from the undergrowth-- + +Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame! + Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees; +Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind; +“Steady--Dismount--form--and into the wood” + They go, but find what scarce can please: + Their steeds have been tied in the field behind, + And Mosby’s men are off like the wind. + +Sound the recall! vain to pursue-- + The enemy scatters in wilds he knows, +To reunite in his own good time; +And, to follow, they need divide-- + To come lone and lost on crouching foes: + Maple and hemlock, beech and lime, + Are Mosby’s confederates, share the crime. + +“Major,” burst in a bugler small, + “The fellow we left in Loudon grass-- +Sir slyboots with the inward bruise, +His voice I heard--the very same-- + Some watchword in the ambush pass; + Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes-- + We caught him--Mosby--but to lose!” + +“Go, go!--these saddle-dreamers! Well, + And here’s another.--Cool, sir, cool” +“Major, I saw them mount and sweep, +And one was humped, or I mistake, + And in the skurry dropped his wool” + “A wig! go fetch it:--the lads need sleep; + They’ll next see Mosby in a sheep! + +“Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks-- + All’s jackstraws here! Where’s Captain Morn?-- +We’ve parted like boats in a raging tide! +But stay-the Colonel--did he charge? + And comes he there? ’Tis streak of dawn; + Mosby is off, the woods are wide-- + Hist! there’s a groan--this crazy ride!” + +As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill; + They lay in the dew: “Ah! hurt much, Mink? +And--yes--the Colonel!” Dead! but so calm +That death seemed nothing--even death, + The thing we deem every thing heart can think; + Amid wilding roses that shed their balm, + Careless of Mosby he lay--in a charm! + +The Major took him by the Hand-- + Into the friendly clasp it bled +(A ball through heart and hand he rued): +“Good-by” and gazed with humid glance; + Then in a hollow revery said + “The weakness thing is lustihood; + But Mosby--” and he checked his mood. + +“Where’s the advance?--cut off, by heaven! + Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there” +“The ambulance will carry all” +“Well, get them in; we go to camp. + Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care” + Then to himself, “This grief is gall; + That Mosby!--I’ll cast a silver ball!” + +“Ho!” turning--“Captain Cloud, you mind + The place where the escort went--so shady? +Go search every closet low and high, +And barn, and bin, and hidden bower-- + Every covert--find that lady! + And yet I may misjudge her--ay, + Women (like Mosby) mystify. + +“We’ll see. Ay, Captain, go--with speed! + Surround and search; each living thing +Secure; that done, await us where +We last turned off. Stay! fire the cage + If the birds be flown.” By the cross-road spring + The bands rejoined; no words; the glare + Told all. Had Mosby plotted there? + +The weary troop that wended now-- + Hardly it seemed the same that pricked +Forth to the forest from the camp: +Foot-sore horses, jaded men; + Every backbone felt as nicked, + Each eye dim as a sick-room lamp, + All faces stamped with Mosby’s stamp. + +In order due the Major rode-- + Chaplain and Surgeon on either hand; +A riderless horse a negro led; +In a wagon the blanketed sleeper went; + Then the ambulance with the bleeding band; + And, an emptied oat-bag on each head, + Went Mosby’s men, and marked the dead. + +What gloomed them? what so cast them down, + And changed the cheer that late they took, +As double-guarded now they rode +Between the files of moody men? + Some sudden consciousness they brook, + Or dread the sequel. That night’s blood + Disturbed even Mosby’s brotherhood. + +The flagging horses stumbled at roots, + Floundered in mires, or clinked the stones; +No rider spake except aside; +But the wounded cramped in the ambulance, + It was horror to hear their groans-- + Jerked along in the woodland ride, + While Mosby’s clan their revery hide. + +The Hospital Steward--even he-- + Who on the sleeper kept his glance, +Was changed; late bright-black beard and eye +Looked now hearse-black; his heavy heart, + Like his fagged mare, no more could dance; + His grape was now a raisin dry: + ’Tis Mosby’s homily--_Man must die_. + +The amber sunset flushed the camp + As on the hill their eyes they fed; +The pickets dumb looks at the wagon dart; +A handkerchief waves from the bannered tent-- + As white, alas! the face of the dead: + Who shall the withering news impart? + The bullet of Mosby goes through heart to heart! + +They buried him where the lone ones lie + (Lone sentries shot on midnight post)-- +A green-wood grave-yard hid from ken, +Where sweet-fern flings an odor nigh-- + Yet held in fear for the gleaming ghost! + Though the bride should see threescore and ten, + She will dream of Mosby and his men. + +Now halt the verse, and turn aside-- + The cypress falls athwart the way; +No joy remains for bard to sing; +And heaviest dole of all is this, + That other hearts shall be as gay + As hers that now no more shall spring: + To Mosby-land the dirges cling. + + + + +Lee in the Capitol. + + + +Lee in the Capitol.[24] +(April, 1866.) + + +Hard pressed by numbers in his strait, + Rebellion’s soldier-chief no more contends-- +Feels that the hour is come of Fate, + Lays down one sword, and widened warfare ends. +The captain who fierce armies led +Becomes a quiet seminary’s head-- +Poor as his privates, earns his bread. +In studious cares and aims engrossed, + Strives to forget Stuart and Stonewall dead-- +Comrades and cause, station and riches lost, + And all the ills that flock when fortune’s fled. +No word he breathes of vain lament, + Mute to reproach, nor hears applause-- +His doom accepts, perforce content, + And acquiesces in asserted laws; +Secluded now would pass his life, +And leave to time the sequel of the strife. + But missives from the Senators ran; +Not that they now would gaze upon a swordless foe, +And power made powerless and brought low: + Reasons of state, ’tis claimed, require the man. +Demurring not, promptly he comes +By ways which show the blackened homes, + And--last--the seat no more his own, +But Honor’s; patriot grave-yards fill +The forfeit slopes of that patrician hill, + And fling a shroud on Arlington. +The oaks ancestral all are low; +No more from the porch his glance shall go +Ranging the varied landscape o’er, +Far as the looming Dome--no more. +One look he gives, then turns aside, +Solace he summons from his pride: +“So be it! They await me now +Who wrought this stinging overthrow; +They wait me; not as on the day +Of Pope’s impelled retreat in disarray-- +By me impelled--when toward yon Dome +The clouds of war came rolling home” +The burst, the bitterness was spent, +The heart-burst bitterly turbulent, +And on he fared. + + In nearness now + He marks the Capitol--a show +Lifted in amplitude, and set +With standards flushed with a glow of Richmond yet; + Trees and green terraces sleep below. +Through the clear air, in sunny light, +The marble dazes--a temple white. + +Intrepid soldier! had his blade been drawn +For yon stirred flag, never as now +Bid to the Senate-house had he gone, +But freely, and in pageant borne, +As when brave numbers without number, massed, +Plumed the broad way, and pouring passed-- +Bannered, beflowered--between the shores +Of faces, and the dinn’d huzzas, +And balconies kindling at the sabre-flash, +’Mid roar of drums and guns, and cymbal-crash, +While Grant and Sherman shone in blue-- +Close of the war and victory’s long review. + +Yet pride at hand still aidful swelled, +And up the hard ascent he held. +The meeting follows. In his mien +The victor and the vanquished both are seen-- +All that he is, and what he late had been. +Awhile, with curious eyes they scan +The Chief who led invasion’s van-- +Allied by family to one, +Founder of the Arch the Invader warred upon: +Who looks at Lee must think of Washington; +In pain must think, and hide the thought, +So deep with grievous meaning it is fraught. + +Secession in her soldier shows +Silent and patient; and they feel + (Developed even in just success) +Dim inklings of a hazy future steal; + Their thoughts their questions well express: +“Does the sad South still cherish hate? +Freely will Southen men with Northern mate? +The blacks--should we our arm withdraw, +Would that betray them? some distrust your law. +And how if foreign fleets should come-- +Would the South then drive her wedges home” +And more hereof. The Virginian sees-- +Replies to such anxieties. +Discreet his answers run--appear +Briefly straightforward, coldly clear. + +“If now,” the Senators, closing, say, +“Aught else remain, speak out, we pray” +Hereat he paused; his better heart +Strove strongly then; prompted a worthier part +Than coldly to endure his doom. +Speak out? Ay, speak, and for the brave, +Who else no voice or proxy have; +Frankly their spokesman here become, +And the flushed North from her own victory save. +That inspiration overrode-- +Hardly it quelled the galling load +Of personal ill. The inner feud +He, self-contained, a while withstood; +They waiting. In his troubled eye +Shadows from clouds unseen they spy; +They could not mark within his breast +The pang which pleading thought oppressed: +He spoke, nor felt the bitterness die. + +“My word is given--it ties my sword; +Even were banners still abroad, +Never could I strive in arms again +While you, as fit, that pledge retain. +Our cause I followed, stood in field and gate-- +All’s over now, and now I follow Fate. +But this is naught. A People call-- +A desolted land, and all +The brood of ills that press so sore, +The natural offspring of this civil war, +Which ending not in fame, such as might rear +Fitly its sculptured trophy here, +Yields harvest large of doubt and dread +To all who have the heart and head +To feel and know. How shall I speak? +Thoughts knot with thoughts, and utterance check. +Before my eyes there swims a haze, +Through mists departed comrades gaze-- +First to encourage, last that shall upbraid! +How shall I speak? The South would fain +Feel peace, have quiet law again-- +Replant the trees for homestead-shade. + You ask if she recants: she yields. +Nay, and would more; would blend anew, +As the bones of the slain in her forests do, +Bewailed alike by us and you. + A voice comes out from these charnel-fields, +A plaintive yet unheeded one: +_‘Died all in vain? both sides undone’_ +Push not your triumph; do not urge +Submissiveness beyond the verge. +Intestine rancor would you bide, +Nursing eleven sliding daggers in your side? + +“Far from my thought to school or threat; +I speak the things which hard beset. +Where various hazards meet the eyes, +To elect in magnanimity is wise. +Reap victory’s fruit while sound the core; +What sounder fruit than re-established law? +I know your partial thoughts do press +Solely on us for war’s unhappy stress; +But weigh--consider--look at all, +And broad anathema you’ll recall. +The censor’s charge I’ll not repeat, +The meddlers kindled the war’s white heat-- +Vain intermeddlers and malign, +Both of the palm and of the pine; +I waive the thought--which never can be rife-- +Common’s the crime in every civil strife: +But this I feel, that North and South were driven +By Fate to arms. For our unshriven, +What thousands, truest souls, were tried-- + As never may any be again-- +All those who stemmed Secession’s pride, +But at last were swept by the urgent tide + Into the chasm. I know their pain. +A story here may be applied: +‘In Moorish lands there lived a maid + Brought to confess by vow the creed + Of Christians. Fain would priests persuade +That now she must approve by deed + The faith she kept. “What dead?” she asked. +“Your old sire leave, nor deem it sin, + And come with us.” Still more they tasked +The sad one: “If heaven you’d win-- + Far from the burning pit withdraw, +Then must you learn to hate your kin, + Yea, side against them--such the law, +For Moor and Christian are at war” +“Then will I never quit my sire, +But here with him through every trial go, +Nor leave him though in flames below-- +God help me in his fire!” +So in the South; vain every plea +’Gainst Nature’s strong fidelity; + True to the home and to the heart, +Throngs cast their lot with kith and kin, + Foreboding, cleaved to the natural part-- +Was this the unforgivable sin? +These noble spirits are yet yours to win. +Shall the great North go Sylla’s way? +Proscribe? prolong the evil day? +Confirm the curse? infix the hate? +In Unions name forever alienate? + +“From reason who can urge the plea-- +Freemen conquerors of the free? +When blood returns to the shrunken vein, +Shall the wound of the Nation bleed again? +Well may the wars wan thought supply, +And kill the kindling of the hopeful eye, +Unless you do what even kings have done +In leniency--unless you shun +To copy Europe in her worst estate-- +Avoid the tyranny you reprobate.” + +He ceased. His earnestness unforeseen +Moved, but not swayed their former mien; + And they dismissed him. Forth he went +Through vaulted walks in lengthened line +Like porches erst upon the Palatine: + Historic reveries their lesson lent, + The Past her shadow through the Future sent. + +But no. Brave though the Soldier, grave his plea-- + Catching the light in the future’s skies, +Instinct disowns each darkening prophecy: + Faith in America never dies; +Heaven shall the end ordained fulfill, +We march with Providence cheery still. + + + + +A Meditation: + +Attributed to a northerner after attending the last of two funerals +from the same homestead--those of a national and a confederate +officer (brothers), his kinsmen, who had died from the effects of +wounds received in the closing battles. + + + +A Meditation. + + +How often in the years that close, + When truce had stilled the sieging gun, +The soldiers, mounting on their works, + With mutual curious glance have run +From face to face along the fronting show, +And kinsman spied, or friend--even in a foe. + +What thoughts conflicting then were shared. + While sacred tenderness perforce +Welled from the heart and wet the eye; + And something of a strange remorse +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood. + +Then stirred the god within the breast-- + The witness that is man’s at birth; +A deep misgiving undermined + Each plea and subterfuge of earth; +The felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, +Horror and anguish for the civil strife. + +Of North or South they recked not then, + Warm passion cursed the cause of war: +Can Africa pay back this blood + Spilt on Potomac’s shore? +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay, +And hands that fain had clasped again could slay. + +How frequent in the camp was seen + The herald from the hostile one, +A guest and frank companion there + When the proud formal talk was done; +The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war, +And fields in Mexico again fought o’er. + +In Western battle long they lay + So near opposed in trench or pit, +That foeman unto foeman called + As men who screened in tavern sit: +“You bravely fight” each to the other said-- +“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped. + +And pale on those same slopes, a boy-- + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, + He cried to them who nearest were, +And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell +A daring foe who him befriended well. + +Mark the great Captains on both sides, + The soldiers with the broad renown-- +They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge, + Beneath one roof they laid them down; +And free from hate in many an after pass, +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class. + +A darker side there is; but doubt + In Nature’s charity hovers there: +If men for new agreement yearn, + Then old upbraiding best forbear: +“_The South’s the sinner!_” Well, so let it be; +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee? + +O, now that brave men yield the sword, + Mine be the manful soldier-view; +By how much more they boldly warred, + By so much more is mercy due: +When Vickburg fell, and the moody files marched out, +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout. + + + + +Footnotes. + + +1. The gloomy lull of the early part of the winter of 1860-1, seeming +big with final disaster to our institutions, affected some minds that +believed them to constitute one of the great hopes of mankind, much as +the eclipse which came over the promise of the first French Revolution +affected kindred natures, throwing them for the time into doubt and +misgivings universal. + +2. “The terrible Stone Fleet on a mission as pitiless as the granite +that freights it, sailed this morning from Port Royal, and before two +days are past will have made Charleston an inland city. The ships are +all old whalers, and cost the government from $2500 to $5000 each. Some +of them were once famous ships.--” (From Newspaper Correspondences of +the day.) + +Sixteen vessels were accordingly sunk on the bar at the river entrance. +Their names were as follows: + +Amazon, +America, +American, +Archer, +Courier, +Fortune, +Herald, +Kensington, +Leonidas, +Maria Theresa, +Potomac, +Rebecca Simms, +L.C. Richmond, +Robin Hood, +Tenedos, +William Lee. + +All accounts seem to agree that the object proposed was not +accomplished. The channel is even said to have become ultimately +benefited by the means employed to obstruct it. + +3. The _Temeraire_, that storied ship of the old English fleet, and the +subject of the well-known painting by Turner, commends itself to the +mind seeking for some one craft to stand for the poetic ideal of those +great historic wooden warships, whose gradual displacement is lamented +by none more than by regularly educated navy officers, and of all +nations. + +4. Some of the cannon of old times, especially the brass ones, unlike +the more effective ordnance of the present day, were cast in shapes +which Cellini might have designed, were gracefully enchased, generally +with the arms of the country. A few of them--field-pieces--captured in +our earlier wars, are preserved in arsenals and navy-yards. + +5. Whatever just military criticism, favorable or otherwise, has at any +time been made upon General McClellan’s campaigns, will stand. But if, +during the excitement of the conflict, aught was spread abroad tending +the unmerited disparagement of the man, it must necessarily die out, +though not perhaps without leaving some traces, which may or may not +prove enduring. Some there are whose votes aided in the re-election of +Abraham Lincoln, who yet believed, and retain the belief, that General +McClellan, to say the least, always proved himself a patriotic and +honorable soldier. The feeling which surviving comrades entertain for +their late commnder is one which, from its passion, is susceptible of +versified representation, and such it receives. + +6. At Antietam Stonewall Jackson led one wing of Lee’s army, consequenty +sharing that day in whatever may be deemed to have been the fortunes of +his superior. + +7. Admiral Porter is son of the late Commodore Porter, commander of the +Frigate Essex on that Pacific cruise which ended in the desparate fight +off Valparaiso with the English frigates Cherub and Phoebe, in the year +1814. + +8. Among numerous head-stones or monuments on Cemetery Hill, marred or +destroyed by the enemy’s concentrated fire, was one, somewhat +conspicuous, of a Federal officer killed before Richmond in 1862. + +On the 4th of July 1865, the Gettysburg National Cemetery, on the same +height with the original burial-ground, was consecrated, and the +corner-stone laid of a commemorative pile. + +9. “I dare not write the horrible and inconceivable atrocities +committed,” says Froissart, in alluding to the remarkable sedition in +France during his time. The like may be hinted of some proceedings of +the draft-rioters. + +10. Although the month was November, the day was in character an October +one--cool, clear, bright, intoxicatingly invigorating; one of those days +peculiar to the ripest hours of our American Autumn. This weather must +have had much to do with the spontaneous enthusiasm which seized the +troops--and enthusiasm aided, doubtless, by glad thoughts of the victory +of Look-out Mountain won the day previous, and also by the elation +attending the capture, after a fierce struggle, of the long ranges of +rifle-pits at the mountain’s base, where orders for the time should have +stopped the advance. But there and then it was that the army took the +bit between its teeth, and ran away with the generals to the victory +commemorated. General Grant, at Culpepper, a few weeks prior to crossing +the Rapidan for the Wilderness, expressed to a visitor his impression of +the impulse and the spectacle: Said he: “I never saw any thing like it:” +language which seems curiously undertoned, considering its application; +but from the taciturn Commander it was equivalent to a superlative or +hyperbole from the talkative. + +The height of the Ridge, according to the account at hand, varies along +its length from six to seven hundred feet above the plain; it slopes at +an angle of about forty-five degrees. + +11. The great Parrott gun, planted in the marshes of James Island, and +employed in the prolonged, though at times intermitted bombardment of +Charleston, was known among our soldiers as the Swamp Angel. + +St. Michael’s, characterized by its venerable tower, was the historic +and aristrocratic church of the town. + +12. Among the Northwestern regiments there would seem to have been more +than one which carried a living eagle as an added ensign. The bird +commemorated here was, according the the account, borne aloft on a perch +beside the standard; went through successive battles and campaigns; was +more than once under the surgeon’s hands; and at the close of the +contest found honorable repose in the capital of Wisconsin, from which +state he had gone to the wars. + +13. The late Major General McPherson, commanding the Army of the +Tennessee, a major of Ohio and a West Pointer, was one of the foremost +spirits of the war. Young, though a veteran; hardy, intrepid, sensitive +in honor, full of engaging qualities, with manly beauty; possessed of +genius, a favorite with the army, and with Grant and Sherman. Both +Generals have generously acknowledged their professional obligiations to +the able engineer and admirable soldier, their subordinate and junior. + +In an informal account written by the Achilles to this Sarpedon, he +says: “On that day we avenged his death. Near twenty-two hundred of the +enemy’s dead remained on the ground when night closed upon the scene of +action.” + +It is significant of the scale on which the war was waged, that the +engagement thus written of goes solely (so far as can be learned) under +the vague designation of one of the battles before Atlanta. + +14. The piece was written while yet the reports were coming North of +Sherman’s homeward advance from Savannah. It is needless to point out +its purely dramatic character. + +Though the sentiment ascribed in the beginning of the second stanza +must, in the present reading, suggest the historic tragedy of the 14th +of April, nevertheless, as intimated, it was written prior to that +event, and without any distinct application in the writer’s mind. After +consideration, it is allowed to remain. + +Few need be reminded that, by the less intelligent classes of the South, +Abraham Lincoln, by nature the most kindly of men, was regarded as a +monster wantonly warring upon liberty. He stood for the personification +of tyrannic power. Each Union soldier was called a Lincolnite. + +Undoubtedly Sherman, in the desolation he inflicted after leaving +Atlanta, acted not in contravention of orders; and all, in a military +point of view, if by military judged deemed to have been expedient, and +nothing can abate General Sherman’s shining renown; his claims to it +rest on no single campaign. Still, there are those who can not but +contrast some of the scenes enacted in Georgia and the Carolinas, and +also in the Shenandoah, with a circumstance in a great Civil War of +heathen antiquity. Plutarch relates that in a military council held by +Pompey and the chiefs of that party which stood for the Commonwealth, it +was decided that under no plea should any city be sacked that was +subject to the people of Rome. There was this difference, however, +between the Roman civil conflict and the American one. The war of Pompey +and Caesar divided the Roman people promiscuously; that of the North and +South ran a frontier line between what for the time were distinct +communities or nations. In this circumstance, possibly, and some others, +may be found both the cause and the justification of some of the +sweeping measures adopted. + +15. At this period of excitement the thought was by some passionately +welcomed that the Presidential successor had been raised up by heaven to +wreak vengeance on the South. The idea originated in the remembrance +that Andrew Johnson by birth belonged to that class of Southern whites +who never cherished love for the dominant: that he was a citizen of +Tennessee, where the contest at times and in places had been close and +bitter as a Middle-Age feud; the himself and family had been hardly +treated by the Secessionists. + +But the expectations build hereon (if, indeed, ever soberly +entertained), happily for the country, have not been verified. + +Likely the feeling which would have held the entire South chargeable +with the crime of one exceptional assassin, this too has died away with +the natural excitement of the hour. + +16. The incident on which this piece is based is narrated in a newspaper +account of the battle to be found in the “Rebellion Record.” During the +disaster to the national forces on the first day, a brigade on the +extreme left found itself isolated. The perils it encountered are given +in detail. Among others, the following sentences occur: + +“Under cover of the fire from the bluffs, the rebels rushed down, +crossed the ford, and in a moment were seen forming this side the creek +in open fields, and within close musket-range. Their color-bearers +stepped defiantly to the front as the engagement opened furiously; the +rebels pouring in sharp, quick volleys of musketry, and their batteries +above continuing to support them with a destructive fire. Our +sharpshooters wanted to pick off the audacious rebel color-bearers, but +Colonel Stuart interposed: ‘No, no, they’re too brave fellows to be +killed.’” + +17. According to a report of the Secretary of War, there were on the +first day of March, 1865, 965,000 men on the army pay-rolls. Of these, +some 200,000--artillery, cavalry, and infantry--made up from the larger +portion of the veterans of Grant and Sherman, marched by the President. +The total number of Union troops enlisted during the war was 2,668,000. + +18. For a month or two after the completion of peace, some thousands of +released captives from the military prisons of the North, natives of all +parts of the South, passed through the city of New York, sometimes +waiting farther transportation for days, during which interval they +wandered penniless about the streets, or lay in their worn and patched +gray uniforms under the trees of Battery, near the barracks where they +were lodged and fed. They were transported and provided for at the +charge of government. + +19. Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a +view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the +same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to +deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem. + +20. The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest +youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same +classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern +seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched +who never returned except on the shield. + +21. Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at +Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each +beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the +prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at +the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at +Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four +large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like +getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the +interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople. + +22. In one of Kilpatrick’s earlier cavalry fights near Aldie, a Colonel +who, being under arrest, had been temporarily deprived of his sword, +nevertheless, unarmed, insisted upon charging at the head of his men, +which he did, and the onset proved victorious. + +23. Certain of Mosby’s followers, on the charge of being unlicensed +foragers or fighters, being hung by order of a Union cavalry commander, +the Partisan promptly retaliated in the woods. In turn, this also was +retaliated, it is said. To what extent such deplorable proceedings were +carried, it is not easy to learn. + +South of the Potamac in Virginia, and within a gallop of the Long Bridge +at Washington, is the confine of a country, in some places wild, which +throughout the war it was unsafe for a Union man to traverse except with +an armed escort. This was the chase of Mosby, the scene of many of his +exploits or those of his men. In the heart of this region at least one +fortified camp was maintained by our cavalry, and from time to time +expeditions ended disastrously. Such results were helped by the +exceeding cunning of the enemy, born of his wood-craft, and, in some +instances, by undue confidence on the part of our men. A body of +cavalry, starting from camp with the view of breaking up a nest of +rangers, and absent say three days, would return with a number of their +own forces killed and wounded (ambushed), without being able to +retaliate farther than by foraging on the country, destroying a house or +two reported to be haunts of the guerrillas, or capturing non-combatants +accused of being secretly active in their behalf. + +In the verse the name of Mosby is invested with some of those +associations with which the popular mind is familiar. But facts do not +warrant the belief that every clandestine attack of men who passed for +Mosby’s was made under his eye or even by his knowledge. + +In partisan warfare he proved himself shrewd, able, and enterprising, +and always a wary fighter. He stood well in the confidence of his +superior officers, and was empoyed by them at times in furtherance of +important movements. To our wounded on more than one occasion he showed +considerate kindness. Officers and civilians captured by forces under +his immediate command were, so long as remaining under his orders, +treated with civility. These things are well known to those personally +familiar with the irregular fighting in Virginia. + +24. Among those summoned during the spring just passed to appear before +the Reconstruction Committee of Congress was Robert E. Lee. His +testimony is deeply interesting, both in itself and as coming from him. +After various questions had been put and briefly answered, these words +were addressed to him: + +“If there be any other matter about which you wish to speak on this +occasions, do so freely.” Waiving this invitation, he responded by a +short personal explanation of some point in a previous answer, and after +a few more brief questions and replies, the interview closed. + +In the verse a poetical liberty has been ventured. Lee is not only +represented as responding to the invitation, but also as at last +renouncing his cold reserve, doubtless the cloak to feelings more or +less poignant. If for such freedom warrant be necessary the speeches in +ancient histories, not to speak of those in Shakespeare’s historic +plays, may not unfitly perhaps be cited. + +The character of the original measures proposed about time in the +National Legislature for the treatment of the (as yet) Congressionally +excluded South, and the spirit in which those measures were +advocated--these are circumstances which it is fairly supposable would +have deeply influenced the thoughts, whether spoken or withheld, of a +Southerner placed in the position of Lee before the Reconstruction +Committee. + + + + +Supplement. + + +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism--not free +from solicitude--urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. + +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheavel affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion to +spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who shall +hymn the politicians? + +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen. + +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which +time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast. + +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered by a cause not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much. + +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all practical +purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of civil war to +feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; that both now lie +buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and that +together we comprise the Nation. + +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it +was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people of +the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. + +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and +upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea--a +renown which we of the North could not suppress even if we would. In +personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the South +enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from +disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can respect. +Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from our +passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV. could out of the +graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the +great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty, +Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout at Preston +Pans--Upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign removed has set +a price--is it probable that the grandchildren of General Grant will +pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall +Jackson? + +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies +which record the deeds of her chieftains--writings freely published at +the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though +saddened interest. By students of the war such works are hailed as +welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the record. + +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers +of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd +felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through their +fidelity to the Stuarts--a feeling whose passion was tempered by the +poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to the +Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed excellent +things to literature. But, setting this view aside, dishonorable would +it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the memory of +brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her +behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray. + +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast. + +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of a poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied--an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry +or patriotism. + +There were excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities--exalted ones--courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be +held the characteristic traits, and not the former. + +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumph, so far as it +may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity. + +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men--few in number, we trust--who have resolved never +to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts every thing is thrown away +except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them +call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with +impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a +little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his own +heart at Richmond. + +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos--a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity. + +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though to +treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth--namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating strength +and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other side, on +ours might have lain those actions which now in our late opponents we +stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us own--what it +would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned--that our +triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior resources +and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a people for +years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we) were +the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with ourselves, +share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may possess. No one +can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat has now cast upon +Secession by withholding the recognition of these verities. + +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which law-making, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy--Christianity and +Machiavelli--dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate +fellow-men late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be +wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those attested in the +War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them nationally +available at need. + +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the +interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and +benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to exclude +kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For the +future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future of +the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a paramount +claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, is not +narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, it is +vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the +situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor +theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved. +And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length +attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we +still turn our eyes toward the South, as the Neapolitan, months after +the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may +be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has the crater but shifted? Let +us revere that sacred uncertainty which forever impends over men and +nations. Those of us who always abhorred slavery as an atheistical +iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of humanity over its +downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was accomplished not +by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence could so +mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the +benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of +dubious constitutional rightfulness toward our white countrymen +--measures of a nature to provoke, among other of the last evils, +exterminating hatred of race toward race. In imagination let us place +ourselves in the unprecedented position of the Southerners--their +position as regards the millions of ignorant manumitted slaves in their +midst, for whom some of us now claim the suffrage. Let us be Christians +toward our fellow-whites, as well as philanthropists toward the blacks +our fellow-men. In all things, and toward all, we are enjoined to do as +we would be done by. Nor should we forget that benevolent desires, after +passing a certain point, can not undertake their own fulfillment without +incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be remedied. +Something may well be left to the graduated care of future legislation, +and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two races in +the South--whether the negro be bond or free--seems (even as it did to +Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of +the reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present +transition period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble +may not unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too +swift to charge the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain +evils men must be more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent +digestion, and may in time convert and assimilate to good all elements +thrown in, however originally alien. + +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent +Re-establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent. + +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land--what then? Why the Congressman elected by the +people of the South will--represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itelf can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly with +the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than +the South, for the North is victor. + +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath opertively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This +is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted +fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo alteration, +assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission into the +National Legislature of men who represent the populations lately in +revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the principles of +democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the political +existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be +ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the +Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in +democracy. + +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is any thing +here thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural +--inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to many +thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they must +have that weight with the public which already they have had with +individuals. + +For that heroic band--those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials--we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet +passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic +in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to +discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side. + +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12384 *** diff --git a/12384-h/12384-h.htm b/12384-h/12384-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb9ac8e --- /dev/null +++ b/12384-h/12384-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7081 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War, by Herman Melville</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + font-variant: small-caps; + } + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + + .smallcaps, #dedication { font-variant: small-caps; } + + div.section, .part, #toc, #verso, #dedication { + margin-top: 4em; + padding: 5px; + } + + .part { + margin: 8em auto 8em auto; + padding: 5px; + } + + div.note { + border-style: dashed; + border-width: 1px; + border-color: #000000; + background-color: #ccffcc; + font-size: .8em; + margin: 10px; + width: 40%; + float: right; + clear: right; + } + + div.note p { + margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px; + } + + blockquote, .poem, #toc { + width: 80%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + } + + #tp, #verso, #dedication { text-align: center; } + + .poem { + clear: right; + width: 90%; + margin-top: 3em; + text-align: left; + } + + .poem .stanza { + margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; + } + + /* To indent wrapped lines */ + .poem .line { + height: auto; + margin-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; + } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12384 ***</div> + +<div id="tp"> +<h1>Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Herman Melville.</h2> + + +<p>NEW YORK:<br /> +Harper & Brothers, Publishers,<br /> +Franklin Square<br /> +1866.</p> +</div> + +<div id="verso"> +<p>Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight +hundred and sixty-six, by<br /> +<span class="smallcaps">Harper & Brothers</span>,<br /> +In the Clerk’s Office of +the District Court of the Southern District of New York.</p> +</div> + +<div id="dedication"> +<p>The Battle-Pieces<br /> +in this volume are dedicated<br /> +to the memory of the<br /> +THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND<br /> +who in the war<br /> +for the maintenance of the Union<br /> +fell devotedly<br /> +under the flag of their fathers.</p> +</div> + +<div class="section"> +<p>[With few exceptions, the Pieces in this volume originated in an impulse +imparted by the fall of Richmond. They were composed without reference +to collective arrangement, but being brought together in review, +naturally fall into the order assumed.</p> + +<p>The events and incidents of the conflict—making up a whole, in varied +amplitude, corresponding with the geographical area covered by the +war—from these but a few themes have been taken, such as for any cause +chanced to imprint themselves upon the mind.</p> + +<p>The aspects which the strife as a memory assumes are as manifold as are +the moods of involuntary meditation—moods variable, and at times widely +at variance. Yielding instinctively, one after another, to feelings not +inspired from any one source exclusively, and unmindful, without +purposing to be, of consistency, I seem, in most of these verses, to +have but placed a harp in a window, and noted the contrasted airs which +wayward wilds have played upon the strings.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="poem" id="poem1"> +<h3>The Portent.</h3> +<h5>(1859.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem1_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem1_1">Hanging from the beam,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_2"> Slowly swaying (such the law),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_3">Gaunt the shadow on your green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_4"> Shenandoah!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_5">The cut is on the crown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_6">(Lo, John Brown),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_7">And the stabs shall heal no more.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem1_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem1_8">Hidden in the cap</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_9"> Is the anguish none can draw;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_10">So your future veils its face,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_11"> Shenandoah!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_12">But the streaming beard is shown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_13">(Weird John Brown),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_14">The meteor of the the war.</div> +</div> +</div> + +<h2>Contents.</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem2">Misgivings</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem3">The Conflict of Convictions</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem4">Apathy and Enthusiasm</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem5">The March into Virginia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem6">Lyon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem7">Ball’s Bluff</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem8">Dupont’s Round Fight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem9">The Stone Fleet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem10">Donelson</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem11">The Cumberland</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem12">In the Turret</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem13">The Temeraire</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem14">A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem15">Shiloh</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem16">The Battle for the Mississipppi</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem17">Malvern Hill</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem18">The Victor of Antietam</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem19">Battle of Stone River</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem20">Running the Batteries</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem21">Stonewall Jackson</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem22">Stonewall Jackson (ascribed to a Virginian)</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem23">Gettysburg</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem24">The House-top</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem25">Look-out Mountain</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem26">Chattanooga</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem27">The Armies of the Wilderness</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem28">On the Photograph of a Corps Commander</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem29">The Swamp Angel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem30">The Battle for the Bay</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem31">Sheridan at Cedar Creek</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem32">In the Prison Pen</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem33">The College Colonel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem34">The Eagle of the Blue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem35">A Dirge for McPherson</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem36">At the Cannon’s Mouth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem37">The March to the Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem38">The Frenzy in the Wake</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem39">The Fall of Richmond</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem40">The Surrender at Appomattox</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem41">A Canticle</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem42">The Martyr</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem43">“The Coming Storm”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem44">Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem45">The Muster</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem46">Aurora-Borealis</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem47">The Released Rebel Prisoner</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem48">A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem49">“Formerly a Slave.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem50">The Apparition</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem51">Magnanimity Baffled</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem52">On the Slain Collegians</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem53">America</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<h3>Verses Inscriptive and Memorial</h3> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem54">On the Home Guards who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem55">Inscription for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem56">The Fortitude of the North Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem57">On the Men of Maine killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem58">An Epitaph</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem59">Inscription for Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem60">The Mound by the Lake</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem61">On the Slain at Chickamauga</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem62">An uninscribed Monument on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem63">On Sherman’s Men Who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem64">On the Grave of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem65">A Requiem for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem66">On a natural Monument in a field of Georgia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem67">Commemorative of a Naval Victory</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem68">Presentation to the Authorities, by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the Surrender of Lee</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem69">The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem70">The Scout toward Aldie</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem71">Lee in the Capitol</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem72">A Meditation</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#supplement">Supplement</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="poem" id="poem2"> +<h3>Misgivings.</h3> +<h5>(1860.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem2_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem2_1"> When ocean-clouds over inland hills</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_2"> Sweep storming in late autumn brown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_3"> And horror the sodden valley fills,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_4"> And the spire falls crashing in the town,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_5"> I muse upon my country’s ills—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_6"> The tempest bursting from the waste of Time</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_7">On the world’s fairest hope linked with man’s foulest crime.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem2_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem2_8"> Nature’s dark side is heeded now—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_9"> (Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_10"> A child may read the moody brow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_11"> Of yon black mountain lone.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_12"> With shouts the torrents down the gorges go,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_13"> And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_14">The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem" id="poem3"> +<h3>The Conflict of Convictions.<a id="fnt1" href="#fn1"><sup>[1]</sup></a></h3> +<h5>(1860-1.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn1"> +<p><a href="#fnt1">[1]</a> The gloomy lull of the early part of the winter of 1860-1, seeming +big with final disaster to our institutions, affected some minds that +believed them to constitute one of the great hopes of mankind, much as +the eclipse which came over the promise of the first French Revolution +affected kindred natures, throwing them for the time into doubt and +misgivings universal.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_1">On starry heights</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_2"> A bugle wails the long recall;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_3">Derision stirs the deep abyss,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_4"> Heaven’s ominous silence over all.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_5">Return, return, O eager Hope,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_6"> And face man’s latter fall.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_7">Events, they make the dreamers quail;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_8">Satan’s old age is strong and hale,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_9">A disciplined captain, gray in skill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_10">And Raphael a white enthusiast still;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_11">Dashed aims, at which Christ’s martyrs pale,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_12">Shall Mammon’s slaves fulfill?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_13"><i> (Dismantle the fort,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_14"><i> Cut down the fleet—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_15"><i> Battle no more shall be!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_16"><i> While the fields for fight in æons to come</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_17"><i> Congeal beneath the sea.)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_18">The terrors of truth and dart of death</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_19"> To faith alike are vain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_20">Though comets, gone a thousand years,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_21"> Return again,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_22">Patient she stands—she can no more—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_23">And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_24"><i> (At a stony gate,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_25"><i> A statue of stone,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_26"><i> Weed overgrown—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_27"><i> Long ’twill wait!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_28">But God his former mind retains,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_29"> Confirms his old decree;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_30">The generations are inured to pains,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_31"> And strong Necessity</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_32">Surges, and heaps Time’s strand with wrecks.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_33"> The People spread like a weedy grass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_34"> The thing they will they bring to pass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_35">And prosper to the apoplex.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_36">The rout it herds around the heart,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_37"> The ghost is yielded in the gloom;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_38">Kings wag their heads—Now save thyself</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_39"> Who wouldst rebuild the world in bloom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_40"><i> (Tide-mark</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_41"><i> And top of the ages’ strike,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_42"><i> Verge where they called the world to come,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_43"><i> The last advance of life—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_44"><i> Ha ha, the rust on the Iron Dome!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_45">Nay, but revere the hid event;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_46"> In the cloud a sword is girded on,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_47">I mark a twinkling in the tent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_48"> Of Michael the warrior one.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_49">Senior wisdom suits not now,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_50">The light is on the youthful brow.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_51"><i> (Ay, in caves the miner see:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_52"><i> His forehead bears a blinking light;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_53"><i> Darkness so he feebly braves—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_54"><i> A meagre wight!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_55">But He who rules is old—is old;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_56">Ah! faith is warm, but heaven with age is cold.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_57"><i> (Ho ho, ho ho,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_58"><i> The cloistered doubt</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_59"><i> Of olden times</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_60"><i> Is blurted out!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_61">The Ancient of Days forever is young,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_62"> Forever the scheme of Nature thrives;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_63">I know a wind in purpose strong—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_64"> It spins <i>against</i> the way it drives.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_65">What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_66">So deep must the stones be hurled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_67">Whereon the throes of ages rear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_68">The final empire and the happier world.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_69"><i> (The poor old Past,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_70"><i> The Future’s slave,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_71"><i> She drudged through pain and crime</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_72"><i> To bring about the blissful Prime,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_73"><i> Then—perished.</i> There’s <i>a grave!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_74"> Power unanointed may come—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_75">Dominion (unsought by the free)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_76"> And the Iron Dome,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_77">Stronger for stress and strain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_78">Fling her huge shadow athwart the main;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_79">But the Founders’ dream shall flee.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_80">Agee after age shall be</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_81">As age after age has been,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_82">(From man’s changeless heart their way they win);</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_83">And death be busy with all who strive—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_84">Death, with silent negative.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s15"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_85"> Yea, and Nay—</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_86"> Each hath his say;</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_87"> But God He keeps the middle way.</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_88"> None was by</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_89"> When He spread the sky;</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_90"> Wisdom is vain, and prophesy.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem4"> +<h3>Apathy and Enthusiasm.</h3> +<h5>(1860-1.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem4_s1"> +<h6>I.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem4_1">O the clammy cold November,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_2"> And the winter white and dead,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_3">And the terror dumb with stupor,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_4"> And the sky a sheet of lead;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_5">And events that came resounding</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_6"> With the cry that <i>All was lost</i>,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_7">Like the thunder-cracks of massy ice</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_8"> In intensity of frost—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_9">Bursting one upon another</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_10"> Through the horror of the calm.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_11"> The paralysis of arm</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_12">In the anguish of the heart;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_13">And the hollowness and dearth.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_14"> The appealings of the mother</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_15"> To brother and to brother</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_16">Not in hatred so to part—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_17">And the fissure in the hearth</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_18"> Growing momently more wide.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_19">Then the glances ’tween the Fates,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_20"> And the doubt on every side,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_21">And the patience under gloom</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_22">In the stoniness that waits</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_23">The finality of doom.</div> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem4_s2"> +<h6>II.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem4_24">So the winter died despairing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_25"> And the weary weeks of Lent;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_26">And the ice-bound rivers melted,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_27"> And the tomb of Faith was rent.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_28">O, the rising of the People</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_29"> Came with springing of the grass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_30">They rebounded from dejection</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_31"> And Easter came to pass.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_32">And the young were all elation</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_33"> Hearing Sumter’s cannon roar,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_34">And they thought how tame the Nation</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_35"> In the age that went before.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_36">And Michael seemed gigantical,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_37"> The Arch-fiend but a dwarf;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_38">And at the towers of Erebus</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_39"> Our striplings flung the scoff.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_40">But the elders with foreboding</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_41"> Mourned the days forever o’er,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_42">And re called the forest proverb,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_43"> The Iroquois’ old saw:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_44"><i>Grief to every graybeard</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_45"><i> When young Indians lead the war.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem5"> +<h3>The March into Virginia,</h3> +<h4>Ending in the First Manassas.</h4> +<h5>(July, 1861.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem5_1">Did all the lets and bars appear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_2"> To every just or larger end,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_3">Whence should come the trust and cheer?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_4"> Youth must its ignorant impulse lend—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_5">Age finds place in the rear.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_6"> All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_7">The champions and enthusiasts of the state:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_8"> Turbid ardors and vain joys</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_9"> Not barrenly abate—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_10"> Stimulants to the power mature,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_11"> Preparatives of fate.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem5_12">Who here forecasteth the event?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_13">What heart but spurns at precedent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_14">And warnings of the wise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_15">Contemned foreclosures of surprise?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem5_16">The banners play, the bugles call,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_17">The air is blue and prodigal.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_18"> No berrying party, pleasure-wooed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_19">No picnic party in the May,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_20">Ever went less loth than they</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_21"> Into that leafy neighborhood.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_22">In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_23">Moloch’s uninitiate;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_24">Expectancy, and glad surmise</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_25">Of battle’s unknown mysteries.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_26">All they feel is this: ’tis glory,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_27">A rapture sharp, though transitory,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_28">Yet lasting in belaureled story.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_29">So they gayly go to fight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_30">Chatting left and laughing right.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem5_31">But some who this blithe mood present,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_32"> As on in lightsome files they fare,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_33">Shall die experienced ere three days are spent—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_34"> Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_35">Or shame survive, and, like to adamant,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_36"> The throe of Second Manassas share.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem6"> +<h3>Lyon.</h3> +<h4>Battle of Springfield, Missouri.</h4> +<h5>(August, 1861.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_1">Some hearts there are of deeper sort,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_2"> Prophetic, sad,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_3">Which yet for cause are trebly clad;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_4"> Known death they fly on:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_5">This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_6">“They are more than twenty thousand strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_7"> We less than five,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_8">Too few with such a host to strive”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_9"> “Such counsel, fie on!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_10">’Tis battle, or ’tis shame;” and firm stood Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_11">“For help at need in van we wait—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_12"> Retreat or fight:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_13">Retreat the foe would take for flight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_14"> And each proud scion</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_15">Feel more elate; the end must come,” said Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_16">By candlelight he wrote the will,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_17"> And left his all</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_18">To Her for whom ’twas not enough to fall;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_19"> Loud neighed Orion</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_20">Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_21">The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_22"> With guard-fires lit;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_23">Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_24"> “A field to die on”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_25">Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_26">We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_27"> Fate seemed malign;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_28">His horse the Leader led along the line—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_29"> Star-browed Orion;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_30">Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_31">There came a sound like the slitting of air</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_32"> By a swift sharp sword—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_33">A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_34"> Of black Orion</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_35">Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_36">“General, you’re hurt—this sleet of balls!”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_37"> He seemed half spent;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_38">With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_39"> “The field to die on;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_40">But not—not yet; the day is long,” breathed Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_41">For a time becharmed there fell a lull</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_42"> In the heart of the fight;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_43">The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_44"> Warm noon-winds sigh on,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_45">And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_46">Texans and Indians trim for a charge:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_47"> “Stand ready, men!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_48">Let them come close, right up, and then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_49"> After the lead, the iron;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_50">Fire, and charge back!” So strength returned to Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_51">The Iowa men who held the van,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_52"> Half drilled, were new</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_53">To battle: “Some one lead us, then we’ll do”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_54"> Said Corporal Tryon:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_55">“Men! <i>I</i> will lead,” and a light glared in Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_56">On they came: they yelped, and fired;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_57"> His spirit sped;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_58">We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_59"> Nor stayed the iron,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_60">Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_61">This seer foresaw his soldier-doom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_62"> Yet willed the fight.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_63">He never turned; his only flight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_64"> Was up to Zion,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_65">Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem7"> +<h3>Ball’s Bluff.</h3> +<h4>A Reverie.</h4> +<h5>(October, 1861.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem7_1">One noonday, at my window in the town,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_2"> I saw a sight—saddest that eyes can see—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_3"> Young soldiers marching lustily</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_4"> Unto the wars,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_5">With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_6"> While all the porches, walks, and doors</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_7">Were rich with ladies cheering royally.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem7_8">They moved like Juny morning on the wave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_9"> Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_10"> (It was the breezy summer time),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_11"> Life throbbed so strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_12">How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_13"> Would come to thin their shining throng?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_14">Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem7_15">Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_16"> By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_17"> On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_18"> Some marching feet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_19">Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_20"> Wakeful I mused, while in the street</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_21">Far footfalls died away till none were left.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem8"> +<h3>Dupont’s Round Fight.</h3> +<h5>(November, 1861.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem8_1">In time and measure perfect moves</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_2"> All Art whose aim is sure;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_3">Evolving ryhme and stars divine</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_4"> Have rules, and they endure.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem8_5">Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_6"> And, warring so, prevailed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_7">In geometric beauty curved,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_8"> And in an orbit sailed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem8_9">The rebel at Port Royal felt</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_10"> The Unity overawe,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_11">And rued the spell. A type was here,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_12"> And victory of Law.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem9"> +<h3>The Stone Fleet.<a id="fnt2" href="#fn2"><sup>[2]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>An Old Sailor’s Lament.</h4> +<h5>(December, 1861.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn2"> +<p><a href="#fnt2">[2]</a> “The terrible Stone Fleet on a mission as pitiless as the granite +that freights it, sailed this morning from Port Royal, and before two +days are past will have made Charleston an inland city. The ships are +all old whalers, and cost the government from $2500 to $5000 each. Some +of them were once famous ships.—” (From Newspaper Correspondences of the +day.)</p> + +<p>Sixteen vessels were accordingly sunk on the bar at the river entrance. +Their names were as follows:</p> + +<ul> +<li>Amazon,</li> +<li>America,</li> +<li>American,</li> +<li>Archer,</li> +<li>Courier,</li> +<li>Fortune,</li> +<li>Herald,</li> +<li>Kensington,</li> +<li>Leonidas,</li> +<li>Maria Theresa,</li> +<li>Potomac,</li> +<li>Rebecca Simms,</li> +<li>L.C. Richmond,</li> +<li>Robin Hood,</li> +<li>Tenedos,</li> +<li>William Lee.</li> +</ul> + +<p>All accounts seem to agree that the object proposed was not +accomplished. The channel is even said to have become ultimately +benefited by the means employed to obstruct it.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_1">I have a feeling for those ships,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_2"> Each worn and ancient one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_3">With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_4"> Ay, it was unkindly done.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_5"> But so they serve the Obsolete—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_6"> Even so, Stone Fleet!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_7">You’ll say I’m doting; do but think</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_8"> I scudded round the Horn in one—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_9">The Tenedos, a glorious</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_10"> Good old craft as ever run—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_11"> Sunk (how all unmeet!)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_12"> With the Old Stone Fleet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_13">An India ship of fame was she,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_14"> Spices and shawls and fans she bore;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_15">A whaler when her wrinkles came—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_16"> Turned off! till, spent and poor,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_17"> Her bones were sold (escheat)!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_18"> Ah! Stone Fleet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_19">Four were erst patrician keels</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_20"> (Names attest what families be),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_21">The Kensington, and Richmond too,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_22"> Leonidas, and Lee:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_23"> But now they have their seat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_24"> With the Old Stone Fleet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_25">To scuttle them—a pirate deed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_26"> Sack them, and dismast;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_27">They sunk so slow, they died so hard,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_28"> But gurgling dropped at last.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_29"> Their ghosts in gales repeat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_30"> <i>Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_31">And all for naught. The waters pass—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_32"> Currents will have their way;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_33">Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_34"> The harbor is bettered—will stay.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_35"> A failure, and complete,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_36"> Was your Old Stone Fleet.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem10"> +<h3>Donelson.</h3> +<h5>(February, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_1">The bitter cup</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_2"> Of that hard countermand</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_3">Which gave the Envoys up,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_4">Still was wormwood in the mouth,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_5"> And clouds involved the land,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_6">When, pelted by sleet in the icy street,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_7"> About the bulletin-board a band</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_8">Of eager, anxious people met,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_9">And every wakeful heart was set</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_10">On latest news from West or South.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_11">“No seeing here,” cries one—“don’t crowd—”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_12">“You tall man, pray you, read aloud.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s2"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_13">Important.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_14"><i> We learn that General Grant,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_15"><i> Marching from Henry overland,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_16"><i>And joined by a force up the Cumberland sent</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_17"><i> (Some thirty thousand the command),</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_18"><i>On Wednesday a good position won—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_19"><i>Began the siege of Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_20"><i>The stronghold crowns a river-bluff,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_21"><i> A good broad mile of leveled top;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_22"><i>Inland the ground rolls off</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_23"><i> Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_24"><i>A wilderness of trees and brush.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_25"><i> The spaded summit shows the roods</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_26"><i>Of fixed intrenchments in their hush;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_27"><i> Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_28"><i>Perplex the base.—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_29"><i> The welcome weather</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_30"><i> Is clear and mild; ’tis much like May.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_31"><i>The ancient boughs that lace together</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_32"><i>Along the stream, and hang far forth,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_33"><i> Strange with green mistletoe, betray</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_34"><i>A dreamy contrast to the North.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_35"><i>Our troops are full of spirits—say</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_36"><i> The siege won’t prove a creeping one.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_37"><i>They purpose not the lingering stay</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_38"><i>Of old beleaguerers; not that way;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_39"><i> But, full of</i> vim <i>from Western prairies won,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_40"><i> They’ll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_41">Washed by the storm till the paper grew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_42">Every shade of a streaky blue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_43">That bulletin stood. The next day brought</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_44">A second.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s6"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_45">Later from the Fort.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_46"><i>Grant’s investment is complete—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_47"><i> A semicircular one.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_48"><i>Both wings the Cumberland’s margin meet,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_49"><i>Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_50"><i> On Wednesday this good work was done;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_51"><i> But of the doers some lie prone.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_52"><i>Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_53"><i>The bold inclosing line we wrought for</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_54"><i>Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_55"><i>A limb or life. But back we forced</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_56"><i>Reserves and all; made good our hold;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_57"><i>And so we rest.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_58"><i> Events unfold.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_59"><i>On Thursday added ground was won,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_60"><i> A long bold steep: we near the Den.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_61"><i>Later the foe came shouting down</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_62"><i> In sortie, which was quelled; and then</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_63"><i>We stormed them on their left.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_64"><i>A chilly change in the afternoon;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_65"><i>The sky, late clear, is now bereft</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_66"><i>Of sun. Last night the ground froze hard—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_67"><i>Rings to the enemy as they run</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_68"><i>Within their works. A ramrod bites</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_69"><i>The lip it meets. The cold incites</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_70"><i>To swinging of arms with brisk rebound.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_71"><i>Smart blows ’gainst lusty chests resound.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_72"><i>Along the outer line we ward</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_73"><i> A crackle of skirmishing goes on.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_74"><i>Our lads creep round on hand and knee,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_75"><i> They fight from behind each trunk and stone;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_76"><i> And sometimes, flying for refuge, one</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_77"><i>Finds ’tis an enemy shares the tree.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_78"><i>Some scores are maimed by boughs shot off</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_79"><i> In the glades by the Fort’s big gun.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_80"><i> We mourn the loss of colonel Morrison,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_81"><i> Killed while cheering his regiment on.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_82"><i>Their far sharpshooters try our stuff;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_83"><i>And ours return them puff for puff:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_84"><i>’Tis diamond-cutting-diamond work.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_85"><i> Woe on the rebel cannoneer</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_86"><i>Who shows his head. Our fellows lurk</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_87"><i> Like Indians that waylay the deer</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_88"><i>By the wild salt-spring.—The sky is dun,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_89"><i>Fordooming the fall of Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_90"><i>Stern weather is all unwonted here.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_91"><i> The people of the country own</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_92"><i>We brought it. Yea, the earnest North</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_93"><i>Has elementally issued forth</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_94"><i> To storm this Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s10"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_95">Further.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_96"><i> A yelling rout</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_97"><i>Of ragamuffins broke profuse</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_98"><i> To-day from out the Fort.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_99"><i> Sole uniform they wore, a sort</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_100"><i>Of patch, or white badge (as you choose)</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_101"><i> Upon the arm. But leading these,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_102"><i>Or mingling, were men of face</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_103"><i>And bearing of patrician race,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_104"><i>Splendid in courage and gold lace—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_105"><i> The officers. Before the breeze</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_106"><i>Made by their charge, down went our line;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_107"><i>But, rallying, charged back in force,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_108"><i>And broke the sally; yet with loss.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_109"><i>This on the left; upon the right</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_110"><i>Meanwhile there was an answering fight;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_111"><i> Assailants and assailed reversed.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_112"><i>The charge too upward, and not down—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_113"><i>Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_114"><i> A strong redoubt. But they who first</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_115"><i>Gained the fort’s base, and marked the trees</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_116"><i>Felled, heaped in horned perplexities,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_117"><i> And shagged with brush; and swarming there</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_118"><i>Fierce wasps whose sting was present death—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_119"><i>They faltered, drawing bated breath,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_120"><i> And felt it was in vain to dare;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_121"><i>Yet still, perforce, returned the ball,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_122"><i>Firing into the tangled wall</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_123"><i>Till ordered to come down. They came;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_124"><i>But left some comrades in their fame,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_125"><i>Red on the ridge in icy wreath</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_126"><i>And hanging gardens of cold Death.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_127"><i> But not quite unavenged these fell;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_128"><i>Our ranks once out of range, a blast</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_129"><i> Of shrapnel and quick shell</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_130"><i>Burst on the rebel horde, still massed,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_131"><i> Scattering them pell-mell.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_132"><i> (This fighting—judging what we read—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_133"><i> Both charge and countercharge,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_134"><i> Would seem but Thursday’s told at large,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_135"><i> Before in brief reported.—Ed.)</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_136"><i>Night closed in about the Den</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_137"><i> Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_138"><i>A night not soon to be forgot,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_139"><i> Reviving old rheumatic pains</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_140"><i>And longings for a cot.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_141"><i> No blankets, overcoats, or tents.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_142"><i>Coats thrown aside on the warm march here—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_143"><i>We looked not then for changeful cheer;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_144"><i>Tents, coats, and blankets too much care.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_145"><i> No fires; a fire a mark presents;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_146"><i> Near by, the trees show bullet-dents.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_147"><i>Rations were eaten cold and raw.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_148"><i> The men well soaked, come snow; and more—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_149"><i>A midnight sally. Small sleeping done—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_150"><i> But such is war;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_151"><i>No matter, we’ll have Fort Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_152"> “Ugh! ugh!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_153">’Twill drag along—drag along”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_154">Growled a cross patriot in the throng,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_155">His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_156">Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_157">“Hurrah for Grant!” cried a stripling shrill;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_158">Three urchins joined him with a will,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_159">And some of taller stature cheered.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_160">Meantime a Copperhead passed; he sneered.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_161"> “Win or lose,” he pausing said,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_162">“Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_163">Any thing to make a noise.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_164"> Like to see the list of the dead;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_165">These ‘<i>craven Southerners</i>’ hold out;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_166">Ay, ay, they’ll give you many a bout”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_167"> “We’ll beat in the end, sir”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_168">Firmly said one in staid rebuke,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_169">A solid merchant, square and stout.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_170"> “And do you think it? that way tend, sir”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_171">Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_172">Of splenetic pity. “Yes, I do”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_173">His yellow death’s head the croaker shook:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_174">“The country’s ruined, that I know”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_175">A shower of broken ice and snow,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_176"> In lieu of words, confuted him;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_177">They saw him hustled round the corner go,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_178"> And each by-stander said—Well suited him.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_179">Next day another crowd was seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_180">In the dark weather’s sleety spleen.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_181">Bald-headed to the storm came out</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_182">A man, who, ’mid a joyous shout,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_183">Silently posted this brief sheet:</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s14"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_184">Glorious Victory of the Fleet!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s15"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_185">Friday’s great event!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s16"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_186">The enemy’s water-batteries beat!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s17"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_187">We silenced every gun!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s18"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_188">The old Commodore’s compliments sent</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_189">Plump into Donelson!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s19"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_190">“Well, well, go on!” exclaimed the crowd</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_191">To him who thus much read aloud.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_192">“That’s all,” he said. “What! nothing more”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_193">“Enough for a cheer, though—hip, hurrah!”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_194">“But here’s old Baldy come again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_195">More news!—” And now a different strain.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s20"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_196"><i>(Our own reporter a dispatch compiles,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_197"><i> As best he may, from varied sources.)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s21"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_198"><i>Large re-enforcements have arrived—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_199"><i> Munitions, men, and horses—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_200"><i>For Grant, and all debarked, with stores.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s22"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_201"><i> The enemy’s field-works extend six miles—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_202"><i>The gate still hid; so well contrived.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s23"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_203"><i>Yesterday stung us; frozen shores</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_204"><i> Snow-clad, and through the drear defiles</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s24"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_205"><i>And over the desolate ridges blew</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_206"><i>A Lapland wind.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_207"><i> The main affair</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_208"><i> Was a good two hours’ steady fight</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_209"><i>Between our gun-boats and the Fort.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_210"><i> The Louisville’s wheel was smashed outright.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_211"><i>A hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound ball</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_212"><i>Came planet-like through a starboard port,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_213"><i>Killing three men, and wounding all</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_214"><i>The rest of that gun’s crew,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_215"><i>(The captain of the gun was cut in two);</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_216"><i>Then splintering and ripping went—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_217"><i>Nothing could be its continent.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_218"><i> In the narrow stream the Louisville,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_219"><i>Unhelmed, grew lawless; swung around,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_220"><i> And would have thumped and drifted, till</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_221"><i>All the fleet was driven aground,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_222"><i>But for the timely order to retire.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s25"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_223"><i>Some damage from our fire, ’tis thought,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_224"><i>Was done the water-batteries of the Fort.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s26"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_225"><i>Little else took place that day,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_226"><i> Except the field artillery in line</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_227"><i>Would now and then—for love, they say—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_228"><i> Exchange a valentine.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_229"><i>The old sharpshooting going on.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_230"><i>Some plan afoot as yet unknown;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_231"><i>So Friday closed round Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s27"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_232">Later.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_233"><i> Great suffering through the night—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_234"><i>A stinging one. Our heedless boys</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_235"><i> Were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_236"><i> Hapless wounded men were frozen.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_237"><i>During day being struck down out of sight,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_238"><i>And help-cries drowned in roaring noise,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_239"><i>They were left just where the skirmish shifted—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_240"><i>Left in dense underbrush now-drifted.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_241"><i>Some, seeking to crawl in crippled plight,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_242"><i>So stiffened—perished.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_243"><i> Yet in spite</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_244"><i>Of pangs for these, no heart is lost.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_245"><i>Hungry, and clothing stiff with frost,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_246"><i>Our men declare a nearing sun</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_247"><i>Shall see the fall of Donelson.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_248"><i> And this they say, yet not disown</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_249"><i>The dark redoubts round Donelson,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_250"><i> And ice-glazed corpses, each a stone—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_251"><i> A sacrifice to Donelson;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_252"><i>They swear it, and swerve not, gazing on</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_253"><i>A flag, deemed black, flying from Donelson.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_254"><i>Some of the wounded in the wood</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_255"><i> Were cared for by the foe last night,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_256"><i>Though he could do them little needed good,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_257"><i> Himself being all in shivering plight.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_258"><i>The rebel is wrong, but human yet;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_259"><i>He’s got a heart, and thrusts a bayonet.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_260"><i>He gives us battle with wondrous will—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_261"><i>The bluff’s a perverted Bunker Hill.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s28"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_262">The stillness stealing through the throng</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_263">The silent thought and dismal fear revealed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_264"> They turned and went,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_265"> Musing on right and wrong</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_266"> And mysteries dimly sealed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_267">Breasting the storm in daring discontent;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_268">The storm, whose black flag showed in heaven,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_269">As if to say no quarter there was given</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_270"> To wounded men in wood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_271"> Or true hearts yearning for the good—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_272">All fatherless seemed the human soul.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_273">But next day brought a bitterer bowl—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_274"> On the bulletin-board this stood;</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s29"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_275"><i> Saturday morning at 3 A.M.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_276"><i> A stir within the Fort betrayed</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_277"><i> That the rebels were getting under arms;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_278"><i> Some plot these early birds had laid.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_279"><i> But a lancing sleet cut him who stared</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_280"><i> Into the storm. After some vague alarms,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_281"><i> Which left our lads unscared,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_282"><i> Out sallied the enemy at dim of dawn,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_283"><i> With cavalry and artillery, and went</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_284"><i> In fury at our environment.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_285"><i> Under cover of shot and shell</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_286"><i> Three columns of infantry rolled on,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_287"><i> Vomited out of Donelson—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_288"><i> Rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_289"><i> Surged at our line, and swelled and poured</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_290"><i> Like breaking surf. But unsubmerged</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_291"><i> Our men stood up, except where roared</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_292"><i> The enemy through one gap. We urged</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_293"><i> Our all of manhood to the stress,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_294"><i> But still showed shattered in our desperateness.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_295"><i> Back set the tide,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_296"><i> But soon afresh rolled in;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_297"><i> And so it swayed from side to side—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_298"><i> Far batteries joining in the din,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_299"><i> Though sharing in another fray—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_300"><i> Till all became an Indian fight,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_301"><i> Intricate, dusky, stretching far away,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_302"><i> Yet not without spontaneous plan</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_303"><i> However tangled showed the plight;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_304"><i> Duels all over ’tween man and man,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_305"><i> Duels on cliff-side, and down in ravine,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_306"><i> Duels at long range, and bone to bone;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_307"><i> Duels every where flitting and half unseen.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_308"><i> Only by courage good as their own,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_309"><i> And strength outlasting theirs,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_310"><i> Did our boys at last drive the rebels off.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_311"><i> Yet they went not back to their distant lairs</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_312"><i> In strong-hold, but loud in scoff</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_313"><i> Maintained themselves on conquered ground—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_314"><i> Uplands; built works, or stalked around.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_315"><i> Our right wing bore this onset. Noon</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_316"><i> Brought calm to Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s30"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_317">The reader ceased; the storm beat hard;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_318"> ’Twas day, but the office-gas was lit;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_319"> Nature retained her sulking-fit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_320"> In her hand the shard.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_321">Flitting faces took the hue</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_322">Of that washed bulletin-board in view,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_323">And seemed to bear the public grief</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_324">As private, and uncertain of relief;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_325">Yea, many an earnest heart was won,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_326"> As broodingly he plodded on,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_327">To find in himself some bitter thing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_328">Some hardness in his lot as harrowing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_329"> As Donelson.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s31"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_330">That night the board stood barren there,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_331"> Oft eyes by wistful people passing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_332"> Who nothing saw but the rain-beads chasing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_333">Each other down the wafered square,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_334">As down some storm-beat grave-yard stone.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_335">But next day showed—</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s32"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_336"> More news of last night.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s33"> + +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_337">Story of Saturday afternoon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s34"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_338">Vicissitudes of the war.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s35"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_339"><i> The damaged gun-boats can’t wage fight</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_340"><i>For days; so says the Commodore.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_341"><i>Thus no diversion can be had.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_342"><i>Under a sunless sky of lead</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_343"><i> Our grim-faced boys in blacked plight</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_344"><i>Gaze toward the ground they held before,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_345"><i>And then on Grant. He marks their mood,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_346"><i>And hails it, and will turn the same to good.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_347"><i>Spite all that they have undergone,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_348"><i>Their desperate hearts are set upon</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_349"><i>This winter fort, this stubborn fort,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_350"><i>This castle of the last resort,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_351"><i> This Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s36"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_352">1 P.M.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s37"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_353"><i> An order given</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_354"><i> Requires withdrawal from the front</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_355"><i> Of regiments that bore the brunt</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_356"><i>Of morning’s fray. Their ranks all riven</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_357"><i>Are being replaced by fresh, strong men.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_358"><i>Great vigilance in the foeman’s Den;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_359"><i>He snuffs the stormers. Need it is</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_360"><i>That for that fell assault of his,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_361"><i>That rout inflicted, and self-scorn—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_362"><i>Immoderate in noble natures, torn</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_363"><i>By sense of being through slackness overborne—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_364"><i>The rebel be given a quick return:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_365"><i>The kindest face looks now half stern.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_366"><i>Balked of their prey in airs that freeze,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_367"><i>Some fierce ones glare like savages.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_368"><i>And yet, and yet, strange moments are—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_369"><i>Well—blood, and tears, and anguished War!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_370"><i>The morning’s battle-ground is seen</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_371"><i> In lifted glades, like meadows rare;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_372"><i> The blood-drops on the snow-crust there</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_373"><i>Like clover in the white-week show—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_374"><i> Flushed fields of death, that call again—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_375"><i> Call to our men, and not in vain,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_376"><i>For that way must the stormers go.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s38"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_377">3 P.M.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s39"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_378"><i> The work begins.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_379"><i>Light drifts of men thrown forward, fade</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_380"><i> In skirmish-line along the slope,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_381"><i>Where some dislodgments must be made</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_382"><i> Ere the stormer with the strong-hold cope.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s40"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_383"><i>Lew Wallace, moving to retake</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_384"><i>The heights late lost—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_385"><i> (Herewith a break.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_386"><i> Storms at the West derange the wires.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_387"><i>Doubtless, ere morning, we shall hear</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_388"><i>The end; we look for news to cheer—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_389"><i> Let Hope fan all her fires.)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s41"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_390">Next day in large bold hand was seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_391">The closing bulletin:</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s42"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_392">Victory!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_393"><i> Our troops have retrieved the day</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_394"><i>By one grand surge along the line;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_395"><i>The spirit that urged them was divine.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_396"><i> The first works flooded, naught could stay</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_397"><i>The stormers: on! still on!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_398"><i>Bayonets for Donelson!</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s43"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_399"><i>Over the ground that morning lost</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_400"><i>Rolled the blue billows, tempest-tossed,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_401"><i> Following a hat on the point of a sword.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_402"><i>Spite shell and round-shot, grape and canister,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_403"><i>Up they climbed without rail or banister—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_404"><i> Up the steep hill-sides long and broad,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_405"><i>Driving the rebel deep within his works.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_406"><i>’Tis nightfall; not an enemy lurks</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_407"><i> In sight. The chafing men</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_408"><i> Fret for more fight:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_409"><i> “To-night, to-night let us take the Den”</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_410"><i>But night is treacherous, Grant is wary;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_411"><i>Of brave blood be a little chary.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_412"><i>Patience! the Fort is good as won;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_413"><i>To-morrow, and into Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s44"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_414">Later and last.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s45"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_415"> The Fort is ours.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s46"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_416"><i> A flag came out at early morn</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_417"><i>Bringing surrender. From their towers</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_418"><i> Floats out the banner late their scorn.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_419"><i>In Dover, hut and house are full</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_420"><i> Of rebels dead or dying.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_421"><i> The national flag is flying</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_422"><i>From the crammed court-house pinnacle.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_423"><i>Great boat-loads of our wounded go</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_424"><i>To-day to Nashville. The sleet-winds blow;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_425"><i>But all is right: the fight is won,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_426"><i>The winter-fight for Donelson.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_427"><i> Hurrah!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_428"><i>The spell of old defeat is broke,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_429"><i> The Habit of victory begun;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_430"><i>Grant strikes the war’s first sounding stroke</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_431"><i> At Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s47"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_432"><i>For lists of killed and wounded, see</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_433"><i>The morrow’s dispatch: to-day ’tis victory.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s48"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_434">The man who read this to the crowd</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_435"> Shouted as the end he gained;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_436"> And though the unflagging tempest rained,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_437"> They answered him aloud.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_438">And hand grasped hand, and glances met</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_439">In happy triumph; eyes grew wet.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_440">O, to the punches brewed that night</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_441">Went little water. Windows bright</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_442">Beamed rosy on the sleet without,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_443">And from the deep street came the frequent shout;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_444">While some in prayer, as these in glee,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_445">Blessed heaven for the winter-victory.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s49"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_446">But others were who wakeful laid</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_447"> In midnight beds, and early rose,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_448"> And, feverish in the foggy snows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_449">Snatched the damp paper—wife and maid.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_450"> The death-list like a river flows</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_451"> Down the pale sheet,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_452">And there the whelming waters meet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s50"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_453"> Ah God! may Time with happy haste</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_454"> Bring wail and triumph to a waste,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_455"> And war be done;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_456"> The battle flag-staff fall athwart</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_457"> The curs’d ravine, and wither; naught</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_458"> Be left of trench or gun;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_459"> The bastion, let it ebb away,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_460"> Washed with the river bed; and Day</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_461"> In vain seek Donelson.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem11"> +<h3>The Cumberland.</h3> +<h5>(March, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_1">Some names there are of telling sound,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_2"> Whose voweled syllables free</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_3">Are pledge that they shall ever live renowned;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_4"> Such seem to be</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_5">A Frigate’s name (by present glory spanned)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_6"> The Cumberland.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_7"> Sounding name as ere was sung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_8"> Flowing, rolling on the tongue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_9"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_10">She warred and sunk. There’s no denying</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_11"> That she was ended—quelled;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_12">And yet her flag above her fate is flying,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_13"> As when it swelled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_14">Unswallowed by the swallowing sea: so grand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_15"> The Cumberland.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_16"> Goodly name as ere was sung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_17"> Roundly rolling on the tongue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_18"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_19">What need to tell how she was fought—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_20"> The sinking flaming gun—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_21">The gunner leaping out the port—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_22"> Washed back, undone!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_23">Her dead unconquerably manned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_24"> The Cumberland.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_25"> Noble name as ere was sung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_26"> Slowly roll it on the tongue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_27"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_28">Long as hearts shall share the flame</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_29"> Which burned in that brave crew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_30">Her fame shall live—outlive the victor’s name;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_31"> For this is due.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_32">Your flag and flag-staff shall in story stand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_33"> Cumberland!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_34"> Sounding name as ere was sung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_35"> Long they’ll roll it on the tongue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_36"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem12"> +<h3>In the Turret.</h3> +<h5>(March, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem12_1">Your honest heart of duty, Worden,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_2"> So helped you that in fame you dwell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_3">You bore the first iron battle’s burden</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_4"> Sealed as in a diving-bell.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_5">Alcides, groping into haunted hell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_6">To bring forth King Admetus’ bride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_7">Braved naught more vaguely direful and untried.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_8"> What poet shall uplift his charm,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_9">Bold Sailor, to your height of daring,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_10"> And interblend therewith the calm,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_11">And build a goodly style upon your bearing.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem12_12">Escaped the gale of outer ocean—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_13"> Cribbed in a craft which like a log</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_14">Was washed by every billow’s motion—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_15"> By night you heard of Og</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_16">The huge; nor felt your courage clog</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_17">At tokens of his onset grim:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_18">You marked the sunk ship’s flag-staff slim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_19"> Lit by her burning sister’s heart;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_20">You marked, and mused: “Day brings the trial:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_21"> Then be it proved if I have part</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_22">With men whose manhood never took denial.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem12_23">A prayer went up—a champion’s. Morning</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_24"> Beheld you in the Turret walled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_25">by adamant, where a spirit forewarning</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_26"> And all-deriding called:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_27">“Man, darest thou—desperate, unappalled—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_28">Be first to lock thee in the armored tower?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_29">I have thee now; and what the battle-hour</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_30"> To me shall bring—heed well—thou’lt share;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_31">This plot-work, planned to be the foeman’s terror,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_32"> To thee may prove a goblin-snare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_33">Its very strength and cunning—monstrous error!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem12_34">“Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_35"> If here thou seest thy welded tomb?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_36">And let huge Og with thunders batter—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_37"> Duty be still my doom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_38">Though drowning come in liquid gloom;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_39">First duty, duty next, and duty last;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_40">Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!—”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_41"> So nerved, you fought wisely and well;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_42">And live, twice live in life and story;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_43"> But over your Monitor dirges swell,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_44">In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem13"> +<h3>The Temeraire.<a id="fnt3" href="#fn3"><sup>[3]</sup></a></h3> + +<p><i>(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by +the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)</i></p> + +<div class="note" id="fn3"> +<p><a href="#fnt3">[3]</a> The <i>Temeraire</i>, that storied ship of the old English fleet, and the +subject of the well-known painting by Turner, commends itself to the +mind seeking for some one craft to stand for the poetic ideal of those +great historic wooden warships, whose gradual displacement is lamented +by none more than by regularly educated navy officers, and of all +nations.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_1">The gloomy hulls, in armor grim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_2"> Like clouds o’er moors have met,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_3">And prove that oak, and iron, and man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_4"> Are tough in fibre yet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_5">But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_6"> No front of old display;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_7">The garniture, emblazonment,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_8"> And heraldry all decay.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_9">Towering afar in parting light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_10"> The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_11">The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_12"> Of Ships-of-the-Line.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_13">The fighting Temeraire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_14"> Built of a thousand trees,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_15">Lunging out her lightnings,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_16"> And beetling o’er the seas—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_17">O Ship, how brave and fair,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_18"> That fought so oft and well,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_19">On open decks you manned the gun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_20"> Armorial.<a id="fnt4" href="#fn4"><sup>[4]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_21">What cheering did you share,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_22"> Impulsive in the van,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_23">When down upon leagued France and Spain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_24"> We English ran—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_25">The freshet at your bowsprit</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_26"> Like the foam upon the can.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_27">Bickering, your colors</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_28"> Licked up the Spanish air,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_29">You flapped with flames of battle-flags—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_30"> Your challenge, Temeraire!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_31">The rear ones of our fleet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_32"> They yearned to share your place,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_33">Still vying with the Victory</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_34"> Throughout that earnest race—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_35">The Victory, whose Admiral,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_36"> With orders nobly won,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_37">Shone in the globe of the battle glow—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_38"> The angel in that sun.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_39">Parallel in story,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_40"> Lo, the stately pair,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_41">As late in grapple ranging,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_42"> The foe between them there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_43">When four great hulls lay tiered,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_44"> And the fiery tempest cleared,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_45">And your prizes twain appeared,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_46"> Temeraire!</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn4"> +<p><a href="#fnt4">[4]</a> Some of the cannon of old times, especially the brass ones, unlike +the more effective ordnance of the present day, were cast in shapes +which Cellini might have designed, were gracefully enchased, generally +with the arms of the country. A few of them—field-pieces—captured in +our earlier wars, are preserved in arsenals and navy-yards.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_47">But Trafalgar’ is over now,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_48"> The quarter-deck undone;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_49">The carved and castled navies fire</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_50"> Their evening-gun.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_51">O, Tital Temeraire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_52"> Your stern-lights fade away;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_53">Your bulwarks to the years must yield,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_54"> And heart-of-oak decay.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_55">A pigmy steam-tug tows you,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_56"> Gigantic, to the shore—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_57">Dismantled of your guns and spars,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_58"> And sweeping wings of war.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_59">The rivets clinch the iron-clads,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_60"> Men learn a deadlier lore;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_61">But Fame has nailed your battle-flags—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_62"> Your ghost it sails before:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_63">O, the navies old and oaken,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_64"> O, the Temeraire no more!</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem14"> +<h3>A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_1">Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_2"> More ponderous than nimble;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_3">For since grimed War here laid aside</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_4">His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_5"> Overmuch to ply</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_6">The Rhyme’s barbaric cymbal.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_7">Hail to victory without the gaud</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_8"> Of glory; zeal that needs no fans</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_9">Of banners; plain mechanic power</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_10">Plied cogently in War now placed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_11"> Where War belongs—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_12">Among the trades and artisans.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_13">Yet this was battle, and intense—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_14"> Beyond the strife of fleets heroic;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_15">Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_16">No passion; all went on by crank,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_17"> Pivot, and screw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_18">And calculations of caloric.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_19">Needless to dwell; the story’s known.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_20"> the ringing of those plates on plates</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_21">Still ringeth round the world—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_22">The clangor of that blacksmith’s fray.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_23"> The anvil-din</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_24">Resounds this message from the Fates:</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_25">War shall yet be, and to the end;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_26"> But war-paint shows the streaks of weather;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_27">War yet shall be, but warriors</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_28">Are now but operatives; War’s made</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_29"> Less grand than Peace,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_30">And a singe runs through lace and feather.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="poem" id="poem15"> +<h3>Shiloh.</h3> +<h4>A Requiem.</h4> +<h5>(April, 1862.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem15_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem15_1">Skimming lightly, wheeling still,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_2"> The swallows fly low</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_3">Over the field in clouded days,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_4"> The forest-field of Shiloh—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_5">Over the field where April rain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_6">Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_7">Through the pause of night</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_8">That followed the Sunday fight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_9"> Around the church of Shiloh—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_10">The church so lone, the log-built one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_11">That echoed to many a parting groan</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_12"> And natural prayer</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_13">Of dying foemen mingled there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_14">Foemen at morn, but friends at eve—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_15"> Fame or country least their care:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_16">(What like a bullet can undeceive!)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_17"> But now they lie low,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_18">While over them the swallows skim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_19"> And all is hushed at Shiloh.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem16"> +<h3>The Battle for the Mississipppi.</h3> +<h5>(April, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_1">When Israel camped by Migdol hoar,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_2"> Down at her feet her shawm she threw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_3">But Moses sung and timbrels rung</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_4"> For Pharaoh’s standed crew.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_5">So God appears in apt events—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_6"> The Lord is a man of war!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_7">So the strong wind to the muse is given</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_8"> In victory’s roar.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_9">Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_10"> The fight by night—the fray</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_11">Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_12"> And led it up to day.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_13">Dully through din of larger strife</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_14"> Shall bay that warring gun;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_15">But none the less to us who live</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_16"> It peals—an echoing one.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_17">The shock of ships, the jar of walls,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_18"> The rush through thick and thin—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_19">The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_20"> Eddies, and shells that spin—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_21">The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_22"> The jam of gun-boats driven,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_23">Or fired, or sunk—made up a war</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_24"> Like Michael’s waged with leven.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_25">The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_26"> The odds which hard beset;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_27">The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_28"> Passed on and thundered yet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_29">While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_30"> The Ram Manassas—hark the yell!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_31">Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_32"> The River gave a startled swell.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_33">They fought through lurid dark till dawn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_34"> The war-smoke rolled away</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_35">With clouds of night, and showed the fleet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_36"> In scarred yet firm array,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_37">Above the forts, above the drift</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_38"> Of wrecks which strife had made;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_39">And Farragut sailed up to the town</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_40"> And anchored—sheathed the blade.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_41">The moody broadsides, brooding deep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_42"> Hold the lewd mob at bay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_43">While o’er the armed decks’ solemn aisles</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_44"> The meek church-pennons play;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_45">By shotted guns the sailors stand,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_46"> With foreheads bound or bare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_47">The captains and the conquering crews</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_48"> Humble their pride in prayer.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_49">They pray; and after victory, prayer</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_50"> Is meet for men who mourn their slain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_51">The living shall unmoor and sail,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_52"> But Death’s dark anchor secret deeps detain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_53">Yet glory slants her shaft of rays</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_54"> Far through the undisturbed abyss;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_55">There must be other, nobler worlds for them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_56"> Who nobly yield their lives in this.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem17"> +<h3>Malvern Hill.</h3> +<h5>(July, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem17_57">Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_58"> In prime of morn and May,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_59">Recall ye how McClellan’s men</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_60"> Here stood at bay?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_61">While deep within yon forest dim</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_62"> Our rigid comrades lay—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_63">Some with the cartridge in their mouth,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_64">Others with fixed arms lifted South—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_65"> Invoking so</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_66">The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem17_67">The spires of Richmond, late beheld</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_68"> Through rifts in musket-haze,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_69">Were closed from view in clouds of dust</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_70"> On leaf-walled ways,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_71">Where streamed our wagons in caravan;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_72"> And the Seven Nights and Days</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_73">Of march and fast, retreat and fight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_74">Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_75"> Does the elm wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_76">Recall the haggard beards of blood?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem17_77">The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_78"> We followed (it never fell!)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_79">In silence husbanded our strength—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_80"> Received their yell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_81">Till on this slope we patient turned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_82"> With cannon ordered well;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_83">Reverse we proved was not defeat;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_84">But ah, the sod what thousands meet!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_85"> Does Malvern Wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_86">Bethink itself, and muse and brood?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem17_87"><i> We elms of Malvern Hill</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_88"><i> Remember every thing;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_89"><i> But sap the twig will fill:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_90"><i> Wag the world how it will,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_91"><i> Leaves must be green in Spring.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem18"> +<h3>The Victor of Antietam.<a id="fnt5" href="#fn5"><sup>[5]</sup></a></h3> +<h5>(1862.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn5"> +<p><a href="#fnt5">[5]</a> Whatever just military criticism, favorable or otherwise, has at any +time been made upon General McClellan’s campaigns, will stand. But if, +during the excitement of the conflict, aught was spread abroad tending +the unmerited disparagement of the man, it must necessarily die out, +though not perhaps without leaving some traces, which may or may not +prove enduring. Some there are whose votes aided in the re-election of +Abraham Lincoln, who yet believed, and retain the belief, that General +McClellan, to say the least, always proved himself a patriotic and +honorable soldier. The feeling which surviving comrades entertain for +their late commnder is one which, from its passion, is susceptible of +versified representation, and such it receives.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_1">When tempest winnowed grain from bran;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_2">And men were looking for a man,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_3">Authority called you to the van,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_4"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_5">Along the line the plaudit ran,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_6">As later when Antietam’s cheers began.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_7">Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_8">Each Cause and Man, dear to the stars and Jove;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_9">Nor always can the wisest tell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_10">Deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_11">The struggler from the floundering ne’er-do-well.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_12">A pall-cloth on the Seven Days fell,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_13"> Mcclellan—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_14">Unprosperously heroical!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_15">Who could Antietam’s wreath foretell?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_16">Authority called you; then, in mist</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_17">And loom of jeopardy—dismissed.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_18">But staring peril soon appalled;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_19">You, the Discarded, she recalled—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_20">Recalled you, nor endured delay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_21">And forth you rode upon a blasted way,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_22">Arrayed Pope’s rout, and routed Lee’s array,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_23"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_24">Your tent was choked with captured flags that day,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_25"> McClellan.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_26">Antietam was a telling fray.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_27">Recalled you; and she heard your drum</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_28">Advancing through the glastly gloom.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_29">You manned the wall, you propped the Dome,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_30">You stormed the powerful stormer home,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_31"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_32">Antietam’s cannon long shall boom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_33">At Alexandria, left alone,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_34"> McClellan—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_35">Your veterans sent from you, and thrown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_36">To fields and fortunes all unknown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_37">What thoughts were yours, revealed to none,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_38">While faithful still you labored on—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_39">Hearing the far Manassas gun!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_40"> McClellan,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_41">Only Antietam could atone.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_42">You fought in the front (an evil day,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_43"> McClellan)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_44">The fore-front of the first assay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_45">The Cause went sounding, groped its way;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_46">The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_47">Quills thwarted swords; divided sway;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_48">The rebel flushed in his lusty May:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_49">You did your best, as in you lay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_50"> McClellan.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_51">Antietam’s sun-burst sheds a ray.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_52">Your medalled soldiers love you well,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_53"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_54">Name your name, their true hearts swell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_55">With you they shook dread Stonewall’s spell,<a id="fnt6" href="#fn6"><sup>[6]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_56">With you they braved the blended yell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_57">Of rebel and maligner fell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_58">With you in shame or fame they dwell,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_59"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_60">Antietam-braves a brave can tell.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn6"> +<p><a href="#fnt6">[6]</a> At Antietam Stonewall Jackson led one wing of Lee’s army, consequenty +sharing that day in whatever may be deemed to have been the fortunes of +his superior.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_61">And when your comrades (now so few,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_62"> McClellan—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_63">Such ravage in deep files they rue)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_64">Meet round the board, and sadly view</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_65">The empty places; tribute due</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_66">They render to the dead—and you!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_67">Absent and silent o’er the blue;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_68">The one-armed lift the wine to <i>you</i>,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_69"> McClellan,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_70">And great Antietam’s cheers renew.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem19"> +<h3>Battle of Stone River, Tennessee.</h3> +<h4>A View from Oxford Cloisters.</h4> +<h5>(January, 1863.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem19_1">With Tewksbury and Barnet heath</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_2"> In days to come the field shall blend,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_3">The story dim and date obscure;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_4"> In legend all shall end.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_5">Even now, involved in forest shade</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_6"> A Druid-dream the strife appears,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_7">The fray of yesterday assumes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_8"> The haziness of years.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_9"> In North and South still beats the vein</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_10"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem19_11">Our rival Roses warred for Sway—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_12"> For Sway, but named the name of Right;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_13">And Passion, scorning pain and death,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_14"> Lent sacred fervor to the fight.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_15">Each lifted up a broidered cross,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_16"> While crossing blades profaned the sign;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_17">Monks blessed the fraticidal lance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_18"> And sisters scarfs could twine.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_19"> Do North and South the sin retain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_20"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem19_21">But Rosecrans in the cedarn glade,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_22"> And, deep in denser cypress gloom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_23">Dark Breckenridge, shall fade away</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_24"> Or thinly loom.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_25">The pale throngs who in forest cowed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_26"> Before the spell of battle’s pause,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_27">Forefelt the stillness that shall dwell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_28"> On them and on their wars.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_29"> North and South shall join the train</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_30"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem19_31">But where the sword has plunged so deep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_32"> And then been turned within the wound</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_33">By deadly Hate; where Climes contend</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_34"> On vasty ground—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_35">No warning Alps or seas between,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_36"> And small the curb of creed or law,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_37">And blood is quick, and quick the brain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_38"> Shall North and South their rage deplore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_39"> And reunited thrive amain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_40"> Like Yorkist and Lancastrian?</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem20"> +<h3>Running the Batteries,</h3> +<h4>As observed from the Anchorage above Vicksburgh.</h4> +<h5>(April, 1863.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_1">A moonless night—a friendly one;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_2"> A haze dimmed the shadowy shore</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_3">As the first lampless boat slid silent on;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_4"> Hist! and we spake no more;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_5">We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_6">We felt the dew, and seemed to feel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_7"> The secret like a burden laid.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_8">The first boat melts; and a second keel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_9"> Is blent with the foliaged shade—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_10">Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_11">Unspied as yet. A third—a fourth—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_12"> Gun-boat and transport in Indian file</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_13">Upon the war-path, smooth from the North;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_14"> But the watch may they hope to beguile?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_15">The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_16">A flame leaps out; they are seen;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_17"> Another and another gun roars;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_18">We tell the course of the boats through the screen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_19"> By each further fort that pours,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_20">And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_21">Converging fires. We speak, though low:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_22"> “That blastful furnace can they thread”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_23">“Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_24"> Came out all right, we read;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_25">The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_26">How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_27"> A golden growing flame appears—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_28">Confirms to a silvery steadfast one:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_29"> “The town is afire!” crows Hugh: “three cheers”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_30">Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_31">A purposed light; it shows our fleet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_32"> Yet a little late in its searching ray,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_33">So far and strong, that in phantom cheat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_34"> Lank on the deck our shadows lay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_35">The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_36">How dread to mark her near the glare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_37"> And glade of death the beacon throws</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_38">Athwart the racing waters there;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_39"> One by one each plainer grows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_40">Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_41">The impartial cresset lights as well</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_42"> The fixed forts to the boats that run;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_43">And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_44"> Back to each fortress dun:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_45">Ponderous words speaks every monster gun.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_46">Fearless they flash through gates of flame,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_47"> The salamanders hard to hit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_48">Though vivid shows each bulky frame;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_49"> And never the batteries intermit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_50">Nor the boats huge guns; they fire and flit.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_51">Anon a lull. The beacon dies:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_52"> “Are they out of that strait accurst”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_53">But other flames now dawning rise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_54"> Not mellowly brilliant like the first,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_55">But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_56">A baleful brand, a hurrying torch</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_57"> Whereby anew the boats are seen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_58">A burning transport all alurch!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_59"> Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_60">Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_61">The effulgence takes an amber glow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_62"> Which bathes the hill-side villas far;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_63">Affrighted ladies mark the show</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_64"> Painting the pale magnolia—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_65">The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_66">The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_67"> Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_68">But the gauntlet now is nearly run,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_69"> The spleenful forts by fits reply,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_70">And the burning boat dies down in morning’s sky.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s15"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_71">All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_72"> Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_73">So burst we through their barriers</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_74"> And menaces every one:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_75">So Porter proves himself a brave man’s son.<a id="fnt7" href="#fn7"><sup>[7]</sup></a></div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn7"> +<p><a href="#fnt7">[7]</a>) Admiral Porter is son of the late Commodore Porter, commander of the +Frigate Essex on that Pacific cruise which ended in the desparate fight +off Valparaiso with the English frigates Cherub and Phœbe, in the year +1814.</p> +</div> + +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem21"> +<h3>Stonewall Jackson.</h3> +<h4>Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville.</h4> +<h5>(May, 1863.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem21_1">The Man who fiercest charged in fight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_2"> Whose sword and prayer were long—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_3"> Stonewall!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_4"> Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_5">How can we praise? Yet coming days</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_6"> Shall not forget him with this song.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem21_7">Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_8"> Vainly he died and set his seal—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_9"> Stonewall!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_10"> Earnest in error, as we feel;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_11">True to the thing he deemed was due,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_12"> True as John Brown or steel.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem21_13">Relentlessly he routed us;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_14"> But <i>we</i> relent, for he is low—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_15"> Stonewall!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_16"> Justly his fame we outlaw; so</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_17">We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_18"> Because no wreath we owe.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem22"> +<h3>Stonewall Jackson.</h3> +<h4>(Ascribed to a Virginian.)</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_1">One man we claim of wrought renown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_2"> Which not the North shall care to slur;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_3">A Modern lived who sleeps in death,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_4"> Calm as the marble Ancients are:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_5"> ’Tis he whose life, though a vapor’s wreath,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_6"> Was charged with the lightning’s burning breath—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_7"> Stonewall, stormer of the war.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_8">But who shall hymn the roman heart?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_9"> A stoic he, but even more:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_10">The iron will and lion thew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_11"> Were strong to inflict as to endure:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_12"> Who like him could stand, or pursue?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_13"> His fate the fatalist followed through;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_14"> In all his great soul found to do</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_15"> Stonewall followed his star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_16">He followed his star on the Romney march</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_17"> Through the sleet to the wintry war;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_18">And he followed it on when he bowed the grain—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_19"> The Wind of the Shenandoah;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_20"> At Gaines’s Mill in the giant’s strain—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_21"> On the fierce forced stride to Manassas-plain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_22"> Where his sword with thunder was clothed again,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_23"> Stonewall followed his star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_24">His star he followed athwart the flood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_25"> To Potomac’s Northern shore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_26">When midway wading, his host of braves</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_27"> “<i>My Maryland!</i>“ loud did roar—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_28"> To red Antietam’s field of graves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_29"> Through mountain-passes, woods and waves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_30"> They followed their pagod with hymns and glaives,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_31"> For Stonewall followed a star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_32">Back it led him to Marye’s slope,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_33"> Where the shock and the fame he bore;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_34">And to green Moss-Neck it guided him—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_35"> Brief respite from throes of war:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_36"> To the laurel glade by the Wilderness grim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_37"> Through climaxed victory naught shall dim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_38"> Even unto death it piloted him—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_39"> Stonewall followed his star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_40">Its lead he followed in gentle ways</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_41"> Which never the valiant mar;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_42">A cap we sent him, bestarred, to replace</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_43"> The sun-scorched helm of war:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_44"> A fillet he made of the shining lace</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_45"> Childhood’s laughing brow to grace—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_46"> Not his was a goldsmith’s star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_47">O, much of doubt in after days</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_48"> Shall cling, as now, to the war;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_49">Of the right and the wrong they’ll still debate,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_50"> Puzzled by Stonewall’s star:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_51"> “Fortune went with the North elate”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_52"> “Ay, but the south had Stonewall’s weight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_53"> And he fell in the South’s vain war.”</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem23"> +<h3>Gettysburg.</h3> +<h4>The Check.</h4> +<h5>(July, 1863.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem23_1">O pride of the days in prime of the months</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_2"> Now trebled in great renown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_3">When before the ark of our holy cause</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_4"> Fell Dagon down—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_5">Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_6">Never his impious heart enlarged</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_7">Beyond that hour; god walled his power,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_8">And there the last invader charged.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem23_9">He charged, and in that charge condensed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_10"> His all of hate and all of fire;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_11">He sought to blast us in his scorn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_12"> And wither us in his ire.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_13">Before him went the shriek of shells—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_14">Aerial screamings, taunts and yells;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_15">Then the three waves in flashed advance</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_16"> Surged, but were met, and back they set:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_17">Pride was repelled by sterner pride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_18"> And Right is a strong-hold yet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem23_19">Before our lines it seemed a beach</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_20"> Which wild September gales have strown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_21">With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_22"> Pale crews unknown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_23">Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_24">Died on the face of each lifeless one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_25">And died along the winding marge of fight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_26"> And searching-parties lone.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem23_27">Sloped on the hill the mounds were green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_28"> Our center held that place of graves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_29">And some still hold it in their swoon,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_30"> And over these a glory waves.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_31">The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,<a id="fnt8" href="#fn8"><sup>[8]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_32">Shall soar transfigured in loftier light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_33"> A meaning ampler bear;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_34">Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_35">Have laid the stone, and every bone</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_36"> Shall rest in honor there.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn8"> +<p><a href="#fnt8">[8]</a> Among numerous head-stones or monuments on Cemetery Hill, marred or +destroyed by the enemy’s concentrated fire, was one, somewhat +conspicuous, of a Federal officer killed before Richmond in 1862.</p> + +<p>On the 4th of July 1865, the Gettysburg National Cemetery, on the same +height with the original burial-ground, was consecrated, and the +corner-stone laid of a commemorative pile.</p> +</div> + +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem24"> +<h3>The House-top.</h3> +<h4>A Night Piece.</h4> +<h5>(July, 1863.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem24_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem24_1">No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_2">And binds the brain—a dense oppression, such</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_3">As tawny tigers feel in matted shades,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_4">Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_5">Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_6">Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_7">Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_8">Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_9">Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_10">Balefully glares red Arson—there-and there.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_11">The Town is taken by its rats—ship-rats.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_12">And rats of the wharves. All civil charms</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_13">And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_14">Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_15">Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_16">And man rebounds whole æons back in nature.<a id="fnt9" href="#fn9"><sup>[9]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_17">Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_18">And ponderous drag that shakes the wall.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_19">Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_20">Of black artillery; he comes, though late;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_21">In code corroborating Calvin’s creed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_22">And cynic tyrannies of honest kings;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_23">He comes, nor parlies; and the Town redeemed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_24">Give thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_25">The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_26">Which holds that Man is naturally good,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_27">And—more—is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn9"> +<p><a href="#fnt9">[9]</a> “I dare not write the horrible and inconceivable atrocities +committed,” says Froissart, in alluding to the remarkable sedition in +France during his time. The like may be hinted of some proceedings of +the draft-rioters.</p> +</div> + +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem25"> +<h3>Look-out Mountain.</h3> +<h4>The Night Fight.</h4> +<h5>(November, 1863.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem25_1">Who inhabiteth the Mountain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_2"> That it shines in lurid light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_3">And is rolled about with thunders,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_4"> And terrors, and a blight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_5">Like Kaf the peak of Eblis—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_6"> Kaf, the evil height?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_7">Who has gone up with a shouting</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_8"> And a trumpet in the night?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem25_9">There is battle in the Mountain—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_10"> Might assaulteth Might;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_11">’Tis the fastness of the Anarch,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_12"> Torrent-torn, an ancient height;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_13">The crags resound the clangor</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_14"> Of the war of Wrong and Right;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_15">And the armies in the valley</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_16"> Watch and pray for dawning light.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem25_17">Joy, Joy, the day is breaking,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_18"> And the cloud is rolled from sight;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_19">There is triumph in the Morning</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_20"> For the Anarch’s plunging flight;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_21">God has glorified the Mountain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_22"> Where a Banner burneth bright,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_23">And the armies in the valley</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_24"> They are fortified in right.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem26"> +<h3>Chattanooga.</h3> +<h5>(November, 1863.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_1">A kindling impulse seized the host</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_2"> Inspired by heaven’s elastic air;<a id="fnt10" href="#fn10"><sup>[10]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_3">Their hearts outran their General’s plan,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_4"> Though Grant commanded there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_5"> Grant, who without reserve can dare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_6">And, “Well, go on and do your will”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_7"> He said, and measured the mountain then:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_8">So master-riders fling the rein—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_9"> But you must know your men.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn10"> +<p><a href="#fnt10">[10]</a> Although the month was November, the day was in character an October +one—cool, clear, bright, intoxicatingly invigorating; one of those days +peculiar to the ripest hours of our American Autumn. This weather must +have had much to do with the spontaneous enthusiasm which seized the +troops—and enthusiasm aided, doubtless, by glad thoughts of the victory +of Look-out Mountain won the day previous, and also by the elation +attending the capture, after a fierce struggle, of the long ranges of +rifle-pits at the mountain’s base, where orders for the time should have +stopped the advance. But there and then it was that the army took the +bit between its teeth, and ran away with the generals to the victory +commemorated. General Grant, at Culpepper, a few weeks prior to crossing +the Rapidan for the Wilderness, expressed to a visitor his impression of +the impulse and the spectacle: Said he: “I never saw any thing like it:” +language which seems curiously undertoned, considering its application; +but from the taciturn Commander it was equivalent to a superlative or +hyperbole from the talkative.</p> + +<p>The height of the Ridge, according to the account at hand, varies along +its length from six to seven hundred feet above the plain; it slopes at +an angle of about forty-five degrees.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_10">On yester-morn in grayish mist,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_11"> Armies like ghosts on hills had fought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_12">And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_13"> The Cumberlands far had caught:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_14"> To-day the sunlit steeps are sought.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_15">Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_16"> And smoked as one who feels no cares;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_17">But mastered nervousness intense</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_18"> Alone such calmness wears.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_19">The summit-cannon plunge their flame</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_20"> Sheer down the primal wall,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_21">But up and up each linking troop</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_22"> In stretching festoons crawl—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_23"> Nor fire a shot. Such men appall</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_24">The foe, though brave. He, from the brink,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_25"> Looks far along the breadth of slope,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_26">And sees two miles of dark dots creep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_27"> And knows they mean the cope.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_28">He sees them creep. Yet here and there</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_29"> Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_30">As men who ply through traceries high</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_31"> Of turreted marbles show—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_32"> So dwindle these to eyes below.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_33">But fronting shot and flanking shell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_34"> Sliver and rive the inwoven ways;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_35">High tops of oaks and high hearts fall,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_36"> But never the climbing stays.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_37">From right to left, from left to right</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_38"> They roll the rallying cheer—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_39">Vie with each other, brother with brother,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_40"> Who shall the first appear—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_41"> What color-bearer with colors clear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_42">In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_43"> Whose cigar must now be near the stump—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_44">While in solicitude his back</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_45"> Heap slowly to a hump.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_46">Near and more near; till now the flags</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_47"> Run like a catching flame;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_48">And one flares highest, to peril nighest—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_49"> <i>He</i> means to make a name:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_50"> Salvos! they give him his fame.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_51">The staff is caught, and next the rush,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_52"> And then the leap where death has led;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_53">Flag answered flag along the crest,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_54"> And swarms of rebels fled.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_55">But some who gained the envied Alp,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_56"> And—eager, ardent, earnest there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_57">Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_58"> Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_59"> Forever they slumber young and fair,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_60">The smile upon them as they died;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_61"> Their end attained, that end a height:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_62">Life was to these a dream fulfilled,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_63"> And death a starry night.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem27"> +<h3>The Armies of the Wilderness.</h3> +<h5>(1683-64.)</h5> + + +<h6>I.</h6> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_1">Like snows the camps on southern hills</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_2"> Lay all the winter long,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_3">Our levies there in patience stood—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_4"> They stood in patience strong.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_5">On fronting slopes gleamed other camps</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_6"> Where faith as firmly clung:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_7">Ah, froward king! so brave miss—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_8"> The zealots of the Wrong.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_9"><i> In this strife of brothers</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_10"><i> (God, hear their country call),</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_11"><i> However it be, whatever betide,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_12"><i> Let not the just one fall.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_13">Through the pointed glass our soldiers saw</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_14"> The base-ball bounding sent;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_15">They could have joined them in their sport</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_16"> But for the vale’s deep rent.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_17">And others turned the reddish soil,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_18"> Like diggers of graves they bent:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_19">The reddish soil and tranching toil</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_20"> Begat presentiment.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_21"><i> Did the Fathers feel mistrust?</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_22"><i> Can no final good be wrought?</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_23"><i> Over and over, again and again</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_24"><i> Must the fight for the Right be fought?</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_25">They lead a Gray-back to the crag:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_26"> “Your earth-works yonder—tell us, man”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_27">“A prisoner—no deserter, I,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_28"> Nor one of the tell-tale clan”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_29">His rags they mark: “True-blue like you</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_30"> Should wear the color—your Country’s, man”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_31">He grinds his teeth: “However that be,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_32"> Yon earth-works have their plan.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_33"><i> Such brave ones, foully snared</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_34"><i> By Belial’s wily plea,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_35"><i> Were faithful unto the evil end—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_36"><i> Feudal fidelity.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_37">“Well, then, your camps—come, tell the names”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_38"> Freely he leveled his finger then:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_39">“Yonder—see—are our Georgians; on the crest,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_40"> The Carolinians; lower, past the glen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_41">Virginians—Alabamians—Mississippians—Kentuckians</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_42"> (Follow my finger)—Tennesseeans; and the ten</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_43">Camps <i>there</i>—ask your grave-pits; they’ll tell.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_44"> Halloa! I see the picket-hut, the den</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_45">Where I last night lay.” “Where’s Lee”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_46"> “In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_47"><i> The tribes swarm up to war</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_48"><i> As in ages long ago,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_49"><i> Ere the palm of promise leaved</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_50"><i> And the lily of Christ did blow.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_51">Their mounted pickets for miles are spied</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_52"> Dotting the lowland plain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_53">The nearer ones in their veteran-rags—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_54"> Loutish they loll in lazy disdain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_55">But ours in perilous places bide</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_56"> With rifles ready and eyes that strain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_57">Deep through the dim suspected wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_58"> Where the Rapidan rolls amain.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_59"><i> The Indian has passed away,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_60"><i> But creeping comes another—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_61"><i> Deadlier far. Picket,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_62"><i> Take heed—take heed of thy brother!</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_63">From a wood-hung height, an outpost lone,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_64"> Crowned with a woodman’s fort,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_65">The sentinel looks on a land of dole,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_66"> Like Paran, all amort.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_67">Black chimneys, gigantic in moor-like wastes,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_68"> The scowl of the clouded sky retort;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_69">The hearth is a houseless stone again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_70"> Ah! where shall the people be sought?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_71"><i> Since the venom such blastment deals,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_72"><i> The south should have paused, and thrice,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_73"><i> Ere with heat of her hate she hatched</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_74"><i> The egg with the cockatrice.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_75">A path down the mountain winds to the glade</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_76"> Where the dead of the Moonlight Fight lie low;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_77">A hand reaches out of the thin-laid mould</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_78"> As begging help which none can bestow.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_79">But the field-mouse small and busy ant</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_80"> Heap their hillocks, to hide if they may the woe:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_81">By the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_82"> And the drum which the drummer-boy dying let go.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_83"><i> Dust to dust, and blood for blood—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_84"><i> Passion and pangs! Has Time</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_85"><i> Gone back? or is this the Age</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_86"><i> Of the world’s great Prime?</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s15"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_87">The wagon mired and cannon dragged</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_88"> Have trenched their scar; the plain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_89">Tramped like the cindery beach of the damned—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_90"> A site for the city of Cain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_91">And stumps of forests for dreary leagues</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_92"> Like a massacre show. The armies have lain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_93">By fires where gums and balms did burn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_94"> And the seeds of Summer’s reign.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s16"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_95"><i> Where are the birds and boys?</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_96"><i> Who shall go chestnutting when</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_97"><i> October returns? The nuts—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_98"><i> O, long ere they grow again.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s17"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_99">They snug their huts with the chapel-pews,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_100"> In court-houses stable their steeds—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_101">Kindle their fires with indentures and bonds,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_102"> And old Lord Fairfax’s parchment deeds;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_103">And Virginian gentlemen’s libraries old—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_104"> Books which only the scholar heeds—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_105">Are flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_106"> And gardens are left to weeds.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s18"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_107"><i> Turned adrift into war</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_108"><i> Man runs wild on the plain,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_109"><i> Like the jennets let loose</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_110"><i> On the Pampas—zebras again.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s19"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_111">Like the Pleiads dim, see the tents through the storm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_112"> Aloft by the hill-side hamlet’s graves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_113">On a head-stone used for a hearth-stone there</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_114"> The water is bubbling for punch for our braves.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_115">What if the night be drear, and the blast</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_116"> Ghostly shrieks? their rollicking staves</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_117">Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_118"> What care they if Winter raves?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s20"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_119"><i> Is life but a dream? and so,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_120"><i> In the dream do men laugh aloud?</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_121"><i> So strange seems mirth in a camp,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_122"><i> So like a white tent to a shroud.</i></div> +</div> + + +<h6>II.</h6> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s21"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_123">The May-weed springs; and comes a Man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_124"> And mounts our Signal Hill;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_125">A quiet Man, and plain in garb—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_126"> Briefly he looks his fill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_127">Then drops his gray eye on the ground,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_128"> Like a loaded mortar he is still:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_129">Meekness and grimness meet in him—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_130"> The silent General.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s22"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_131"><i> Were men but strong and wise,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_132"><i> Honest as Grant, and calm,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_133"><i> War would be left to the red and black ants,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_134"><i> And the happy world disarm.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s23"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_135">That eve a stir was in the camps,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_136"> Forerunning quiet soon to come</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_137">Among the streets of beechen huts</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_138"> No more to know the drum.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_139">The weed shall choke the lowly door,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_140"> And foxes peer within the gloom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_141">Till scared perchange by Mosby’s prowling men,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_142"> Who ride in the rear of doom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s24"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_143"><i> Far West, and farther South,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_144"><i> Wherever the sword has been,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_145"><i> Deserted camps are met,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_146"><i> And desert graves are seen.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s25"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_147">The livelong night they ford the flood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_148"> With guns held high they silent press,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_149">Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets’ sheen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_150"> On Morning’s banks their ranks they dress;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_151">Then by the forests lightly wind,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_152"> Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_153">Borne by the cavalry scouting on—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_154"> Sounding the Wilderness.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s26"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_155"><i> Like shoals of fish in spring</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_156"><i> That visit Crusoe’s isle,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_157"><i> The host in the lonesome place—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_158"><i> The hundred thousand file.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s27"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_159">The foe that held his guarded hills</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_160"> Must speed to woods afar;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_161">For the scheme that was nursed by the Culpepper hearth</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_162"> With the slowly-smoked cigar—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_163">The scheme that smouldered through winter long</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_164"> Now bursts into act—into waw—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_165">The resolute scheme of a heart as calm</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_166"> As the Cyclone’s core.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s28"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_167"><i> The fight for the city is fought</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_168"><i> In Nature’s old domain;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_169"><i> Man goes out to the wilds,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_170"><i> And Orpheus’ charm is vain.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s29"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_171">In glades they meet skull after skull</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_172"> Where pine-cones lay—the rusted gun,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_173">Green shoes full of bones, the mouldering coat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_174"> And cuddled-up skeleton;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_175">And scores of such. Some start as in dreams,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_176"> And comrades lost bemoan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_177">By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_178"> But the Year and the Man were gone.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s30"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_179"><i> At the height of their madness</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_180"><i> The night winds pause,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_181"><i> Recollecting themselves;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_182"><i> But no lull in these wars.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s31"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_183">A gleam!—a volley! And who shall go</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_184"> Storming the swarmers in jungles dread?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_185">No cannon-ball answers, no proxies are sent—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_186"> They rush in the shrapnel’s stead.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_187">Plume and sash are vanities now—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_188"> Let them deck the pall of the dead;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_189">They go where the shade is, perhaps into Hades,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_190"> Where the brave of all times have led.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s32"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_191"><i> There’s a dust of hurrying feet,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_192"><i> Bitten lips and bated breath,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_193"><i> And drums that challenge to the grave,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_194"><i> And faces fixed, forefeeling death.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s33"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_195">What husky huzzahs in the hazy groves—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_196"> What flying encounters fell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_197">Pursuer and pursued like ghosts disappear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_198"> In gloomed shade—their end who shall tell?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_199">The crippled, a ragged-barked stick for a crutch,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_200"> Limp to some elfin dell—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_201">Hobble from the sight of dead faces—white</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_202"> As pebbles in a well.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s34"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_203"><i> Few burial rites shall be;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_204"><i> No priest with book and band</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_205"><i> Shall come to the secret place</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_206"><i> Of the corpse in the foeman’s land.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s35"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_207">Watch and fast, march and fight—clutch your gun?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_208"> Day-fights and night-fights; sore is the strees;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_209">Look, through the pines what line comes on?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_210"> Longstreet slants through the hauntedness?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_211">’Tis charge for charge, and shout for yell:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_212"> Such battles on battles oppress—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_213">But Heaven lent strength, the Right strove well,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_214"> And emerged from the Wilderness.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s36"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_215"><i> Emerged, for the way was won;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_216"><i> But the Pillar of Smoke that led</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_217"><i> Was brand-like with ghosts that went up</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_218"><i> Ashy and red.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s37"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_219">None can narrate that strife in the pines,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_220"> A seal is on it—Sabaean lore!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_221">Obscure as the wood, the entangled rhyme</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_222"> But hints at the maze of war—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_223">Vivid glimpses or livid through peopled gloom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_224"> And fires which creep and char—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_225">A riddle of death, of which the slain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_226"> Sole solvers are.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s38"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_227"><i> Long they withhold the roll</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_228"><i> Of the shroudless dead. It is right;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_229"><i> Not yet can we bear the flare</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_230"><i> Of the funeral light.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem28"> +<h3>On the Photograph of a Corps Commander.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem28_1">Ay, man is manly. Here you see</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_2"> The warrior-carriage of the head,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_3">And brave dilation of the frame;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_4"> And lighting all, the soul that led</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_5">In Spottsylvania’s charge to victory,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_6"> Which justifies his fame.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem28_7">A cheering picture. It is good</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_8"> To look upon a Chief like this,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_9">In whom the spirit moulds the form.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_10"> Here favoring Nature, oft remiss,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_11">With eagle mien expressive has endued</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_12"> A man to kindle strains that warm.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem28_13">Trace back his lineage, and his sires,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_14"> Yeoman or noble, you shall find</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_15">Enrolled with men of Agincourt,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_16"> Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_17">Down to us come the knightly Norman fires,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_18"> And front the Templars bore.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem28_19">Nothing can lift the heart of man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_20"> Like manhood in a fellow-man.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_21">The thought of heaven’s great King afar</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_22"> But humbles us—too weak to scan;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_23">But manly greatness men can span,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_24"> And feel the bonds that draw.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem29"> +<h3>The Swamp Angel.<a id="fnt11" href="#fn11"><sup>[11]</sup></a></h3> + +<div class="note" id="fn11"> +<p><a href="#fnt11">[11]</a> The great Parrott gun, planted in the marshes of James Island, and +employed in the prolonged, though at times intermitted bombardment of +Charleston, was known among our soldiers as the Swamp Angel.</p> + +<p>St. Michael’s, characterized by its venerable tower, was the historic +and aristrocratic church of the town.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_1">There is a coal-black Angel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_2"> With a thick Afric lip,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_3">And he dwells (like the hunted and harried)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_4"> In a swamp where the green frogs dip.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_5">But his face is against a City</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_6"> Which is over a bay of the sea,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_7">And he breathes with a breath that is blastment,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_8"> And dooms by a far decree.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_9">By night there is fear in the City,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_10"> Through the darkness a star soareth on;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_11">There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_12"> Then the poise of a meteor lone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_13">Lighting far the pale fright of the faces,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_14"> And downward the coming is seen;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_15">Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_16"> And wails and shrieks between.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_17">It comes like the thief in the gloaming;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_18"> It comes, and none may foretell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_19">The place of the coming—the glaring;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_20"> They live in a sleepless spell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_21">That wizens, and withers, and whitens;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_22"> It ages the young, and the bloom</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_23">Of the maiden is ashes of roses—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_24"> The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_25">Swift is his messengers’ going,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_26"> But slowly he saps their halls,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_27">As if by delay deluding.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_28"> They move from their crumbling walls</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_29">Farther and farther away;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_30"> But the Angel sends after and after,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_31">By night with the flame of his ray—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_32"> By night with the voice of his screaming—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_33">Sends after them, stone by stone,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_34"> And farther walls fall, farther portals,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_35">And weed follows weed through the Town.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_36">Is this the proud City? the scorner</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_37"> Which never would yield the ground?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_38">Which mocked at the coal-black Angel?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_39"> The cup of despair goes round.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_40">Vainly she calls upon Michael</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_41"> (The white man’s seraph was he),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_42">For Michael has fled from his tower</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_43"> To the Angel over the sea.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_44">Who weeps for the woeful City</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_45"> Let him weep for our guilty kind;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_46">Who joys at her wild despairing—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_47"> Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem30"> +<h3>The Battle for the Bay.</h3> +<h5>(August, 1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_1">O mystery of noble hearts,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_2"> To whom mysterious seas have been</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_3">In midnight watches, lonely calm and storm,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_4"> A stern, sad disciple,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_5">And rooted out the false and vain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_6"> And chastened them to aptness for</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_7"> Devotion and the deeds of war,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_8">And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_9">Beyond the bar the land-wind dies,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_10"> The prows becharmed at anchor swim:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_11">A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_12"> Fair eve of battle grim.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_13">The sentries pace, bonetas glide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_14"> Below, the sleeping sailor swing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_15"> And if their dreams to quarters spring,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_16">Or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_17">But drums are beat: <i>Up anchor all!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_18"> The triple lines steam slowly on;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_19">Day breaks, and through the sweep of decks each man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_20"> Stands coldly by his gun—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_21">As cold as it. But he shall warm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_22"> Warm with the solemn metal there,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_23"> And all its ordered fury share,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_24">In attitude a gladiatorial form.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_25">The Admiral—yielding the love</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_26"> Which held his life and ship so dear—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_27">Sailed second in the long fleet’s midmost line;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_28"> Yet thwarted all their care:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_29">He lashed himself aloft, and shone</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_30"> Star of the fight, with influence sent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_31"> Throughout the dusk embattlement;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_32">And so they neared the strait and walls of stone.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_33">No sprintly fife as in the field,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_34"> The decks were hushed like fanes in prayer;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_35">Behind each man a holy angel stood—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_36"> He stood, though none was ’ware.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_37">Out spake the forts on either hand,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_38"> Back speak the ships when spoken to,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_39"> And set their flags in concert true,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_40">And <i>On and in!</i> is Farragut’s command.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_41">But what delays? ’mid wounds above</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_42"> Dim buoys give hint of death below—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_43">Sea-ambuscades, where evil art had aped</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_44"> Hecla that hides in snow.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_45">The centre-van, entangled, trips;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_46"> The starboard leader holds straight on:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_47"> A cheer for the Tecumseh!—nay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_48">Before their eyes the turreted ship goes down!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_49">The fire redoubles, While the fleet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_50"> Hangs dubious—ere the horror ran—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_51">The Admiral rushes to his rightful place—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_52"> Well met! apt hour and man!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_53">Closes with peril, takes the lead,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_54"> His action is a stirring call;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_55"> He strikes his great heart through them all,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_56">And is the genius of their daring deed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_57">The forts are daunted, slack their fire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_58"> Confounded by the deadlier aim</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_59">And rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_60"> And fierce denouncing flame.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_61">Yet shots from four dark hulls embayed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_62"> Come raking through the loyal crews,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_63"> Whom now each dying mate endues</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_64">With his last look, anguished yet undismayed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_65">A flowering time to guilt is given,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_66"> And traitors have their glorying hour;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_67">O late, but sure, the righteous Paramount comes—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_68"> Palsy is on their power!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_69">So proved it with the rebel keels,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_70"> The strong-holds past: assailed, they run;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_71"> The Selma strikes, and the work is done:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_72">The dropping anchor the achievement seals.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_73">But no, she turns—the Tennessee!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_74"> The solid Ram of iron and oak,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_75">Strong as Evil, and bold as Wrong, though lone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_76"> A pestilence in her smoke.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_77">The flag-ship is her singled mark,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_78"> The wooden Hartford. Let her come;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_79"> She challenges the planet of Doom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_80">And naught shall save her—not her iron bark.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_81"><i>Slip anchor, all! and at her, all!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_82"> <i>Bear down with rushing beaks—and</i> now!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_83">First the Monongahela struck—and reeled;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_84"> The Lackawana’s prow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_85">Next crashed—crashed, but not crashing; then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_86"> The Admiral rammed, and rasping nigh</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_87"> Sloped in a broadside, which glanced by:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_88">The Monitors battered at her adamant den.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_89">The Chickasaw plunged beneath the stern</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_90"> And pounded there; a huge wrought orb</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_91">From the Manhattan pierced one wall, but dropped;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_92"> Others the seas absorb.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_93">Yet stormed on all sides, narrowed in,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_94"> Hampered and cramped, the bad one fought—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_95"> Spat ribald curses from the port</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_96">Who shutters, jammed, locked up this Man-of-Sin.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_97">No pause or stay. They made a din</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_98"> Like hammers round a boiler forged;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_99">Now straining strength tangled itself with strength,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_100"> Till Hate her will disgorged.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_101">The white flag showed, the fight was won—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_102"> Mad shouts went up that shook the Bay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_103"> But pale on the scarred fleet’s decks there lay</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_104">A silent man for every silenced gun.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_105">And quiet far below the wave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_106"> Where never cheers shall move their sleep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_107">Some who did boldly, nobly earn them, lie—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_108"> Charmed children of the deep.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_109">But decks that now are in the seed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_110"> And cannon yet within the mine,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_111"> Shall thrill the deeper, gun and pine,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_112">Because of the Tecumseh’s glorious deed.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem31"> +<h3>Sheridan at Cedar Creek.</h3> +<h5>(October, 1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem31_1">Shoe the steed with silver</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_2"> That bore him to the fray,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_3">When he heard the guns at dawning—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_4"> Miles away;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_5">When he heard them calling, calling—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_6"> Mount! nor stay:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_7"> Quick, or all is lost;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_8"> They’ve surprised and stormed the post,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_9"> They push your routed host—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_10"> Gallop! retrieve the day.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem31_11">House the horse in ermine—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_12"> For the foam-flake blew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_13">White through the red October;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_14"> He thundered into view;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_15">They cheered him in the looming,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_16"> Horseman and horse they knew.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_17"> The turn of the tide began,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_18"> The rally of bugles ran,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_19"> He swung his hat in the van;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_20"> The electric hoof-spark flew.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem31_21">Wreathe the steed and lead him—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_22"> For the charge he led</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_23">Touched and turned the cypress</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_24"> Into amaranths for the head</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_25">Of Philip, king of riders,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_26"> Who raised them from the dead.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_27"> The camp (at dawning lost),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_28"> By eve, recovered—forced,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_29"> Rang with laughter of the host</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_30"> At belated Early fled.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem31_31">Shroud the horse in sable—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_32"> For the mounds they heap!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_33">There is firing in the Valley,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_34"> And yet no strife they keep;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_35">It is the parting volley,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_36"> It is the pathos deep.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_37"> There is glory for the brave</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_38"> Who lead, and noblys ave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_39"> But no knowledge in the grave</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_40"> Where the nameless followers sleep.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem32"> +<h3>In the Prison Pen.</h3> +<h5>(1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_1">Listless he eyes the palisades</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_2"> And sentries in the glare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_3">’Tis barren as a pelican-beach—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_4"> But his world is ended there.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_5">Nothing to do; and vacant hands</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_6"> Bring on the idiot-pain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_7">He tries to think—to recollect,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_8"> But the blur is on his brain.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_9">Around him swarm the plaining ghosts</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_10"> Like those on Virgil’s shore—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_11">A wilderness of faces dim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_12"> And pale ones gashed and hoar.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_13">A smiting sun. No shed, no tree;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_14"> He totters to his lair—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_15">A den that sick hands dug in earth</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_16"> Ere famine wasted there,</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_17">Or, dropping in his place, he swoons,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_18"> Walled in by throngs that press,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_19">Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_20"> Dead in his meagreness.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem33"> +<h3>The College Colonel.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_1">He rides at their head;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_2"> A crutch by his saddle just slants in view,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_3">One slung arm is in splints, you see,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_4"> Yet he guides his strong steed—how coldly too.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_5">He brings his regiment home—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_6"> Not as they filed two years before,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_7">But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_8">Like castaway sailors, who—stunned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_9"> By the surf’s loud roar,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_10"> Their mates dragged back and seen no more—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_11">Again and again breast the surge,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_12"> And at last crawl, spent, to shore.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_13">A still rigidity and pale—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_14"> An Indian aloofness lones his brow;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_15">He has lived a thousand years</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_16">Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_17"> Marches and watches slow.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_18">There are welcoming shouts, and flags;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_19"> Old men off hat to the Boy,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_20">Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_21"> But to <i>him</i>—there comes alloy.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_22">It is not that a leg is lost,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_23"> It is not that an arm is maimed.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_24">It is not that the fever has racked—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_25"> Self he has long disclaimed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_26">But all through the Seven Day’s Fight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_27"> And deep in the wilderness grim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_28">And in the field-hospital tent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_29"> And Petersburg crater, and dim</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_30">Lean brooding in Libby, there came—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_31"> Ah heaven!—what <i>truth</i> to him.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem34"> +<h3>The Eagle of the Blue.<a id="fnt12" href="#fn12"><sup>[12]</sup></a></h3> + +<div class="note" id="fn12"> +<p><a href="#fnt12">[12]</a> Among the Northwestern regiments there would seem to have been more +than one which carried a living eagle as an added ensign. The bird +commemorated here was, according the the account, borne aloft on a perch +beside the standard; went through successive battles and campaigns; was +more than once under the surgeon’s hands; and at the close of the +contest found honorable repose in the capital of Wisconsin, from which +state he had gone to the wars.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_1">Aloft he guards the starry folds</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_2"> Who is the brother of the star;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_3">The bird whose joy is in the wind</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_4"> Exultleth in the war.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_5">No painted plume—a sober hue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_6"> His beauty is his power;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_7">That eager calm of gaze intent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_8"> Foresees the Sibyl’s hour.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_9">Austere, he crowns the swaying perch,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_10"> Flapped by the angry flag;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_11">The hurricane from the battery sings,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_12"> But his claw has known the crag.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_13">Amid the scream of shells, his scream</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_14"> Runs shrilling; and the glare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_15">Of eyes that brave the blinding sun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_16"> The vollied flame can bear.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_17">The pride of quenchless strength is his—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_18"> Strength which, though chained, avails;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_19">The very rebel looks and thrills—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_20"> The anchored Emblem hails.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_21">Though scarred in many a furious fray,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_22"> No deadly hurt he knew;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_23">Well may we think his years are charmed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_24"> The Eagle of the Blue.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem35"> +<h3>A Dirge for McPherson,<a id="fnt13" href="#fn13"><sup>[13]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>Killed in front of Atlanta.</h4> +<h5>(July, 1864.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn13"> +<p><a href="#fnt13">[13]</a> The late Major General McPherson, commanding the Army of the +Tennessee, a major of Ohio and a West Pointer, was one of the foremost +spirits of the war. Young, though a veteran; hardy, intrepid, sensitive +in honor, full of engaging qualities, with manly beauty; possessed of +genius, a favorite with the army, and with Grant and Sherman. Both +Generals have generously acknowledged their professional obligiations to +the able engineer and admirable soldier, their subordinate and junior.</p> + +<p>In an informal account written by the Achilles to this Sarpedon, he +says: “On that day we avenged his death. Near twenty-two hundred of the +enemy’s dead remained on the ground when night closed upon the scene of +action.”</p> + +<p>It is significant of the scale on which the war was waged, that the +engagement thus written of goes solely (so far as can be learned) under +the vague designation of one of the battles before Atlanta.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_1">Arms reversed and banners craped—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_2"> Muffled drums;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_3">Snowy horses sable-draped—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_4"> McPherson comes.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_5"><i> But, tell us, shall we know him more,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_6"><i> Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_7">Brave the sword upon the pall—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_8"> A gleam in gloom;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_9">So a bright name lighteth all</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_10"> McPherson’s doom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_11">Bear him through the chapel-door—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_12"> Let priest in stole</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_13">Pace before the warrior</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_14"> Who led. Bell—toll!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_15">Lay him down within the nave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_16"> The Lesson read—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_17">Man is noble, man is brave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_18"> But man’s—a weed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_19">Take him up again and wend</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_20"> Graveward, nor weep:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_21">There’s a trumpet that shall rend</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_22"> This Soldier’s sleep.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_23">Pass the ropes the coffin round,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_24"> And let descend;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_25">Prayer and volley—let it sound</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_26"> McPherson’s end.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_27"><i> True fame is his, for life is o’er—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_28"><i> Sarpedon of the mighty war.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem36"> +<h3>At the Cannon’s Mouth.</h3> +<h4>Destruction of the Ram Albermarle by the Torpedo-Launch.</h4> +<h5>(October, 1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem36_1">Palely intent, he urged his keel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_2"> Full on the guns, and touched the spring;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_3">Himself involved in the bolt he drove</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_4">Timed with the armed hull’s shot that stove</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_5">His shallop—die or do!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_6">Into the flood his life he threw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_7"> Yet lives—unscathed—a breathing thing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_8">To marvel at.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem36_9"> He has his fame;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_10">But that mad dash at death, how name?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem36_11">Had Earth no charm to stay the Boy</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_12"> From the martyr-passion? Could he dare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_13">Disdain the Paradise of opening joy</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_14"> Which beckons the fresh heart every where?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_15">Life has more lures than any girl</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_16"> For youth and strength; puts forth a share</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_17">Of beauty, hinting of yet rarer store;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_18">And ever with unfathomable eyes,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_19"> Which baffingly entice,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_20">Still strangely does Adonis draw.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_21">And life once over, who shall tell the rest?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_22">Life is, of all we know, God’s best.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_23">What imps these eagles then, that they</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_24">Fling disrespect on life by that proud way</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_25">In which they soar above our lower clay.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem36_26">Pretense of wonderment and doubt unblest:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_27"> In Cushing’s eager deed was shown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_28"> A spirit which brave poets own—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_29">That scorn of life which earns life’s crown;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_30"> Earns, but not always wins; but he—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_31"> The star ascended in his nativity.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem37"> +<h3>The March to the Sea.</h3> +<h5>(December, 1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_1">Not Kenesaw high-arching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_2"> Nor Allatoona’s glen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_3">Though there the graves lie parching—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_4"> Stayed Sherman’s miles of men;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_5">From charred Atlanta marching</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_6"> They launched the sword again.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_7"> The columns streamed like rivers</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_8"> Which in their course agree,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_9"> And they streamed until their flashing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_10"> Met the flashing of the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_11"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_12"> That marching to the sea.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_13">They brushed the foe before them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_14"> (Shall gnats impede the bull?);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_15">Their own good bridges bore them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_16"> Over swamps or torrents full,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_17">And the grand pines waving o’er them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_18"> Bowed to axes keen and cool.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_19"> The columns grooved their channels.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_20"> Enforced their own decree,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_21"> And their power met nothing larger</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_22"> Until it met the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_23"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_24"> A marching glad and free.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_25">Kilpatrick’s snare of riders</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_26"> In zigzags mazed the land,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_27">Perplexed the pale Southsiders</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_28"> With feints on every hand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_29">Vague menace awed the hiders</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_30"> In forts beyond command.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_31"> To Sherman’s shifting problem</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_32"> No foeman knew the key;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_33"> But onward went the marching</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_34"> Unpausing to the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_35"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_36"> The swinging step was free.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_37">The flankers ranged like pigeons</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_38"> In clouds through field or wood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_39">The flocks of all those regions,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_40"> The herds and horses good,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_41">Poured in and swelled the legions,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_42"> For they caught the marching mood.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_43"> A volley ahead! They hear it;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_44"> And they hear the repartee:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_45"> Fighting was but frolic</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_46"> In that marching to the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_47"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_48"> A marching bold and free.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_49">All nature felt their coming,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_50"> The birds like couriers flew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_51">And the banners brightly blooming</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_52"> The slaves by thousands drew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_53">And they marched beside the drumming,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_54"> And they joined the armies blue.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_55"> The cocks crowed from the cannon</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_56"> (Pets named from Grant and Lee),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_57"> Plumed fighters and campaigners</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_58"> In the marching to the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_59"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_60"> For every man was free.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_61">The foragers through calm lands</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_62"> Swept in tempest gay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_63">And they breathed the air of balm-lands</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_64"> Where rolled savannas lay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_65">And they helped themselves from farm-lands—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_66"> As who should say them nay?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_67"> The regiments uproarious</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_68"> Laughed in Plenty’s glee;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_69"> And they marched till their broad laughter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_70"> Met the laughter of the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_71"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_72"> That marching to the sea.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_73">The grain of endless acres</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_74"> Was threshed (as in the East)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_75">By the trampling of the Takers,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_76"> Strong march of man and beast;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_77">The flails of those earth-shakers</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_78"> Left a famine where they ceased.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_79"> The arsenals were yielded;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_80"> The sword (that was to be),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_81"> Arrested in the forging,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_82"> Rued that marching to the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_83"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_84"> But ah, the stern decree!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_85">For behind they left a wailing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_86"> A terror and a ban,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_87">And blazing cinders sailing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_88"> And houseless households wan,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_89">Wide zones of counties paling,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_90"> And towns where maniacs ran.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_91"> Was it Treason’s retribution—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_92"> Necessity the plea?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_93"> They will long remember Sherman</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_94"> And his streaming columns free—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_95"> They will long remember Sherman</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_96"> Marching to the sea.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem38"> +<h3>The Frenzy in the Wake.<a id="fnt14" href="#fn14"><sup>[14]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>Sherman’s advance through the Carolinas.</h4> +<h5>(February, 1865.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn14"> +<p><a href="#fnt14">[14]</a> The piece was written while yet the reports were coming North of +Sherman’s homeward advance from Savannah. It is needless to point out +its purely dramatic character.</p> + +<p>Though the sentiment ascribed in the beginning of the second stanza +must, in the present reading, suggest the historic tragedy of the 14th +of April, nevertheless, as intimated, it was written prior to that +event, and without any distinct application in the writer’s mind. After +consideration, it is allowed to remain.</p> + +<p>Few need be reminded that, by the less intelligent classes of the South, +Abraham Lincoln, by nature the most kindly of men, was regarded as a +monster wantonly warring upon liberty. He stood for the personification +of tyrannic power. Each Union soldier was called a Lincolnite.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly Sherman, in the desolation he inflicted after leaving +Atlanta, acted not in contravention of orders; and all, in a military +point of view, if by military judged deemed to have been expedient, and +nothing can abate General Sherman’s shining renown; his claims to it +rest on no single campaign. Still, there are those who can not but +contrast some of the scenes enacted in Georgia and the Carolinas, and +also in the Shenandoah, with a circumstance in a great Civil War of +heathen antiquity. Plutarch relates that in a military council held by +Pompey and the chiefs of that party which stood for the Commonwealth, it +was decided that under no plea should any city be sacked that was +subject to the people of Rome. There was this difference, however, +between the Roman civil conflict and the American one. The war of Pompey +and Caesar divided the Roman people promiscuously; that of the North and +South ran a frontier line between what for the time were distinct +communities or nations. In this circumstance, possibly, and some others, +may be found both the cause and the justification of some of the +sweeping measures adopted.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem38_1">So strong to suffer, shall we be</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_2"> Weak to contend, and break</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_3">The sinews of the Oppressor’s knee</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_4"> That grinds upon the neck?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_5"> O, the garments rolled in blood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_6"> Scorch in cities wrapped in flame,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_7"> And the African—the imp!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_8"> He gibbers, imputing shame.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem38_9">Shall Time, avenging every woe,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_10"> To us that joy allot</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_11">Which Israel thrilled when Sisera’s brow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_12"> Showed gaunt and showed the clot?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_13"> Curse on their foreheads, cheeks, and eyes—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_14"> The Northern faces—true</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_15"> To the flag we hate, the flag whose stars</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_16"> Like planets strike us through.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem38_17">From frozen Maine they come,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_18"> Far Minnesota too;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_19">They come to a sun whose rays disown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_20"> May it wither them as the dew!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_21"> The ghosts of our slain appeal:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_22"> “Vain shall our victories be”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_23"> But back from its ebb the flood recoils—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_24"> Back in a whelming sea.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem38_25">With burning woods our skies are brass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_26"> The pillars of dust are seen;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_27">The live-long day their cavalry pass—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_28"> No crossing the road between.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_29"> We were sore deceived—an awful host!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_30"> They move like a roaring wind.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_31"> Have we gamed and lost? but even despair</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_32"> Shall never our hate rescind.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem39"> +<h3>The Fall of Richmond.</h3> +<h4>The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis.</h4> +<h5>(April, 1865.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem39_1">What mean these peals from every tower,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_2"> And crowds like seas that sway?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_3">The cannon reply; they speak the heart</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_4"> Of the People impassioned, and say—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_5">A city in flags for a city in flames,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_6"> Richmond goes Babylon’s way—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_7"> <i>Sing and pray.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem39_8">O weary years and woeful wars,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_9"> And armies in the grave;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_10">But hearts unquelled at last deter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_11">The helmed dilated Lucifer—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_12"> Honor to Grant the brave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_13">Whose three stars now like Orion’s rise</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_14"> When wreck is on the wave—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_15"> <i>Bless his glaive.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem39_16">Well that the faith we firmly kept,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_17"> And never our aim forswore</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_18">For the Terrors that trooped from each recess</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_19">When fainting we fought in the Wilderness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_20"> And Hell made loud hurrah;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_21">But God is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_22"> And Right through might is Law—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_23"> <i>God’s way adore.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem40"> +<h3>The Surrender at Appomattox.</h3> +<h5>(April, 1865.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem40_s"> +<div class="line" id="poem40_1">As billows upon billows roll,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_2"> On victory victory breaks;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_3">Ere yet seven days from Richmond’s fall</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_4"> And crowning triumph wakes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_5">The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_6"> By sea-shore, streams, and lakes.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_7"> The hope and great event agree</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_8"> In the sword that Grant received from Lee.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem40_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem40_9">The warring eagles fold the wing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_10"> But not in Cæsar’s sway;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_11">Not Rome o’ercome by Roman arms we sing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_12"> As on Pharsalia’s day,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_13">But Treason thrown, though a giant grown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_14"> And Freedom’s larger play.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_15"> All human tribes glad token see</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_16"> In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem41"> +<h3>A Canticle:</h3> +<h4>Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at the close of the War.</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_1">O the precipice Titanic</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_2"> Of the congregated Fall,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_3">And the angle oceanic</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_4"> Where the deepening thunders call—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_5"> And the Gorge so grim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_6"> And the firmamental rim!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_7">Multitudinously thronging</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_8"> The waters all converge,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_9">Then they sweep adown in sloping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_10"> Solidity of surge.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_11"> The Nation, in her impulse</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_12"> Mysterious as the Tide,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_13"> In emotion like an ocean</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_14"> Moves in power, not in pride;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_15"> And is deep in her devotion</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_16"> As Humanity is wide.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_17"> Thou Lord of hosts victorious,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_18"> The confluence Thou hast twined;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_19"> By a wondrous way and glorious</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_20"> A passage Thou dost find—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_21"> A passage Thou dost find:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_22"> Hosanna to the Lord of hosts,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_23"> The hosts of human kind.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_24">Stable in its baselessness</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_25"> When calm is in the air,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_26">The Iris half in tracelessness</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_27"> Hovers faintly fair.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_28">Fitfully assailing it</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_29"> A wind from heaven blows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_30">Shivering and paling it</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_31"> To blankness of the snows;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_32">While, incessant in renewal,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_33"> The Arch rekindled grows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_34">Till again the gem and jewel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_35"> Whirl in blinding overthrows—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_36">Till, prevailing and transcending,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_37"> Lo, the Glory perfect there,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_38">And the contest finds an ending,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_39"> For repose is in the air.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_40">But the foamy Deep unsounded,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_41"> And the dim and dizzy ledge,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_42">And the booming roar rebounded,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_43"> And the gull that skims the edge!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_44"> The Giant of the Pool</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_45"> Heaves his forehead white as wool—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_46">Toward the Iris every climbing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_47"> From the Cataracts that call—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_48">Irremovable vast arras</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_49"> Draping all the Wall.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_50"> The Generations pouring</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_51"> From times of endless date,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_52"> In their going, in their flowing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_53"> Ever form the steadfast State;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_54"> And Humanity is growing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_55"> Toward the fullness of her fate.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_56"> Thou Lord of hosts victorious,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_57"> Fulfill the end designed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_58"> By a wondrous way and glorious</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_59"> A passage Thou dost find—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_60"> A passage Thou dost find:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_61"> Hosanna to the Lord of hosts,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_62"> The hosts of human kind.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem42"> +<h3>The Martyr.</h3> +<h4>Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of April, 1865.</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem42_1">Good Friday was the day</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_2"> Of the prodigy and crime,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_3">When they killed him in his pity,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_4"> When they killed him in his prime</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_5">Of clemency and calm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_6"> When with yearning he was filled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_7"> To redeem the evil-willed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_8">And, though conqueror, be kind;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_9"> But they killed him in his kindness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_10"> In their madness and their blindness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_11">And they killed him from behind.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem42_12"> There is sobbing of the strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_13"> And a pall upon the land;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_14"> But the People in their weeping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_15"> Bare the iron hand:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_16"> Beware the People weeping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_17"> When they bare the iron hand.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem42_18">He lieth in his blood—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_19"> The father in his face;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_20">They have killed him, the Forgiver—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_21"> The Avenger takes his place,<a id="fnt15" href="#fn15"><sup>[15]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_22">The Avenger wisely stern,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_23"> Who in righteousness shall do</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_24"> What the heavens call him to,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_25">And the parricides remand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_26"> For they killed him in his kindness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_27"> In their madness and their blindness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_28">And his blood is on their hand.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn15"> +<p><a href="#fnt15">[15]</a> At this period of excitement the thought was by some passionately +welcomed that the Presidential successor had been raised up by heaven to +wreak vengeance on the South. The idea originated in the remembrance +that Andrew Johnson by birth belonged to that class of Southern whites +who never cherished love for the dominant: that he was a citizen of +Tennessee, where the contest at times and in places had been close and +bitter as a Middle-Age feud; the himself and family had been hardly +treated by the Secessionists.</p> + +<p>But the expectations build hereon (if, indeed, ever soberly +entertained), happily for the country, have not been verified.</p> + +<p>Likely the feeling which would have held the entire South chargeable +with the crime of one exceptional assassin, this too has died away with +the natural excitement of the hour.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem42_29"> There is sobbing of the strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_30"> And a pall upon the land;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_31"> But the People in their weeping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_32"> Bare the iron hand:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_33"> Beware the People weeping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_34"> When they bare the iron hand.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem43"> +<h3>“The Coming Storm:”</h3> +<h4>A Picture by S.R. Gifford, and owned by E.B. +Included in the N.A. Exhibition, April, 1865.</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem43_1">All feeling hearts must feel for him</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_2"> Who felt this picture. Presage dim—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_3">Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_4"> Fixed him and fascinated here.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem43_5">A demon-cloud like the mountain one</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_6"> Burst on a spirit as mild</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_7">As this urned lake, the home of shades.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_8"> But Shakspeare’s pensive child</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem43_9">Never the lines had lightly scanned,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_10"> Steeped in fable, steeped in fate;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_11">The Hamlet in his heart was ’ware,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_12"> Such hearts can antedate.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem43_13">No utter surprise can come to him</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_14"> Who reaches Shakspeare’s core;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_15">That which we seek and shun is there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_16"> Man’s final lore.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem44"> +<h3>Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh:<a id="fnt16" href="#fn16"><sup>[16]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly +after the surrender at Appomattox.</h4> + +<div class="note" id="fn16"> +<p><a href="#fnt16">[16]</a> The incident on which this piece is based is narrated in a newspaper +account of the battle to be found in the “Rebellion Record.” During the +disaster to the national forces on the first day, a brigade on the +extreme left found itself isolated. The perils it encountered are given +in detail. Among others, the following sentences occur:</p> + +<p>“Under cover of the fire from the bluffs, the rebels rushed down, +crossed the ford, and in a moment were seen forming this side the creek +in open fields, and within close musket-range. Their color-bearers +stepped defiantly to the front as the engagement opened furiously; the +rebels pouring in sharp, quick volleys of musketry, and their batteries +above continuing to support them with a destructive fire. Our +sharpshooters wanted to pick off the audacious rebel color-bearers, but +Colonel Stuart interposed: ‘No, no, they’re too brave fellows to be +killed.’”</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem44_1">The color-bearers facing death</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_2">White in the whirling sulphurous wreath,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_3"> Stand boldly out before the line</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_4">Right and left their glances go,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_5">Proud of each other, glorying in their show;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_6">Their battle-flags about them blow,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_7"> And fold them as in flame divine:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_8">Such living robes are only seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_9">Round martyrs burning on the green—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_10">And martyrs for the Wrong have been.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem44_11">Perish their Cause! but mark the men—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_12">Mark the planted statues, then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_13">Draw trigger on them if you can.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem44_14">The leader of a patriot-band</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_15">Even so could view rebels who so could stand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_16"> And this when peril pressed him sore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_17">Left aidless in the shivered front of war—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_18"> Skulkers behind, defiant foes before,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_19">And fighting with a broken brand.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_20">The challenge in that courage rare—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_21">Courage defenseless, proudly bare—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_22">Never could tempt him; he could dare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_23">Strike up the leveled rifle there.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem44_24">Sunday at Shiloh, and the day</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_25">When Stonewall charged—McClellan’s crimson May,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_26">And Chickamauga’s wave of death,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_27">And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_28"> All these have passed away.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_29">The life in the veins of Treason lags,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_30">Her daring color-bearers drop their flags,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_31"> And yield. <i>Now</i> shall we fire?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_32"> Can poor spite be?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_33">Shall nobleness in victory less aspire</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_34">Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_35"> And think how Grant met Lee.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem45"> +<h3>The Muster:<a id="fnt17" href="#fn17"><sup>[17]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>Suggested by the Two Days’ Review at Washington</h4> +<h5>(May, 1865.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn17"> +<p><a href="#fnt17">[17]</a> According to a report of the Secretary of War, there were on the +first day of March, 1865, 965,000 men on the army pay-rolls. Of these, +some 200,000—artillery, cavalry, and infantry—made up from the larger +portion of the veterans of Grant and Sherman, marched by the President. +The total number of Union troops enlisted during the war was 2,668,000.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_1">The Abrahamic river—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_2"> Patriarch of floods,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_3">Calls the roll of all his streams</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_4"> And watery mutitudes:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_5"> Torrent cries to torrent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_6"> The rapids hail the fall;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_7"> With shouts the inland freshets</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_8"> Gather to the call.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_9"> The quotas of the Nation,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_10"> Like the water-shed of waves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_11"> Muster into union—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_12"> Eastern warriors, Western braves.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_13"> Martial strains are mingling,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_14"> Though distant far the bands,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_15"> And the wheeling of the squadrons</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_16"> Is like surf upon the sands.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_17"> The bladed guns are gleaming—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_18"> Drift in lengthened trim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_19"> Files on files for hazy miles—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_20"> Nebulously dim.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_21"> O Milky Way of armies—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_22"> Star rising after star,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_23"> New banners of the Commonwealths,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_24"> And eagles of the War.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_25">The Abrahamic river</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_26"> To sea-wide fullness fed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_27">Pouring from the thaw-lands</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_28"> By the God of floods is led:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_29"> His deep enforcing current</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_30"> The streams of ocean own,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_31"> And Europe’s marge is evened</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_32"> By rills from Kansas lone.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem46"> +<h3>Aurora-Borealis.</h3> +<h4>Commemorative of the Dissolution of Armies at the Peace.</h4> +<h5>(May, 1865.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem46_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem46_1">What power disbands the Northern Lights</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_2"> After their steely play?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_3">The lonely watcher feels an awe</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_4"> Of Nature’s sway,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_5"> As when appearing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_6"> He marked their flashed uprearing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_7">In the cold gloom—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_8"> Retreatings and advancings,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_9">(Like dallyings of doom),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_10"> Transitions and enhancings,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_11"> And bloody ray.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem46_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem46_12">The phantom-host has faded quite,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_13"> Splendor and Terror gone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_14">Portent or promise—and gives way</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_15"> To pale, meek Dawn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_16"> The coming, going,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_17"> Alike in wonder showing—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_18">Alike the God,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_19"> Decreeing and commanding</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_20">The million blades that glowed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_21"> The muster and disbanding—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_22"> Midnight and Morn.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem47"> +<h3>The Released Rebel Prisoner.<a id="fnt18" href="#fn18"><sup>[18]</sup></a></h3> +<h5>(June, 1865.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn18"> +<p><a href="#fnt18">[18]</a> For a month or two after the completion of peace, some thousands of +released captives from the military prisons of the North, natives of all +parts of the South, passed through the city of New York, sometimes +waiting farther transportation for days, during which interval they +wandered penniless about the streets, or lay in their worn and patched +gray uniforms under the trees of Battery, near the barracks where they +were lodged and fed. They were transported and provided for at the +charge of government.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_1">Armies he’s seen—the herds of war,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_2"> But never such swarms of men</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_3">As now in the Nineveh of the North—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_4"> How mad the Rebellion then!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_5">And yet but dimly he divines</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_6"> The depth of that deceit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_7">And superstition of vast pride</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_8"> Humbled to such defeat.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_9">Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_10"> His steel the nearest magnet drew;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_11">Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_12"> ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_13">His face is hidden in his beard,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_14"> But his heart peers out at eye—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_15">And such a heart! like mountain-pool</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_16"> Where no man passes by.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_17">He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_18"> And Ashby dead in pale disdain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_19">And Stuart with the Rupert-plume,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_20"> Whose blue eye never shall laugh again.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_21">He hears the drum; he sees our boys</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_22"> From his wasted fields return;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_23">Ladies feast them on strawberries,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_24"> And even to kiss them yearn.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_25">He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_26"> The rifle proudly borne;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_27">They bear it for an heir-loom home,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_28"> And he—disarmed—jail-worn.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_29">Home, home—his heart is full of it;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_30"> But home he never shall see,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_31">Even should he stand upon the spot;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_32"> ’Tis gone!—where his brothers be.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_33">The cypress-moss from tree to tree</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_34"> Hangs in his Southern land;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_35">As weird, from thought to thought of his</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_36"> Run memories hand in hand.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_37">And so he lingers—lingers on</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_38"> In the City of the Foe—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_39">His cousins and his countrymen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_40"> Who see him listless go.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem48"> +<h3>A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia.<a id="fnt19" href="#fn19"><sup>[19]</sup></a></h3> + +<div class="note" id="fn19"> +<p><a href="#fnt19">[19]</a> Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a +view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the +same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to +deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem48_1">Head-board and foot-board duly placed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_2"> Grassed in the mound between;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_3">Daniel Drouth is the slumberer’s name—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_4"> Long may his grave be green!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem48_5">Quick was his way—a flash and a blow,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_6"> Full of his fire was he—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_7">A fire of hell—’tis burnt out now—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_8"> Green may his grave long be!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem48_9">May his grave be green, though he</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_10"> Was a rebel of iron mould;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_11">Many a true heart—true to the Cause,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_12"> Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem48_13">May his grave be green—still green</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_14"> While happy years shall run;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_15">May none come nigh to disinter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_16"> The—<i>Buried Gun</i>.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem49"> +<h3>“Formerly a Slave.”</h3> +<h4>An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring +Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865.</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem49_1">The sufferance of her race is shown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_2"> And retrospect of life,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_3">Which now too late deliverance dawns upon;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_4"> Yet is she not at strife.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem49_5">Her children’s children they shall know</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_6"> The good withheld from her;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_7">And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_8"> In spirit she sees the stir</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem49_9">Far down the depth of thousand years,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_10"> And marks the revel shine;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_11">Her dusky face is lit with sober light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_12"> Sibylline, yet benign.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem50"> +<h3>The Apparition.</h3> +<h4>(A Retrospect.)</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem50_1">Convulsions came; and, where the field</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_2"> Long slept in pastoral green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_3">A goblin-mountain was upheaved</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_4">(Sure the scared sense was all deceived),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_5"> Marl-glen and slag-ravine.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem50_6">The unreserve of Ill was there,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_7"> The clinkers in her last retreat;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_8">But, ere the eye could take it in,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_9">Or mind could comprehension win,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_10"> It sunk!—and at our feet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem50_11">So, then, Solidity’s a crust—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_12"> The core of fire below;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_13">All may go well for many a year,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_14">But who can think without a fear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_15"> Of horrors that happen so?</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem51"> +<h3>Magnanimity Baffled.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem51_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem51_1">“Sharp words we had before the fight;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_2"> But—now the fight is done—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_3">Look, here’s my hand,” said the Victor bold,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_4"> “Take it—an honest one!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_5">What, holding back? I mean you well;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_6"> Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_7">The odds were great; I honor you;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_8"> Man honors man.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem51_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem51_9">“Still silent, friend? can grudges be?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_10"> Yet am I held a foe?—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_11">Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_12"> Never I’ll leave him so!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_13">Brave one! I here implore your hand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_14"> Dumb still? all fellowship fled?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_15">Nay, then, I’ll have this stubborn hand”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_16"> He snatched it—it was dead.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem52"> +<h3>On the Slain Collegians.<a id="fnt20" href="#fn20"><sup>[20]</sup></a></h3> + +<div class="note" id="fn20"> +<p><a href="#fnt20">[20]</a> The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest +youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same +classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern +seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched +who never returned except on the shield.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem52_1">Youth is the time when hearts are large,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_2"> And stirring wars</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_3">Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_4"> To the blade it draws.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_5">If woman incite, and duty show</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_6"> (Though made the mask of Cain),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_7">Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_8"> Who can aloof remain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_9">That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_10"> Of wisdom or sordid gain?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem52_11">The liberal arts and nurture sweet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_12">Which give his gentleness to man—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_13"> Train him to honor, lend him grace</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_14">Through bright examples meet—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_15">That culture which makes never wan</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_16">With underminings deep, but holds</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_17"> The surface still, its fitting place,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_18"> And so gives sunniness to the face</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_19">And bravery to the heart; what troops</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_20"> Of generous boys in happiness thus bred—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_21"> Saturnians through life’s Tempe led,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_22">Went from the North and came from the South,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_23">With golden mottoes in the mouth,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_24"> To lie down midway on a bloody bed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem52_25">Woe for the homes of the North,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_26">And woe for the seats of the South;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_27">All who felt life’s spring in prime,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_28">And were swept by the wind of their place and time—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_29"> All lavish hearts, on whichever side,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_30">Of birth urbane or courage high,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_31">Armed them for the stirring wars—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_32">Armed them—some to die.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_33"> Apollo-like in pride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_34">Each would slay his Python—caught</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_35">The maxims in his temple taught—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_36"> Aflame with sympathies whose blaze</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_37">Perforce enwrapped him—social laws,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_38"> Friendship and kin, and by-gone days—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_39">Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_40">And launches into the seas of wars.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_41">What could they else—North or South?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_42">Each went forth with blessings given</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_43">By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_44"> And honor in both was chief.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_45">Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_46">So be it; but they both were young—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_47">Each grape to his cluster clung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_48">All their elegies are sung.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem52_49">The anguish of maternal hearts</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_50"> Must search for balm divine;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_51">But well the striplings bore their fated parts</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_52"> (The heavens all parts assign)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_53">Never felt life’s care or cloy.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_54">Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_55">Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_56">Sliding into some vernal sphere.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_57">They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_58">Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_59">Which storms lay low in kindly doom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_60">And kill them in their flush of bloom.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem53"> +<h3>America.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s1"> +<h6>I.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem53_1">Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_2">I saw a Banner in gladsome air—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_3">Starry, like Berenice’s Hair—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_4">Afloat in broadened bravery there;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_5">With undulating long-drawn flow,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_6">As rolled Brazilian billows go</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_7">Voluminously o’er the Line.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_8">The Land reposed in peace below;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_9"> The children in their glee</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_10">Were folded to the exulting heart</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_11"> Of young Maternity.</div> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s2"> +<h6>II.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem53_12">Later, and it streamed in fight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_13"> When tempest mingled with the fray,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_14">And over the spear-point of the shaft</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_15"> I saw the ambiguous lightning play.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_16">Valor with Valor strove, and died:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_17">Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_18">And the lorn Mother speechless stood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_19">Pale at the fury of her brood.</div> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s3"> +<h6>III.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem53_20">Yet later, and the silk did wind</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_21"> Her fair cold form;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_22">Little availed the shining shroud,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_23"> Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_24">A watcher looked upon her low, and said—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_25">She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_26"> But in that sleep contortion showed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_27">The terror of the vision there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_28"> A silent vision unavowed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_29">Revealing earth’s foundation bare,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_30"> And Gorgon in her hidden place.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_31">It was a thing of fear to see</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_32"> So foul a dream upon so fair a face,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_33">And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.</div> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s4"> +<h6>IV.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem53_34">But from the trance she sudden broke—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_35"> The trance, or death into promoted life;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_36">At her feet a shivered yoke,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_37">And in her aspect turned to heaven</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_38"> No trace of passion or of strife—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_39">A clear calm look. It spake of pain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_40">But such as purifies from stain—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_41">Sharp pangs that never come again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_42"> And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_43">Power dedicate, and hope grown wise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_44"> And youth matured for age’s seat—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_45">Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_46"> So she, with graver air and lifted flag;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_47">While the shadow, chased by light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_48">Fled along the far-drawn height,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_49"> And left her on the crag.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="part" id="inscriptive"> +<h2>Verses</h2> +<h3>Inscriptive and Memorial</h3> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem54"> +<h3>On the Home Guards</h3> +<h4>who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem54_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem54_1">The men who here in harness died</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_2"> Fell not in vain, though in defeat.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_3">They by their end well fortified</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_4"> The Cause, and built retreat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_5">(With memory of their valor tried)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_6">For emulous hearts in many an after fray—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_7">Hearts sore beset, which died at bay.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem55"> +<h3>Inscription</h3> +<h4>for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem55_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem55_1">Let none misgive we died amiss</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_2"> When here we strove in furious fight:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_3">Furious it was; nathless was this</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_4"> Better than tranquil plight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_5">And tame surrender of the Cause</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_6">Hallowed by hearts and by the laws.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_7"> We here who warred for Man and Right,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_8">The choice of warring never laid with us.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_9"> There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_10"> Nor long we stood to trim and poise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_11">But marched, and fell—victorious!</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem56"> +<h3>The Fortitude of the North</h3> +<h4>under the Disaster of the Second Manassas.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem56_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem56_1">They take no shame for dark defeat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_2"> While prizing yet each victory won,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_3">Who fight for the Right through all retreat,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_4"> Nor pause until their work is done.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_5">The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_6"> Vainly against that foreland beat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_7">Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_8"> The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_9">When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem57"> +<h3>On the Men of Maine</h3> +<h4>killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem57_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem57_1">Afar they fell. It was the zone</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_2"> Of fig and orange, cane and lime</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_3">(A land how all unlike their own,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_4">With the cold pine-grove overgrown),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_5"> But still their Country’s clime.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_6">And there in youth they died for her—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_7"> The Volunteers,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_8">For her went up their dying prayers:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_9"> So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_10">What doubt shall come, then, to deter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_11"> The Republic’s earnest faith and courage high.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem58"> +<h3>An Epitaph.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem58_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem58_1">When Sunday tidings from the front</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_2"> Made pale the priest and people,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_3">And heavily the blessing went,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_4"> And bells were dumb in the steeple;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_5">The Soldier’s widow (summering sweerly here,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_6"> In shade by waving beeches lent)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_7"> Felt deep at heart her faith content,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_8">And priest and people borrowed of her cheer.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem59"> +<h3>Inscription</h3> +<h4>for Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem59_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem59_1">To them who crossed the flood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_2">And climbed the hill, with eyes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_3"> Upon the heavenly flag intent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_4"> And through the deathful tumult went</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_5">Even unto death: to them this Stone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_6">Erect, where they were overthrown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_7"> Of more than victory the monument.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem60"> +<h3>The Mound by the Lake.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem60_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem60_1">The grass shall never forget this grave.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_2">When homeward footing it in the sun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_3"> After the weary ride by rail,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_4">The stripling soldiers passed her door,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_5"> Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_6">She left her household work undone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_7">Duly the wayside table spread,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_8"> With evergreens shaded, to regale</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_9">Each travel-spent and grateful one.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_10">So warm her heart—childless—unwed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_11">Who like a mother comforted.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem61"> +<h3>On the Slain at Chickamauga.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem61_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem61_1">Happy are they and charmed in life</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_2"> Who through long wars arrive unscarred</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_3">At peace. To such the wreath be given,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_4">If they unfalteringly have striven—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_5"> In honor, as in limb, unmarred.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_6">Let cheerful praise be rife,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_7"> And let them live their years at ease,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_8">Musing on brothers who victorious died—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_9"> Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem61_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem61_10">And yet mischance is honorable too—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_11"> Seeming defeat in conflict justified</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_12">Whose end to closing eyes is his from view.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_13">The will, that never can relent—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_14">The aim, survivor of the bafflement,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_15"> Make this memorial due.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem62"> +<h3>An uninscribed Monument</h3> +<h4>on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem62_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem62_1">Silence and Solitude may hint</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_2"> (Whose home is in yon piny wood)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_3">What I, though tableted, could never tell—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_4">The din which here befell,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_5"> And striving of the multitude.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_6">The iron cones and spheres of death</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_7"> Set round me in their rust,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_8"> These, too, if just,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_9">Shall speak with more than animated breath.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_10"> Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_11">Not narrowed down to personal cheer,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_12">Take in the import of the quiet here—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_13"> The after-quiet—the calm full fraught;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_14">Thou too wilt silent stand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_15">Silent as I, and lonesome as the land.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem63"> +<h3>On Sherman’s Men</h3> +<h4>who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem63_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem63_1">They said that Fame her clarion dropped</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_2"> Because great deeds were done no more—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_3">That even Duty knew no shining ends,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_4">And Glory—’twas a fallen star!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_5"> But battle can heroes and bards restore.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_6"> Nay, look at Kenesaw:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_7">Perils the mailed ones never knew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_8">Are lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_9">And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem64"> +<h3>On the Grave</h3> +<h4>of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem64_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem64_1">Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem64_2"> Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he</div> +<div class="line" id="poem64_3">Whom here low violets veil from eyes.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem64_4"> But all these gifts transcended be:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem64_5">His happier fortune in this mound you see.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem65"> +<h3>A Requiem</h3> +<h4>for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem65_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem65_1">When, after storms that woodlands rue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_2"> To valleys comes atoning dawn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_3">The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_4"> And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_5">Caroling fly in the languid blue;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_6">The while, from many a hid recess,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_7">Alert to partake the blessedness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_8">The pouring mites their airy dance pursue.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_9"> So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_10">When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_11"> Every finny hider wakes—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_12"> From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_13"> Through the delightsome sea he sails,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_14">With shoals of shining tiny things</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_15">Frolic on every wave that flings</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_16"> Against the prow its showery spray;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_17">All creatures joying in the morn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_18">Save them forever from joyance torn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_19"> Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_20">Save them that by the fabled shore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_21"> Down the pale stream are washed away,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_22">Far to the reef of bones are borne;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_23"> And never revisits them the light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_24">Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_25"> Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_26">Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem66"> +<h3>On a natural Monument</h3> +<h4>in a field of Georgia.<a id="fnt21" href="#fn21"><sup>[21]</sup></a></h4> + +<div class="note" id="fn21"> +<p><a href="#fnt21">[21]</a> Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at +Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each +beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the +prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at +the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at +Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four +large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like +getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the +interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem66_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem66_1">No trophy this—a Stone unhewn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_2"> And stands where here the field immures</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_3">The nameless brave whose palms are won.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_4">Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_5"> Pure fame of deeds, not doers;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_6">Nor deeds of men who bleeding die</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_7"> In cheer of hymns that round them float:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_8">In happy dreams such close the eye.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_9">But withering famine slowly wore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_10"> And slowly fell disease did gloat.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_11">Even Nature’s self did aid deny;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_12">They choked in horror the pensive sigh.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_13"> Yea, off from home sad Memory bore</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_14">(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_15">Lest wreck of reason might befall.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_16"> As men in gales shun the lee shore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_17">Though there the homestead be, and call,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_18">And thitherward winds and waters sway—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_19">As such lorn mariners, so fared they.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_20">But naught shall now their peace molest.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_21"> Their fame is this: they did endure—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_22">Endure, when fortitude was vain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_23">To kindle any approving strain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_24">Which they might hear. To these who rest,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_25"> This healing sleep alone was sure.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem67"> +<h3>Commemorative of a Naval Victory.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem67_1">Sailors there are of gentlest breed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_2"> Yet strong, like every goodly thing;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_3">The discipline of arms refines,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_4"> And the wave gives tempering.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_5"> The damasked blade its beam can fling;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_6">It lends the last grave grace:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_7">The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_8"> In Titian’s picture for a king,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_9">Are of Hunter or warrior race.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem67_10">In social halls a favored guest</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_11"> In years that follow victory won,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_12">How sweet to feel your festal fame,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_13"> In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_14"> Repose is yours—your deed is known,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_15">It musks the amber wine;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_16">It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_17"> Rich as October sunsets brown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_18">Which make the barren place to shine.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem67_19">But seldom the laurel wreath is seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_20"> Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_21">There’s a light and a shadow on every man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_22"> Who at last attains his lifted mark—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_23"> Nursing through night the ethereal spark.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_24">Elate he never can be;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_25">He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_26"> Sleep in oblivion.—The shark</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_27">Glides white through the prosphorus sea.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem68"> +<h3>Presentation to the Authorities,</h3> +<h4>by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the Surrender of Lee.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem68_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem68_1">These flags of armies overthrown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_2">Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_3">In end foredoomed which closes war;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_4">We here, the captors, lay before</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_5"> The altar which of right claims all—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_6">Our Country. And as freely we,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_7"> Revering ever her sacred call,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_8">Could lay our lives down—though life be</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_9">Thrice loved and precious to the sense</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_10">Of such as reap the recompense</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_11"> Of life imperiled for just cause—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_12">Imperiled, and yet preserved;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_13">While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_14">Whose wives were all as dear, lie low.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_15">But these flags given, glad we go</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_16"> To waiting homes with vindicated laws.</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem" id="poem69"> +<h3>The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem69_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem69_1">Over the hearth—my father’s seat—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_2"> Repose, to patriot-memory dear,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_3">Thou tried companion, whom at last I greet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_4"> By steepy banks of Hudson here.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_5">How oft I told thee of this scene—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_6">The Highlands blue—the river’s narrowing sheen.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_7">Little at Gettysburg we thought</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_8">To find such haven; but God kept it green.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_9">Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="poem" id="poem70"> +<h3>The Scout toward Aldie.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_1">The cavalry-camp lies on the slope</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_2"> Of what was late a vernal hill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_3">But now like a pavement bare—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_4">An outpost in the perilous wilds</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_5"> Which ever are lone and still;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_6"> But Mosby’s men are there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_7"> Of Mosby best beware.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_8">Great trees the troopers felled, and leaned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_9"> In antlered walls about their tents;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_10">Strict watch they kept; ’twas <i>Hark!</i> and <i>Mark!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_11">Unarmed none cared to stir abroad</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_12"> For berries beyond their forest-fence:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_13"> As glides in seas the shark,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_14"> Rides Mosby through green dark.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_15">All spake of him, but few had seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_16"> Except the maimed ones or the low;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_17">Yet rumor made him every thing—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_18">A farmer—woodman—refugee—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_19"> The man who crossed the field but now;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_20"> A spell about his life did cling—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_21"> Who to the ground shall Mosby bring?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_22">The morning-bugles lonely play,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_23"> Lonely the evening-bugle calls—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_24">Unanswered voices in the wild;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_25">The settled hush of birds in nest</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_26"> Becharms, and all the wood enthralls:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_27"> Memory’s self is so beguiled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_28"> That Mosby seems a satyr’s child.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_29">They lived as in the Eerie Land—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_30"> The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_31">And yet from pine-tops one might ken</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_32">The Capitol dome—hazy—sublime—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_33"> A vision breaking on a dream:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_34"> So strange it was that Mosby’s men</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_35"> Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_36">A scout toward Aldie broke the spell.—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_37"> The Leader lies before his tent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_38">Gazing at heaven’s all-cheering lamp</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_39">Through blandness of a morning rare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_40"> His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_41"> His sunny bride is in the camp—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_42"> But Mosby—graves are beds of damp!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_43">The trumpet calls; he goes within;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_44"> But none the prayer and sob may know:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_45">Her hero he, but bridegroom too.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_46">Ah, love in a tent is a queenly thing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_47"> And fame, be sure, refines the vow;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_48"> But fame fond wives have lived to rue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_49"> And Mosby’s men fell deeds can do.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_50"><i>Tan-tara! tan-tara! tan-tara!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_51"> Mounted and armed he sits a king;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_52">For pride she smiles if now she peep—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_53">Elate he rides at the head of his men;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_54"> He is young, and command is a boyish thing:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_55"> They file out into the forest deep—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_56"> Do Mosby and his rangers sleep?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_57">The sun is gold, and the world is green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_58"> Opal the vapors of morning roll;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_59">The champing horses lightly prance—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_60">Full of caprice, and the riders too</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_61"> Curving in many a caricole.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_62"> But marshaled soon, by fours advance—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_63"> Mosby had checked that airy dance.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_64">By the hospital-tent the cripples stand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_65"> Bandage, and crutch, and cane, and sling,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_66">And palely eye the brave array;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_67">The froth of the cup is gone for them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_68"> (Caw! caw! the crows through the blueness wing);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_69"> Yet these were late as bold, as gay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_70"> But Mosby—a clip, and grass is hay.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_71">How strong they feel on their horses free,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_72"> Tingles the tendoned thigh with life;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_73">Their cavalry-jackets make boys of all—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_74">With golden breasts like the oriole;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_75"> The chat, the jest, and laugh are rife.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_76"> But word is passed from the front—a call</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_77"> For order; the wood is Mosby’s hall.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_78">To which behest one rider sly</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_79"> (Spurred, but unarmed) gave little heed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_80">Of dexterous fun not slow or spare,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_81">He teased his neighbors of touchy mood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_82"> Into plungings he pricked his steed:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_83"> A black-eyed man on a coal-black mare,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_84"> Alive as Mosby in mountain air.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_85">His limbs were long, and large and round;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_86"> He whispered, winked—did all but shout:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_87">A healthy man for the sick to view;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_88">The taste in his mouth was sweet at morn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_89"> Little of care he cared about.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_90"> And yet of pains and pangs he knew—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_91"> In others, maimed by Mosby’s crew.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_92">The Hospital Steward—even he</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_93"> (Sacred in person as a priest),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_94">And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_95">Wore the caduceus, black and green.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_96"> No wonder he sat so light on his beast;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_97"> This cheery man in suit of price</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_98"> Not even Mosby dared to slice.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s15"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_99">They pass the picket by the pine</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_100"> And hollow log—a lonesome place;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_101">His horse adroop, and pistol clean;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_102">’Tis cocked—kept leveled toward the wood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_103"> Strained vigilance ages his childish face.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_104"> Since midnight has that stripling been</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_105"> Peering for Mosby through the green.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s16"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_106">Splashing they cross the freshet-flood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_107"> And up the muddy bank they strain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_108">A horse at the spectral white-ash shies—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_109">One of the span of the ambulance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_110"> Black as a hearse. They give the rein:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_111"> Silent speed on a scout were wise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_112"> Could cunning baffle Mosby’s spies.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s17"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_113">Rumor had come that a band was lodged</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_114"> In green retreats of hills that peer</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_115">By Aldie (famed for the swordless charge<a id="fnt22" href="#fn22"><sup>[22]</sup></a>).</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_116">Much store they’d heaped of captured arms</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_117"> And, peradventure, pilfered cheer;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_118"> For Mosby’s lads oft hearts enlarge</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_119"> In revelry by some gorge’s marge.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn22"> +<p><a href="#fnt22">[22]</a> In one of Kilpatrick’s earlier cavalry fights near Aldie, a Colonel +who, being under arrest, had been temporarily deprived of his sword, +nevertheless, unarmed, insisted upon charging at the head of his men, +which he did, and the onset proved victorious.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s18"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_120">“Don’t let your sabres rattle and ring;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_121"> To his oat-bag let each man give heed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_122">There now, that fellow’s bag’s untied,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_123">Sowing the road with the precious grain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_124"> Your carbines swing at hand—you need!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_125"> Look to yourselves, and your nags beside,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_126"> Men who after Mosby ride.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s19"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_127">Picked lads and keen went sharp before—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_128"> A guard, though scarce against surprise;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_129">And rearmost rode an answering troop,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_130">But flankers none to right or left.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_131"> No bugle peals, no pennon flies:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_132"> Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_133"> On Mosby with an Indian whoop.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s20"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_134">On, right on through the forest land,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_135"> Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_136">Not even a dog. The air was still;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_137">The blackened hut they turned to see,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_138"> And spied charred benches on the green;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_139"> A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_140"> Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s21"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_141">By worn-out fields they cantered on—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_142"> Drear fields amid the woodlands wide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_143">By cross-roads of some olden time,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_144">In which grew groves; by gate-stones down—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_145"> Grassed ruins of secluded pride:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_146"> A strange lone land, long past the prime,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_147"> Fit land for Mosby or for crime.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s22"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_148">The brook in the dell they pass. One peers</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_149"> Between the leaves: “Ay, there’s the place—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_150">There, on the oozy ledge—’twas there</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_151">We found the body (Blake’s you know);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_152"> Such whirlings, gurglings round the face—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_153"> Shot drinking! Well, in war all’s fair—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_154"> So Mosby says. The bough—take care!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s23"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_155">Hard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_156"> Danked and decayed the shaded roof;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_157">The porch was punk; the clapboards spanned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_158">With ruffled lichens gray or green;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_159"> Red coral-moss was not aloof;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_160"> And mid dry leaves green dead-man’s-hand</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_161"> Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s24"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_162">They leave the road and take the wood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_163"> And mark the trace of ridges there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_164">A wood where once had slept the farm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_165">A wood where once tobacco grew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_166"> Drowsily in the hazy air,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_167"> And wrought in all kind things a calm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_168"> Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s25"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_169">To ease even yet the place did woo—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_170"> To ease which pines unstirring share,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_171">For ease the weary horses sighed:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_172">Halting, and slackening girths, they feed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_173"> Their pipes they light, they loiter there;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_174"> Then up, and urging still the Guide,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_175"> On, and after Mosby ride.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s26"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_176">This Guide in frowzy coat of brown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_177"> And beard of ancient growth and mould,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_178">Bestrode a bony steed and strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_179">As suited well with bulk he bore—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_180"> A wheezy man with depth of hold</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_181"> Who jouncing went. A staff he swung—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_182"> A wight whom Mosby’s wasp had stung.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s27"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_183">Burnt out and homeless—hunted long!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_184"> That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_185">Crouching (a fat man) for his life,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_186">And spied his lean son ’mong the crew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_187"> That probed the covert. Ah! black blood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_188"> Was his ’gainst even child and wife—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_189"> Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s28"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_190">A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_191"> Strains hard to readjust his seat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_192">Ere the main body show the gap</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_193">’Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_194"> He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_195"> Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_196"> “Let Mosby fine!” nor heeds mishap.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s29"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_197">A gable time-stained peeps through trees:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_198"> “You mind the fight in the haunted house?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_199">That’s it; we clenched them in the room—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_200">An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_201"> But proved sly rebels on a bouse!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_202"> Luke lies in the yard.” The chimneys loom:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_203"> Some muse on Mosby—some on doom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s30"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_204">Less nimbly now through brakes they wind,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_205"> And ford wild creeks where men have drowned;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_206">They skirt the pool, a void the fen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_207">And so till night, when down they lie,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_208"> They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_209"> Rein in hand they slumber then,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_210"> Dreaming of Mosby’s cedarn den.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s31"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_211">But Colonel and Major friendly sat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_212"> Where boughs deformed low made a seat.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_213">The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_214">Of the partisan’s blade he longed to win,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_215"> And frays in which he meant to beat.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_216"> The grizzled Major smoked, and heard:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_217"> “But what’s that—Mosby?” “No, a bird.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s32"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_218">A contrast here like sire and son,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_219"> Hope and Experience sage did meet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_220">The Youth was brave, the Senior too;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_221">But through the Seven Days one had served,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_222"> And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_223"> So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_224"> “Any <i>sure</i> news of Mosby’s crew?”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s33"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_225">He smoked and smoked, eying the while</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_226"> A huge tree hydra-like in growth—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_227">Moon-tinged—with crook’d boughs rent or lopped—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_228">Itself a haggard forest. “Come”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_229"> The Colonel cried, “to talk you’re loath;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_230"> D’ye hear? I say he must be stopped,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_231"> This Mosby—caged, and hair close cropped.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s34"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_232">“Of course; but what’s that dangling there”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_233"> “Where?” “From the tree—that gallows-bough;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_234">“A bit of frayed bark, is it not”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_235">“Ay—or a rope; did <i>we</i> hang last?—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_236"> Don’t like my neckerchief any how”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_237"> He loosened it: “O ay, we’ll stop</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_238"> This Mosby—but that vile jerk and drop!”<a id="fnt23" href="#fn23"><sup>[23]</sup></a></div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn23"> +<p><a href="#fnt23">[23]</a> Certain of Mosby’s followers, on the charge of being unlicensed +foragers or fighters, being hung by order of a Union cavalry commander, +the Partisan promptly retaliated in the woods. In turn, this also was +retaliated, it is said. To what extent such deplorable proceedings were +carried, it is not easy to learn.</p> + +<p>South of the Potamac in Virginia, and within a gallop of the Long Bridge +at Washington, is the confine of a country, in some places wild, which +throughout the war it was unsafe for a Union man to traverse except with +an armed escort. This was the chase of Mosby, the scene of many of his +exploits or those of his men. In the heart of this region at least one +fortified camp was maintained by our cavalry, and from time to time +expeditions ended disastrously. Such results were helped by the +exceeding cunning of the enemy, born of his wood-craft, and, in some +instances, by undue confidence on the part of our men. A body of +cavalry, starting from camp with the view of breaking up a nest of +rangers, and absent say three days, would return with a number of their +own forces killed and wounded (ambushed), without being able to +retaliate farther than by foraging on the country, destroying a house or +two reported to be haunts of the guerrillas, or capturing non-combatants +accused of being secretly active in their behalf.</p> + +<p>In the verse the name of Mosby is invested with some of those +associations with which the popular mind is familiar. But facts do not +warrant the belief that every clandestine attack of men who passed for +Mosby’s was made under his eye or even by his knowledge.</p> + +<p>In partisan warfare he proved himself shrewd, able, and enterprising, +and always a wary fighter. He stood well in the confidence of his +superior officers, and was empoyed by them at times in furtherance of +important movements. To our wounded on more than one occasion he showed +considerate kindness. Officers and civilians captured by forces under +his immediate command were, so long as remaining under his orders, +treated with civility. These things are well known to those personally +familiar with the irregular fighting in Virginia.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s35"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_239">By peep of light they feed and ride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_240"> Gaining a grove’s green edge at morn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_241">And mark the Aldie hills upread</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_242">And five gigantic horsemen carved</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_243"> Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_244"> Are more behind? an open snare?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_245"> Or Mosby’s men but watchmen there?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s36"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_246">The ravaged land was miles behind,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_247"> And Loudon spread her landscape rare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_248">Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_249">Cows were feeding, a cock loud crew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_250"> But not a friend at need was there;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_251"> The valley-folk were only good</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_252"> To Mosby and his wandering brood.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s37"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_253">What best to do? what mean yon men?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_254"> Colonel and Guide their minds compare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_255">Be sure some looked their Leader through;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_256">Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_257"> As one who feigns an easy air;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_258"> And yet perplexed he was they knew—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_259"> Perplexed by Mosby’s mountain-crew.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s38"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_260">The Major hemmed as he would speak,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_261"> But checked himself, and left the ring</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_262">Of cavalrymen about their Chief—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_263">Young courtiers mute who paid their court</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_264"> By looking with confidence on their king;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_265"> They knew him brave, foresaw no grief—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_266"> But Mosby—the time to think is brief.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s39"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_267">The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_268"> Was glad ’twas not for <i>him</i> to say</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_269">What next should be; if a trooper bleeds,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_270">Why he will do his best, as wont,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_271"> And his partner in black will aid and pray;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_272"> But judgment bides with him who leads,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_273"> And Mosby many a problem breeds.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s40"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_274">The Surgeon was the kindliest man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_275"> That ever a callous trace professed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_276">He felt for him, that Leader young,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_277">And offered medicine from his flask:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_278"> The Colonel took it with marvelous zest.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_279"> For such fine medicine good and strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_280"> Oft Mosby and his foresters long.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s41"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_281">A charm of proof. “Ho, Major, come—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_282"> Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_283">Through the thickets wind—pray speedy be—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_284">And gain their read. And, Captain Morn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_285"> Picket these roads—all travelers stop;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_286"> The rest to the edge of this crest with me,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_287"> That Mosby and his scouts may see.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s42"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_288">Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_289"> Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_290">Ten riding double—luckless ten!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_291">Five horses gone, and looped hats lost,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_292"> And love-locks dancing in a maze—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_293"> Certes, but sophomores from the glen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_294"> Of Mosby—not his veteran men.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s43"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_295">“Colonel,” said the Major, touching his cap,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_296"> “We’ve had our ride, and here they are”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_297">“Well done! how many found you there”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_298">“As many as I bring you here”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_299"> “And no one hurt?” “There’ll be no scar—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_300"> One fool was battered.” “Find their lair”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_301"> “Why, Mosby’s brood camp every where.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s44"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_302">He sighed, and slid down from his horse,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_303"> And limping went to a spring-head nigh.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_304">“Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_305">“Battered my knee against a bar</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_306"> When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_307"> Halloa! they gave you too much rope—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_308"> Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s45"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_309">Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_310"> The guard, remiss, had given a chance</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_311">For a sudden sally into the cover—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_312">But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_313"> Though the issue was a deadly trance;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_314"> For, hurled ’gainst an oak that humped low over,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_315"> Mosby’s man fell, pale as a lover.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s46"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_316">They pulled some grass his head to ease</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_317"> (Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred).</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_318">The Surgeon came—“Here’s a to-do”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_319">“Ah!” cried the Major, darting a glance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_320"> “This fellow’s the one that fired and spurred</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_321"> Down hill, but met reserves below—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_322"> My boys, not Mosby’s—so we go!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s47"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_323">The Surgeon—bluff, red, goodly man—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_324"> Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_325">He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_326">(Who went to the wars for cure of souls,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_327"> And his own student-ailments)—he</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_328"> Bent over likewise; spite the two,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_329"> Mosby’s poor man more pallid grew.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s48"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_330">Meanwhile the mounted captives near</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_331"> Jested; and yet they anxious showed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_332">Virginians; some of family-pride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_333">And young, and full of fire, and fine</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_334"> In open feature and cheek that glowed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_335"> And here thralled vagabonds now they ride—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_336"> But list! one speaks for Mosby’s side.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s49"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_337">“Why, three to one—your horses strong—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_338"> Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_339">Surrender we account no shame!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_340">We live, are gay, and life is hope;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_341"> We’ll fight again when fight is wise.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_342"> There are plenty more from where we came;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_343"> But go find Mosby—start the game!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s50"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_344">Yet one there was who looked but glum;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_345"> In middle-age, a father he,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_346">And this his first experience too:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_347">“They shot at my heart when my hands were up—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_348"> This fighting’s crazy work, I see”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_349"> But noon is high; what next do?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_350"> The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s51"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_351">“Save what we’ve got,” the Major said;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_352"> “Bad plan to make a scout too long;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_353">The tide may turn, and drag them back,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_354">And more beside. These rides I’ve been,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_355"> And every time a mine was sprung.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_356"> To rescue, mind, they won’t be slack—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_357"> Look out for Mosby’s rifle-crack.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s52"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_358">“We’ll welcome it! give crack for crack!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_359"> Peril, old lad, is what I seek”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_360">“O then, there’s plenty to be had—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_361">By all means on, and have our fill”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_362"> With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_363"> Showing a scar by buck-shot made—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_364"> Kind Mosby’s Christmas gift, he said.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s53"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_365">“But, Colonel, my prisoners—let a guard</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_366"> Make sure of them, and lead to camp.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_367">That done, we’re free for a dark-room fight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_368">If so you say.” The other laughed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_369"> “Trust me, Major, nor throw a damp.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_370"> But first to try a little sleight—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_371"> Sure news of Mosby would suit me quite.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s54"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_372">Herewith he turned—“Reb, have a dram”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_373"> Holding the Surgeon’s flask with a smile</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_374">To a young scapegrace from the glen.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_375">“O yes!” he eagerly replied,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_376"> “And thank you, Colonel, but—any guile?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_377"> For if you think we’ll blab—why, then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_378"> You don’t know Mosby or his men.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s55"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_379">The Leader’s genial air relaxed.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_380"> “Best give it up,” a whisperer said.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_381">“By heaven, I’ll range their rebel den”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_382">“They’ll treat you well,” the captive cried;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_383"> “They’re all like us—handsome—well bred:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_384"> In wood or town, with sword or pen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_385"> Polite is Mosby, bland his men.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s56"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_386">“Where were you, lads, last night?—come, tell”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_387"> “We?—at a wedding in the Vale—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_388">The bridegroom our comrade; by his side</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_389">Belisent, my cousin—O, so proud</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_390"> Of her young love with old wounds pale—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_391"> A Virginian girl! God bless her pride—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_392"> Of a crippled Mosby-man the bride!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s57"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_393">“Four wall shall mend that saucy mood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_394"> And moping prisons tame him down”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_395">Said Captain Cloud. “God help that day”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_396">Cried Captain Morn, “and he so young.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_397"> But hark, he sings—a madcap one”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_398"><i> “O we multiply merrily in the May,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_399"><i> The birds and Mosby’s men, they say!</i>“</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s58"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_400">While echoes ran, a wagon old,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_401"> Under stout guard of Corporal Chew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_402">Came up; a lame horse, dingy white,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_403">With clouted harness; ropes in hand,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_404"> Cringed the humped driver, black in hue;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_405"> By him (for Mosby’s band a sight)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_406"> A sister-rebel sat, her veil held tight.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s59"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_407">“I picked them up,” the Corporal said,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_408"> “Crunching their way over stick and root,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_409">Through yonder wood. The man here—Cuff—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_410">Says they are going to Leesburg town”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_411"> The Colonel’s eye took in the group;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_412"> The veiled one’s hand he spied—enough!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_413"> Not Mosby’s. Spite the gown’s poor stuff,</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s60"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_414">Off went his hat: “Lady, fear not;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_415"> We soldiers do what we deplore—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_416">I must detain you till we march”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_417">The stranger nodded. Nettled now,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_418"> He grew politer than before:—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_419"> “’Tis Mosby’s fault, this halt and search”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_420"> The lady stiffened in her starch.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s61"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_421">“My duty, madam, bids me now</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_422"> Ask what may seem a little rude.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_423">Pardon—that veil—withdraw it, please</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_424">(Corporal! make every man fall back);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_425"> Pray, now I do but what I should;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_426"> Bethink you, ’tis in masks like these</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_427"> That Mosby haunts the villages.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s62"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_428">Slowly the stranger drew her veil,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_429"> And looked the Soldier in the eye—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_430">A glance of mingled foul and fair;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_431">Sad patience in a proud disdain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_432"> And more than quietude. A sigh</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_433"> She heaved, and if all unaware,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_434"> And far seemed Mosby from her care.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s63"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_435">She came from Yewton Place, her home,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_436"> So ravaged by the war’s wild play—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_437">Campings, and foragings, and fires—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_438">That now she sought an aunt’s abode.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_439"> Her Kinsmen? In Lee’s army, they.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_440"> The black? A servant, late her sire’s.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_441"> And Mosby? Vainly he inquires.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s64"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_442">He gazed, and sad she met his eye;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_443"> “In the wood yonder were you lost”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_444">No; at the forks they left the road</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_445">Because of hoof-prints (thick they were—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_446"> Thick as the words in notes thrice crossed),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_447"> And fearful, made that episode.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_448"> In fear of Mosby? None she showed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s65"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_449">Her poor attire again he scanned:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_450"> “Lady, once more; I grieve to jar</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_451">On all sweet usage, but must plead</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_452">To have what peeps there from your dress;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_453"> That letter—’tis justly prize of war”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_454"> She started—gave it—she must need.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_455"> “’Tis not from Mosby? May I read?”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s66"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_456">And straight such matter he perused</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_457"> That with the Guide he went apart.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_458">The Hospital Steward’s turn began:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_459">“Must squeeze this darkey; every tap</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_460"> Of knowledge we are bound to start”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_461"> “Garry,” she said, “tell all you can</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_462"> Of Colonel Mosby—that brave man.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s67"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_463">“Dun know much, sare; and missis here</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_464"> Know less dan me. But dis I know—”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_465">“Well, what?” “I dun know what I know”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_466">“A knowing answer!” The hump-back coughed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_467"> Rubbing his yellowish wool like tow.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_468"> “Come—Mosby—tell!” “O dun look so!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_469"> My gal nursed missis—let we go.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s68"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_470">“Go where?” demanded Captain Cloud;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_471"> “Back into bondage? Man, you’re free”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_472">“Well, <i>let</i> we free!” The Captain’s brow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_473">Lowered; the Colonel came—had heard:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_474"> “Pooh! pooh! his simple heart I see—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_475"> A faithful servant.—Lady” (a bow),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_476"> “Mosby’s abroad—with us you’ll go.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s69"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_477">“Guard! look to your prisoners; back to camp!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_478"> The man in the grass—can he mount and away?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_479">Why, how he groans!” “Bad inward bruise—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_480">Might lug him along in the ambulance”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_481"> “Coals to Newcastle! let him stay.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_482"> Boots and saddles!—our pains we lose,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_483"> Nor care I if Mosby hear the news!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s70"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_484">But word was sent to a house at hand,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_485"> And a flask was left by the hurt one’s side.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_486">They seized in that same house a man,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_487">Neutral by day, by night a foe—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_488"> So charged his neighbor late, the Guide.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_489"> A grudge? Hate will do what it can;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_490"> Along he went for a Mosby-man.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s71"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_491">No secrets now; the bugle calls;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_492"> The open road they take, nor shun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_493">The hill; retrace the weary way.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_494">But one there was who whispered low,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_495"> “This is a feint—we’ll back anon;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_496"> Young Hair-Brains don’t retreat, they say;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_497"> A brush with Mosby is the play!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s72"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_498">They rode till eve. Then on a farm</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_499"> That lay along a hill-side green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_500">Bivouacked. Fires were made, and then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_501">Coffee was boiled; a cow was coaxed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_502"> And killed, and savory roasts were seen;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_503"> And under the lee of a cattle-pen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_504"> The guard supped freely with Mosby’s men.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s73"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_505">The ball was bandied to and fro;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_506"> Hits were given and hits were met;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_507">“Chickamauga, Feds—take off your hat”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_508">“But the Fight in the Clouds repaid you, Rebs”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_509"> “Forgotten about Manassas yet”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_510"> Chatting and chaffing, and tit for tat,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_511"> Mosby’s clan with the troopers sat.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s74"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_512">“Here comes the moon!” a captive cried;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_513"> “A song! what say? Archy, my lad”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_514">Hailing are still one of the clan</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_515">(A boyish face with girlish hair),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_516"> “Give us that thing poor Pansy made</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_517"> Last Year.” He brightened, and began;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_518"> And this was the song of Mosby’s man:</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s75"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_519"><i> Spring is come; she shows her pass—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_520"><i> Wild violets cool!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_521"><i> South of woods a small close grass—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_522"><i> A vernal wool!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_523"><i> Leaves are a’bud on the sassafras—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_524"><i> They’ll soon be full;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_525"><i> Blessings on the friendly screen—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_526"><i> I’m for the South! says the leafage green.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s76"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_527"><i> Robins! fly, and take your fill</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_528"><i> Of out-of-doors—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_529"><i> Garden, orchard, meadow, hill,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_530"><i> Barns and bowers;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_531"><i> Take your fill, and have your will—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_532"><i> Virginia’s yours!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_533"><i> But, bluebirds! keep away, and fear</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_534"><i> The ambuscade in bushes here.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s77"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_535">“A green song that,” a seargeant said;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_536"> “But where’s poor Pansy? gone, I fear”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_537">“Ay, mustered out at Ashby’s Gap”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_538">“I see; now for a live man’s song;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_539"> Ditty for ditty—prepare to cheer.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_540"> My bluebirds, you can fling a cap!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_541"> You barehead Mosby-boys—why—clap!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s78"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_542"><i> Nine Blue-coats went a-nutting</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_543"><i> Slyly in Tennessee—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_544"><i> Not for chestnuts—better than that—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_545"><i> Hugh, you bumble-bee!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_546"><i> Nutting, nutting—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_547"><i> All through the year there’s nutting!</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s79"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_548"><i> A tree they spied so yellow,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_549"><i> Rustling in motion queer;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_550"><i> In they fired, and down they dropped—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_551"><i> Butternuts, my dear!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_552"><i> Nutting, nutting—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_553"><i> Who’ll ’list to go a-nutting?</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s80"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_554">Ah! why should good fellows foemen be?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_555"> And who would dream that foes they were—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_556">Larking and singing so friendly then—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_557">A family likeness in every face.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_558"> But Captain Cloud made sour demur:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_559"> “Guard! keep your prisoners <i>in</i> the pen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_560"> And let none talk with Mosby’s men.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s81"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_561">That captain was a valorous one</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_562"> (No irony, but honest truth),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_563">Yet down from his brain cold drops distilled,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_564">Making stalactites in his heart—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_565"> A conscientious soul, forsooth;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_566"> And with a formal hate was filled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_567"> Of Mosby’s band; and some he’d killed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s82"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_568">Meantime the lady rueful sat,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_569"> Watching the flicker of a fire</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_570">Were the Colonel played the outdoor host</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_571">In brave old hall of ancient Night.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_572"> But ever the dame grew shyer and shyer,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_573"> Seeming with private grief engrossed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_574"> Grief far from Mosby, housed or lost.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s83"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_575">The ruddy embers showed her pale.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_576"> The Soldier did his best devoir:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_577">“Some coffee?—no?—cracker?—one”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_578">Cared for her servant—sought to cheer:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_579"> “I know, I know—a cruel war!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_580"> But wait—even Mosby’ll eat his bun;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_581"> The Old Hearth—back to it anon!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s84"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_582">But cordial words no balm could bring;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_583"> She sighed, and kept her inward chafe,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_584">And seemed to hate the voice of glee—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_585">Joyless and tearless. Soon he called</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_586"> An escort: “See this lady safe</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_587"> In yonder house.—Madam, you’re free.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_588"> And now for Mosby.—Guide! with me.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s85"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_589">(“A night-ride, eh?”) “Tighten your girths!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_590"> But, buglers! not a note from you.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_591">Fling more rails on the fires—a blaze”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_592">(“Sergeant, a feint—I told you so—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_593"> Toward Aldie again. Bivouac, adieu!”)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_594"> After the cheery flames they gaze,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_595"> Then back for Mosby through the maze.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s86"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_596">The moon looked through the trees, and tipped</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_597"> The scabbards with her elfin beam;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_598">The Leader backward cast his glance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_599">Proud of the cavalcade that came—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_600"> A hundred horses, bay and cream:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_601"> “Major! look how the lads advance—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_602"> Mosby we’ll have in the ambulance!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s87"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_603">“No doubt, no doubt:—was that a hare?—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_604"> First catch, then cook; and cook him brown”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_605">“Trust me to catch,” the other cried—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_606">“The lady’s letter!—a dance, man, dance</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_607"> This night is given in Leesburg town”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_608"> “He’ll be there too!” wheezed out the Guide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_609"> “That Mosby loves a dance and ride!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s88"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_610">“The lady, ah!—the lady’s letter—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_611"> A <i>lady</i>, then, is in the case”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_612">Muttered the Major. “Ay, her aunt</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_613">Writes her to come by Friday eve</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_614"> (To-night), for people of the place,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_615"> At Mosby’s last fight jubilant,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_616"> A party give, though table-cheer be scant.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s89"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_617">The Major hemmed. “Then this night-ride</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_618"> We owe to her?—One lighted house</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_619">In a town else dark.—The moths, begar!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_620">Are not quite yet all dead!” “How? how”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_621"> “A mute, meek mournful little mouse!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_622"> Mosby has wiles which subtle are—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_623"> But woman’s wiles in wiles of war!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s90"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_624">“Tut, Major! by what craft or guile—”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_625"> “Can’t tell! but he’ll be found in wait.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_626">Softly we enter, say, the town—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_627">Good! pickets post, and all so sure—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_628"> When—crack! the rifles from every gate,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_629"> The Gray-backs fire—dashes up and down—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_630"> Each alley unto Mosby known!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s91"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_631">“Now, Major, now—you take dark views</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_632"> Of a moonlight night.” “Well, well, we’ll see”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_633">And smoked as if each whiff were gain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_634">The other mused; then sudden asked,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_635"> “What would you do in grand decree”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_636"> I’d beat, if I could, Lee’s armies—then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_637"> Send constables after Mosby’s men.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s92"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_638">“Ay! ay!—you’re odd.” The moon sailed up;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_639"> On through the shadowy land they went.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_640">“<i>Names must be made and printed be!</i>“</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_641">Hummed the blithe Colonel. “Doc, your flask!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_642"> Major, I drink to your good content.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_643"> My pipe is out—enough for me!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_644"> One’s buttons shine—does Mosby see?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s93"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_645">“But what comes here?” A man from the front</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_646"> Reported a tree athwart the road.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_647">“Go round it, then; no time to bide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_648">All right—go on! Were one to stay</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_649"> For each distrust of a nervous mood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_650"> Long miles we’d make in this our ride</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_651"> Through Mosby-land.—Oh! with the Guide!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s94"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_652">Then sportful to the Surgeon turned:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_653"> “Green sashes hardly serve by night”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_654">“Nor bullets nor bottles,” the Major sighed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_655">“Against these moccasin-snakes—such foes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_656"> As seldom come to solid fight:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_657"> They kill and vanish; through grass they glide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_658"> Devil take Mosby!—” his horse here shied.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s95"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_659">“Hold! look—the tree, like a dragged balloon;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_660"> A globe of leaves—some trickery here;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_661">My nag is right—best now be shy”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_662">A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_663"> Little was plain—they blindly steer.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_664"> The Pleiads, as from ambush sly,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_665"> Peep out—Mosby’s men in the sky!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s96"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_666">As restive they turn, how sore they feel,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_667"> And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_668">And curse the war. “Fools, North and South”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_669">Said one right out. “O for a bed!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_670"> O now to drop in this woodland green”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_671"> He drops as the syllables leave his mouth—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_672"> Mosby speaks from the undergrowth—</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s97"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_673">Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_674"> Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_675">Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_676">“Steady—Dismount—form—and into the wood”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_677"> They go, but find what scarce can please:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_678"> Their steeds have been tied in the field behind,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_679"> And Mosby’s men are off like the wind.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s98"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_680">Sound the recall! vain to pursue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_681"> The enemy scatters in wilds he knows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_682">To reunite in his own good time;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_683">And, to follow, they need divide—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_684"> To come lone and lost on crouching foes:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_685"> Maple and hemlock, beech and lime,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_686"> Are Mosby’s confederates, share the crime.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s99"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_687">“Major,” burst in a bugler small,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_688"> “The fellow we left in Loudon grass—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_689">Sir slyboots with the inward bruise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_690">His voice I heard—the very same—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_691"> Some watchword in the ambush pass;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_692"> Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_693"> We caught him—Mosby—but to lose!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s100"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_694">“Go, go!—these saddle-dreamers! Well,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_695"> And here’s another.—Cool, sir, cool”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_696">“Major, I saw them mount and sweep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_697">And one was humped, or I mistake,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_698"> And in the skurry dropped his wool”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_699"> “A wig! go fetch it:—the lads need sleep;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_700"> They’ll next see Mosby in a sheep!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s101"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_701">“Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_702"> All’s jackstraws here! Where’s Captain Morn?—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_703">We’ve parted like boats in a raging tide!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_704">But stay-the Colonel—did he charge?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_705"> And comes he there? ’Tis streak of dawn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_706"> Mosby is off, the woods are wide—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_707"> Hist! there’s a groan—this crazy ride!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s102"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_708">As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_709"> They lay in the dew: “Ah! hurt much, Mink?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_710">And—yes—the Colonel!” Dead! but so calm</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_711">That death seemed nothing—even death,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_712"> The thing we deem every thing heart can think;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_713"> Amid wilding roses that shed their balm,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_714"> Careless of Mosby he lay—in a charm!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s103"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_715">The Major took him by the Hand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_716"> Into the friendly clasp it bled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_717">(A ball through heart and hand he rued):</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_718">“Good-by” and gazed with humid glance;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_719"> Then in a hollow revery said</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_720"> “The weakness thing is lustihood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_721"> But Mosby—” and he checked his mood.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s104"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_722">“Where’s the advance?—cut off, by heaven!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_723"> Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_724">“The ambulance will carry all”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_725">“Well, get them in; we go to camp.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_726"> Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_727"> Then to himself, “This grief is gall;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_728"> That Mosby!—I’ll cast a silver ball!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s105"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_729">“Ho!” turning—“Captain Cloud, you mind</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_730"> The place where the escort went—so shady?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_731">Go search every closet low and high,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_732">And barn, and bin, and hidden bower—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_733"> Every covert—find that lady!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_734"> And yet I may misjudge her—ay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_735"> Women (like Mosby) mystify.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s106"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_736">“We’ll see. Ay, Captain, go—with speed!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_737"> Surround and search; each living thing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_738">Secure; that done, await us where</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_739">We last turned off. Stay! fire the cage</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_740"> If the birds be flown.” By the cross-road spring</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_741"> The bands rejoined; no words; the glare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_742"> Told all. Had Mosby plotted there?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s107"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_743">The weary troop that wended now—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_744"> Hardly it seemed the same that pricked</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_745">Forth to the forest from the camp:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_746">Foot-sore horses, jaded men;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_747"> Every backbone felt as nicked,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_748"> Each eye dim as a sick-room lamp,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_749"> All faces stamped with Mosby’s stamp.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s108"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_750">In order due the Major rode—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_751"> Chaplain and Surgeon on either hand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_752">A riderless horse a negro led;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_753">In a wagon the blanketed sleeper went;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_754"> Then the ambulance with the bleeding band;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_755"> And, an emptied oat-bag on each head,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_756"> Went Mosby’s men, and marked the dead.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s109"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_757">What gloomed them? what so cast them down,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_758"> And changed the cheer that late they took,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_759">As double-guarded now they rode</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_760">Between the files of moody men?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_761"> Some sudden consciousness they brook,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_762"> Or dread the sequel. That night’s blood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_763"> Disturbed even Mosby’s brotherhood.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s110"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_764">The flagging horses stumbled at roots,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_765"> Floundered in mires, or clinked the stones;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_766">No rider spake except aside;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_767">But the wounded cramped in the ambulance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_768"> It was horror to hear their groans—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_769"> Jerked along in the woodland ride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_770"> While Mosby’s clan their revery hide.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s111"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_771">The Hospital Steward—even he—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_772"> Who on the sleeper kept his glance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_773">Was changed; late bright-black beard and eye</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_774">Looked now hearse-black; his heavy heart,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_775"> Like his fagged mare, no more could dance;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_776"> His grape was now a raisin dry:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_777"> ’Tis Mosby’s homily—<i>Man must die</i>.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s112"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_778">The amber sunset flushed the camp</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_779"> As on the hill their eyes they fed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_780">The pickets dumb looks at the wagon dart;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_781">A handkerchief waves from the bannered tent—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_782"> As white, alas! the face of the dead:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_783"> Who shall the withering news impart?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_784"> The bullet of Mosby goes through heart to heart!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s113"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_785">They buried him where the lone ones lie</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_786"> (Lone sentries shot on midnight post)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_787">A green-wood grave-yard hid from ken,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_788">Where sweet-fern flings an odor nigh—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_789"> Yet held in fear for the gleaming ghost!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_790"> Though the bride should see threescore and ten,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_791"> She will dream of Mosby and his men.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s114"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_792">Now halt the verse, and turn aside—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_793"> The cypress falls athwart the way;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_794">No joy remains for bard to sing;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_795">And heaviest dole of all is this,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_796"> That other hearts shall be as gay</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_797"> As hers that now no more shall spring:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_798"> To Mosby-land the dirges cling.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="part" id="lee"> +<h2>Lee in the Capitol.</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem71"> +<h3>Lee in the Capitol.<a id="fnt24" href="#fn24"><sup>[24]</sup></a></h3> +<h5>(April, 1866.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn24"> +<p><a href="#fnt24">[24]</a> Among those summoned during the spring just passed to appear before +the Reconstruction Committee of Congress was Robert E. Lee. His +testimony is deeply interesting, both in itself and as coming from him. +After various questions had been put and briefly answered, these words +were addressed to him:</p> + +<p>“If there be any other matter about which you wish to speak on this +occasions, do so freely.” Waiving this invitation, he responded by a +short personal explanation of some point in a previous answer, and after +a few more brief questions and replies, the interview closed.</p> + +<p>In the verse a poetical liberty has been ventured. Lee is not only +represented as responding to the invitation, but also as at last +renouncing his cold reserve, doubtless the cloak to feelings more or +less poignant. If for such freedom warrant be necessary the speeches in +ancient histories, not to speak of those in Shakespeare’s historic +plays, may not unfitly perhaps be cited.</p> + +<p>The character of the original measures proposed about time in the +National Legislature for the treatment of the (as yet) Congressionally +excluded South, and the spirit in which those measures were +advocated—these are circumstances which it is fairly supposable would +have deeply influenced the thoughts, whether spoken or withheld, of a +Southerner placed in the position of Lee before the Reconstruction +Committee.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_1">Hard pressed by numbers in his strait,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_2"> Rebellion’s soldier-chief no more contends—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_3">Feels that the hour is come of Fate,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_4"> Lays down one sword, and widened warfare ends.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_5">The captain who fierce armies led</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_6">Becomes a quiet seminary’s head—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_7">Poor as his privates, earns his bread.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_8">In studious cares and aims engrossed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_9"> Strives to forget Stuart and Stonewall dead—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_10">Comrades and cause, station and riches lost,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_11"> And all the ills that flock when fortune’s fled.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_12">No word he breathes of vain lament,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_13"> Mute to reproach, nor hears applause—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_14">His doom accepts, perforce content,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_15"> And acquiesces in asserted laws;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_16">Secluded now would pass his life,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_17">And leave to time the sequel of the strife.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_18"> But missives from the Senators ran;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_19">Not that they now would gaze upon a swordless foe,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_20">And power made powerless and brought low:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_21"> Reasons of state, ’tis claimed, require the man.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_22">Demurring not, promptly he comes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_23">By ways which show the blackened homes,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_24"> And—last—the seat no more his own,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_25">But Honor’s; patriot grave-yards fill</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_26">The forfeit slopes of that patrician hill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_27"> And fling a shroud on Arlington.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_28">The oaks ancestral all are low;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_29">No more from the porch his glance shall go</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_30">Ranging the varied landscape o’er,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_31">Far as the looming Dome—no more.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_32">One look he gives, then turns aside,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_33">Solace he summons from his pride:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_34">“So be it! They await me now</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_35">Who wrought this stinging overthrow;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_36">They wait me; not as on the day</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_37">Of Pope’s impelled retreat in disarray—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_38">By me impelled—when toward yon Dome</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_39">The clouds of war came rolling home”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_40">The burst, the bitterness was spent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_41">The heart-burst bitterly turbulent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_42">And on he fared.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_43"> In nearness now</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_44"> He marks the Capitol—a show</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_45">Lifted in amplitude, and set</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_46">With standards flushed with a glow of Richmond yet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_47"> Trees and green terraces sleep below.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_48">Through the clear air, in sunny light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_49">The marble dazes—a temple white.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_50">Intrepid soldier! had his blade been drawn</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_51">For yon stirred flag, never as now</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_52">Bid to the Senate-house had he gone,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_53">But freely, and in pageant borne,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_54">As when brave numbers without number, massed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_55">Plumed the broad way, and pouring passed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_56">Bannered, beflowered—between the shores</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_57">Of faces, and the dinn’d huzzas,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_58">And balconies kindling at the sabre-flash,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_59">’Mid roar of drums and guns, and cymbal-crash,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_60">While Grant and Sherman shone in blue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_61">Close of the war and victory’s long review.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_62">Yet pride at hand still aidful swelled,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_63">And up the hard ascent he held.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_64">The meeting follows. In his mien</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_65">The victor and the vanquished both are seen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_66">All that he is, and what he late had been.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_67">Awhile, with curious eyes they scan</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_68">The Chief who led invasion’s van—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_69">Allied by family to one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_70">Founder of the Arch the Invader warred upon:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_71">Who looks at Lee must think of Washington;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_72">In pain must think, and hide the thought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_73">So deep with grievous meaning it is fraught.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_74">Secession in her soldier shows</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_75">Silent and patient; and they feel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_76"> (Developed even in just success)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_77">Dim inklings of a hazy future steal;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_78"> Their thoughts their questions well express:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_79">“Does the sad South still cherish hate?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_80">Freely will Southen men with Northern mate?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_81">The blacks—should we our arm withdraw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_82">Would that betray them? some distrust your law.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_83">And how if foreign fleets should come—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_84">Would the South then drive her wedges home”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_85">And more hereof. The Virginian sees—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_86">Replies to such anxieties.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_87">Discreet his answers run—appear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_88">Briefly straightforward, coldly clear.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_89">“If now,” the Senators, closing, say,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_90">“Aught else remain, speak out, we pray”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_91">Hereat he paused; his better heart</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_92">Strove strongly then; prompted a worthier part</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_93">Than coldly to endure his doom.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_94">Speak out? Ay, speak, and for the brave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_95">Who else no voice or proxy have;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_96">Frankly their spokesman here become,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_97">And the flushed North from her own victory save.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_98">That inspiration overrode—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_99">Hardly it quelled the galling load</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_100">Of personal ill. The inner feud</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_101">He, self-contained, a while withstood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_102">They waiting. In his troubled eye</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_103">Shadows from clouds unseen they spy;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_104">They could not mark within his breast</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_105">The pang which pleading thought oppressed:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_106">He spoke, nor felt the bitterness die.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_107">“My word is given—it ties my sword;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_108">Even were banners still abroad,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_109">Never could I strive in arms again</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_110">While you, as fit, that pledge retain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_111">Our cause I followed, stood in field and gate—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_112">All’s over now, and now I follow Fate.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_113">But this is naught. A People call—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_114">A desolted land, and all</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_115">The brood of ills that press so sore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_116">The natural offspring of this civil war,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_117">Which ending not in fame, such as might rear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_118">Fitly its sculptured trophy here,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_119">Yields harvest large of doubt and dread</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_120">To all who have the heart and head</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_121">To feel and know. How shall I speak?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_122">Thoughts knot with thoughts, and utterance check.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_123">Before my eyes there swims a haze,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_124">Through mists departed comrades gaze—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_125">First to encourage, last that shall upbraid!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_126">How shall I speak? The South would fain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_127">Feel peace, have quiet law again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_128">Replant the trees for homestead-shade.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_129"> You ask if she recants: she yields.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_130">Nay, and would more; would blend anew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_131">As the bones of the slain in her forests do,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_132">Bewailed alike by us and you.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_133"> A voice comes out from these charnel-fields,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_134">A plaintive yet unheeded one:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_135"><i>‘Died all in vain? both sides undone’</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_136">Push not your triumph; do not urge</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_137">Submissiveness beyond the verge.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_138">Intestine rancor would you bide,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_139">Nursing eleven sliding daggers in your side?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_140">Far from my thought to school or threat;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_141">I speak the things which hard beset.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_142">Where various hazards meet the eyes,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_143">To elect in magnanimity is wise.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_144">Reap victory’s fruit while sound the core;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_145">What sounder fruit than re-established law?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_146">I know your partial thoughts do press</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_147">Solely on us for war’s unhappy stress;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_148">But weigh—consider—look at all,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_149">And broad anathema you’ll recall.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_150">The censor’s charge I’ll not repeat,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_151">The meddlers kindled the war’s white heat—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_152">Vain intermeddlers and malign,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_153">Both of the palm and of the pine;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_154">I waive the thought—which never can be rife—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_155">Common’s the crime in every civil strife:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_156">But this I feel, that North and South were driven</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_157">By Fate to arms. For our unshriven,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_158">What thousands, truest souls, were tried—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_159"> As never may any be again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_160">All those who stemmed Secession’s pride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_161">But at last were swept by the urgent tide</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_162"> Into the chasm. I know their pain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_163">A story here may be applied:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_164">‘In Moorish lands there lived a maid</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_165"> Brought to confess by vow the creed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_166"> Of Christians. Fain would priests persuade</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_167">That now she must approve by deed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_168"> The faith she kept. “What dead?” she asked.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_169">“Your old sire leave, nor deem it sin,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_170"> And come with us.” Still more they tasked</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_171">The sad one: “If heaven you’d win—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_172"> Far from the burning pit withdraw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_173">Then must you learn to hate your kin,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_174"> Yea, side against them—such the law,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_175">For Moor and Christian are at war”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_176">“Then will I never quit my sire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_177">But here with him through every trial go,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_178">Nor leave him though in flames below—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_179">God help me in his fire!”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_180">So in the South; vain every plea</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_181">’Gainst Nature’s strong fidelity;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_182"> True to the home and to the heart,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_183">Throngs cast their lot with kith and kin,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_184"> Foreboding, cleaved to the natural part—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_185">Was this the unforgivable sin?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_186">These noble spirits are yet yours to win.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_187">Shall the great North go Sylla’s way?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_188">Proscribe? prolong the evil day?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_189">Confirm the curse? infix the hate?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_190">In Unions name forever alienate?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_191">“From reason who can urge the plea—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_192">Freemen conquerors of the free?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_193">When blood returns to the shrunken vein,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_194">Shall the wound of the Nation bleed again?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_195">Well may the wars wan thought supply,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_196">And kill the kindling of the hopeful eye,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_197">Unless you do what even kings have done</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_198">In leniency—unless you shun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_199">To copy Europe in her worst estate—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_200">Avoid the tyranny you reprobate.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_201">He ceased. His earnestness unforeseen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_202">Moved, but not swayed their former mien;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_203"> And they dismissed him. Forth he went</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_204">Through vaulted walks in lengthened line</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_205">Like porches erst upon the Palatine:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_206"> Historic reveries their lesson lent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_207"> The Past her shadow through the Future sent.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_208">But no. Brave though the Soldier, grave his plea—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_209"> Catching the light in the future’s skies,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_210">Instinct disowns each darkening prophecy:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_211"> Faith in America never dies;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_212">Heaven shall the end ordained fulfill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_213">We march with Providence cheery still.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="part" id="meditation"> +<h2>A Meditation:</h2> + +<h3>Attributed to a northerner after attending the last of two funerals +from the same homestead—those of a national and a confederate +officer (brothers), his kinsmen, who had died from the effects of +wounds received in the closing battles.</h3> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem72"> +<h3>A Meditation.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_1">How often in the years that close,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_2"> When truce had stilled the sieging gun,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_3">The soldiers, mounting on their works,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_4"> With mutual curious glance have run</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_5">From face to face along the fronting show,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_6">And kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_7">What thoughts conflicting then were shared.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_8"> While sacred tenderness perforce</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_9">Welled from the heart and wet the eye;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_10"> And something of a strange remorse</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_11">Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_12">And Christian wars of natural brotherhood.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_13">Then stirred the god within the breast—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_14"> The witness that is man’s at birth;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_15">A deep misgiving undermined</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_16"> Each plea and subterfuge of earth;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_17">The felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_18">Horror and anguish for the civil strife.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_19">Of North or South they recked not then,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_20"> Warm passion cursed the cause of war:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_21">Can Africa pay back this blood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_22"> Spilt on Potomac’s shore?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_23">Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_24">And hands that fain had clasped again could slay.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_25">How frequent in the camp was seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_26"> The herald from the hostile one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_27">A guest and frank companion there</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_28"> When the proud formal talk was done;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_29">The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_30">And fields in Mexico again fought o’er.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_31">In Western battle long they lay</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_32"> So near opposed in trench or pit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_33">That foeman unto foeman called</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_34"> As men who screened in tavern sit:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_35">“You bravely fight” each to the other said—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_36">“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_37">And pale on those same slopes, a boy—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_38"> A stormer, bled in noon-day glare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_39">No aid the Blue-coats then could bring,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_40"> He cried to them who nearest were,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_41">And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_42">A daring foe who him befriended well.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_43">Mark the great Captains on both sides,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_44"> The soldiers with the broad renown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_45">They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_46"> Beneath one roof they laid them down;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_47">And free from hate in many an after pass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_48">Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_49">A darker side there is; but doubt</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_50"> In Nature’s charity hovers there:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_51">If men for new agreement yearn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_52"> Then old upbraiding best forbear:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_53">“<i>The South’s the sinner!</i>“ Well, so let it be;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_54">But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_55">O, now that brave men yield the sword,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_56"> Mine be the manful soldier-view;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_57">By how much more they boldly warred,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_58"> By so much more is mercy due:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_59">When Vickburg fell, and the moody files marched out,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_60">Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="section" id="supplement"> +<h3>Supplement.</h3> + + +<p>Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism—not free +from solicitude—urges a claim overriding all literary scruples.</p> + +<p>It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheavel affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion to +spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who shall +hymn the politicians?</p> + +<p>In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen.</p> + +<p>And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which +time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast.</p> + +<p>There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered by a cause not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much.</p> + +<p>Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all practical +purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of civil war to +feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; that both now lie +buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and that +together we comprise the Nation.</p> + +<p>The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it +was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people of +the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man.</p> + +<p>Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and +upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea—a +renown which we of the North could not suppress even if we would. In +personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the South +enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from +disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can respect. +Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from our +passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV. could out of the +graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the +great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty, +Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout at Preston +Pans—Upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign removed has set +a price—is it probable that the grandchildren of General Grant will +pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall +Jackson?</p> + +<p>But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies +which record the deeds of her chieftains—writings freely published at +the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though +saddened interest. By students of the war such works are hailed as +welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the record.</p> + +<p>Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers +of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd +felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through their +fidelity to the Stuarts—a feeling whose passion was tempered by the +poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to the +Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed excellent +things to literature. But, setting this view aside, dishonorable would +it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the memory of +brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her +behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray.</p> + +<p>Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast.</p> + +<p>Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of a poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied—an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry +or patriotism.</p> + +<p>There were excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities—exalted ones—courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be +held the characteristic traits, and not the former.</p> + +<p>In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumph, so far as it +may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity.</p> + +<p>Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men—few in number, we trust—who have resolved never +to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts every thing is thrown away +except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them +call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with +impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a +little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his own +heart at Richmond.</p> + +<p>Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos—a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity.</p> + +<p>How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though to +treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth—namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating strength +and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other side, on +ours might have lain those actions which now in our late opponents we +stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us own—what it +would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned—that our +triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior resources +and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a people for +years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we) were +the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with ourselves, +share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may possess. No one +can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat has now cast upon +Secession by withholding the recognition of these verities.</p> + +<p>Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which law-making, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy—Christianity and +Machiavelli—dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate +fellow-men late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be +wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those attested in the +War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them nationally +available at need.</p> + +<p>The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the +interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and +benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to exclude +kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For the +future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future of +the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a paramount +claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, is not +narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, it is +vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the +situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor +theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved. +And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length +attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we +still turn our eyes toward the South, as the Neapolitan, months after +the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may +be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has the crater but shifted? Let +us revere that sacred uncertainty which forever impends over men and +nations. Those of us who always abhorred slavery as an atheistical +iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of humanity over its +downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was accomplished not +by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence could so +mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the +benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of +dubious constitutional rightfulness toward our white +countrymen—measures of a nature to provoke, among other of the last +evils, exterminating hatred of race toward race. In imagination let us +place ourselves in the unprecedented position of the Southerners—their +position as regards the millions of ignorant manumitted slaves in their +midst, for whom some of us now claim the suffrage. Let us be Christians +toward our fellow-whites, as well as philanthropists toward the blacks +our fellow-men. In all things, and toward all, we are enjoined to do as +we would be done by. Nor should we forget that benevolent desires, after +passing a certain point, can not undertake their own fulfillment without +incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be remedied. +Something may well be left to the graduated care of future legislation, +and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two races in +the South—whether the negro be bond or free—seems (even as it did to +Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of +the reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present +transition period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble +may not unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too +swift to charge the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain +evils men must be more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent +digestion, and may in time convert and assimilate to good all elements +thrown in, however originally alien.</p> + +<p>But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent +Re-establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent.</p> + +<p>But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land—what then? Why the Congressman elected by the +people of the South will—represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itelf can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly with +the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than +the South, for the North is victor.</p> + +<p>But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath opertively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This +is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted +fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo alteration, +assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission into the +National Legislature of men who represent the populations lately in +revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the principles of +democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the political +existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be +ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the +Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in +democracy.</p> + +<p>In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is any thing here +thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem +natural—inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves +to many thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long +they must have that weight with the public which already they have had +with individuals.</p> + +<p>For that heroic band—those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials—we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet +passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic +in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to +discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side.</p> + +<p>Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity.</p> +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12384 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..96242c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12384 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12384) diff --git a/old/12384-0.txt b/old/12384-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa7368d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12384-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5966 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War, by Herman Melville + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: May 19, 2004 [eBook #12384] +[Most recently updated: June 17, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Maddock + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BATTLE-PIECES AND ASPECTS OF THE WAR *** + + + + +Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War. + +By Herman Melville. + + + +1866. + + + + +The Battle-Pieces in this volume are dedicated to the memory of the +THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND who in the war for the maintenance of the Union +fell devotedly under the flag of their fathers. + + + +[With few exceptions, the Pieces in this volume originated in an impulse +imparted by the fall of Richmond. They were composed without reference +to collective arrangement, but being brought together in review, +naturally fall into the order assumed. + +The events and incidents of the conflict--making up a whole, in varied +amplitude, corresponding with the geographical area covered by the +war--from these but a few themes have been taken, such as for any cause +chanced to imprint themselves upon the mind. + +The aspects which the strife as a memory assumes are as manifold as are +the moods of involuntary meditation--moods variable, and at times widely +at variance. Yielding instinctively, one after another, to feelings not +inspired from any one source exclusively, and unmindful, without +purposing to be, of consistency, I seem, in most of these verses, to +have but placed a harp in a window, and noted the contrasted airs which +wayward wilds have played upon the strings.] + + + +The Portent. +(1859.) + + +Hanging from the beam, + Slowly swaying (such the law), +Gaunt the shadow on your green, + Shenandoah! +The cut is on the crown +(Lo, John Brown), +And the stabs shall heal no more. + +Hidden in the cap + Is the anguish none can draw; +So your future veils its face, + Shenandoah! +But the streaming beard is shown +(Weird John Brown), +The meteor of the the war. + + + +Misgivings. +(1860.) + + + When ocean-clouds over inland hills + Sweep storming in late autumn brown, + And horror the sodden valley fills, + And the spire falls crashing in the town, + I muse upon my country’s ills-- + The tempest bursting from the waste of Time +On the world’s fairest hope linked with man’s foulest crime. + + Nature’s dark side is heeded now-- + (Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown)-- + A child may read the moody brow + Of yon black mountain lone. + With shouts the torrents down the gorges go, + And storms are formed behind the storm we feel: +The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel. + + + +The Conflict of Convictions.[1] +(1860-1.) + + +On starry heights + A bugle wails the long recall; +Derision stirs the deep abyss, + Heaven’s ominous silence over all. +Return, return, O eager Hope, + And face man’s latter fall. +Events, they make the dreamers quail; +Satan’s old age is strong and hale, +A disciplined captain, gray in skill, +And Raphael a white enthusiast still; +Dashed aims, at which Christ’s martyrs pale, +Shall Mammon’s slaves fulfill? + + (_Dismantle the fort, + Cut down the fleet-- + Battle no more shall be! + While the fields for fight in æons to come + Congeal beneath the sea._) + +The terrors of truth and dart of death + To faith alike are vain; +Though comets, gone a thousand years, + Return again, +Patient she stands--she can no more-- +And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar. + + (_At a stony gate, + A statue of stone, + Weed overgrown-- + Long ’twill wait!_) + +But God his former mind retains, + Confirms his old decree; +The generations are inured to pains, + And strong Necessity +Surges, and heaps Time’s strand with wrecks. + The People spread like a weedy grass, + The thing they will they bring to pass, +And prosper to the apoplex. +The rout it herds around the heart, + The ghost is yielded in the gloom; +Kings wag their heads--Now save thyself + Who wouldst rebuild the world in bloom. + + (_Tide-mark + And top of the ages’ strike, + Verge where they called the world to come, + The last advance of life-- + Ha ha, the rust on the Iron Dome!_) + +Nay, but revere the hid event; + In the cloud a sword is girded on, +I mark a twinkling in the tent + Of Michael the warrior one. +Senior wisdom suits not now, +The light is on the youthful brow. + + (_Ay, in caves the miner see: + His forehead bears a blinking light; + Darkness so he feebly braves-- + A meagre wight!_) + +But He who rules is old--is old; +Ah! faith is warm, but heaven with age is cold. + + (_Ho ho, ho ho, + The cloistered doubt + Of olden times + Is blurted out!_) + +The Ancient of Days forever is young, + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; +I know a wind in purpose strong-- + It spins _against_ the way it drives. +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare? +So deep must the stones be hurled +Whereon the throes of ages rear +The final empire and the happier world. + + (_The poor old Past, + The Future’s slave, + She drudged through pain and crime + To bring about the blissful Prime, + Then--perished. There’s a grave!_) + + Power unanointed may come-- +Dominion (unsought by the free) + And the Iron Dome, +Stronger for stress and strain, +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main; +But the Founders’ dream shall flee. +Agee after age shall be +As age after age has been, +(From man’s changeless heart their way they win); + +And death be busy with all who strive-- +Death, with silent negative. + + YEA, AND NAY-- + EACH HATH HIS SAY; + BUT GOD HE KEEPS THE MIDDLE WAY. + NONE WAS BY + WHEN HE SPREAD THE SKY; + WISDOM IS VAIN, AND PROPHESY. + + + +Apathy and Enthusiasm. +(1860-1.) + + +I + +O the clammy cold November, + And the winter white and dead, +And the terror dumb with stupor, + And the sky a sheet of lead; +And events that came resounding + With the cry that _All was lost_, +Like the thunder-cracks of massy ice + In intensity of frost-- +Bursting one upon another + Through the horror of the calm. + The paralysis of arm +In the anguish of the heart; +And the hollowness and dearth. + The appealings of the mother + To brother and to brother +Not in hatred so to part-- +And the fissure in the hearth + Growing momently more wide. +Then the glances ’tween the Fates, + And the doubt on every side, +And the patience under gloom +In the stoniness that waits +The finality of doom. + + +II + +So the winter died despairing, + And the weary weeks of Lent; +And the ice-bound rivers melted, + And the tomb of Faith was rent. +O, the rising of the People + Came with springing of the grass, +They rebounded from dejection + And Easter came to pass. +And the young were all elation + Hearing Sumter’s cannon roar, +And they thought how tame the Nation + In the age that went before. +And Michael seemed gigantical, + The Arch-fiend but a dwarf; +And at the towers of Erebus + Our striplings flung the scoff. +But the elders with foreboding + Mourned the days forever o’er, +And re called the forest proverb, + The Iroquois’ old saw: +_Grief to every graybeard + When young Indians lead the war._ + + + +The March into Virginia, +Ending in the First Manassas. +(July, 1861.) + + +Did all the lets and bars appear + To every just or larger end, +Whence should come the trust and cheer? + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend-- +Age finds place in the rear. + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys, +The champions and enthusiasts of the state: + Turbid ardors and vain joys + Not barrenly abate-- + Stimulants to the power mature, + Preparatives of fate. + +Who here forecasteth the event? +What heart but spurns at precedent +And warnings of the wise, +Contemned foreclosures of surprise? + +The banners play, the bugles call, +The air is blue and prodigal. + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed, +No picnic party in the May, +Ever went less loth than they + Into that leafy neighborhood. +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate, +Moloch’s uninitiate; +Expectancy, and glad surmise +Of battle’s unknown mysteries. +All they feel is this: ’tis glory, +A rapture sharp, though transitory, +Yet lasting in belaureled story. +So they gayly go to fight, +Chatting left and laughing right. + +But some who this blithe mood present, + As on in lightsome files they fare, +Shall die experienced ere three days are spent-- + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare; +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, + The throe of Second Manassas share. + + + +Lyon. +Battle of Springfield, Missouri. +(August, 1861.) + + +Some hearts there are of deeper sort, + Prophetic, sad, +Which yet for cause are trebly clad; + Known death they fly on: +This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon. + +“They are more than twenty thousand strong, + We less than five, +Too few with such a host to strive” + “Such counsel, fie on! +’Tis battle, or ’tis shame;” and firm stood Lyon. + +“For help at need in van we wait-- + Retreat or fight: +Retreat the foe would take for flight, + And each proud scion +Feel more elate; the end must come,” said Lyon. + +By candlelight he wrote the will, + And left his all +To Her for whom ’twas not enough to fall; + Loud neighed Orion +Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon. + +The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale + With guard-fires lit; +Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it: + “A field to die on” +Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon. + +We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn-- + Fate seemed malign; +His horse the Leader led along the line-- + Star-browed Orion; +Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon. + +There came a sound like the slitting of air + By a swift sharp sword-- +A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad + Of black Orion +Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon. + +“General, you’re hurt--this sleet of balls!” + He seemed half spent; +With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent: + “The field to die on; +But not--not yet; the day is long,” breathed Lyon. + +For a time becharmed there fell a lull + In the heart of the fight; +The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light; + Warm noon-winds sigh on, +And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon. + +Texans and Indians trim for a charge: + “Stand ready, men! +Let them come close, right up, and then + After the lead, the iron; +Fire, and charge back!” So strength returned to Lyon. + +The Iowa men who held the van, + Half drilled, were new +To battle: “Some one lead us, then we’ll do” + Said Corporal Tryon: +“Men! _I_ will lead,” and a light glared in Lyon. + +On they came: they yelped, and fired; + His spirit sped; +We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled, + Nor stayed the iron, +Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon. + +This seer foresaw his soldier-doom, + Yet willed the fight. +He never turned; his only flight + Was up to Zion, +Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon. + + + +Ball’s Bluff. +A Reverie. +(October, 1861.) + + +One noonday, at my window in the town, + I saw a sight--saddest that eyes can see-- + Young soldiers marching lustily + Unto the wars, +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; + While all the porches, walks, and doors +Were rich with ladies cheering royally. + +They moved like Juny morning on the wave, + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime + (It was the breezy summer time), + Life throbbed so strong, +How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime + Would come to thin their shining throng? +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. + +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed, + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, + On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); + Some marching feet +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; + Wakeful I mused, while in the street +Far footfalls died away till none were left. + + + +Dupont’s Round Fight. +(November, 1861.) + + +In time and measure perfect moves + All Art whose aim is sure; +Evolving ryhme and stars divine + Have rules, and they endure. + +Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right, + And, warring so, prevailed, +In geometric beauty curved, + And in an orbit sailed. + +The rebel at Port Royal felt + The Unity overawe, +And rued the spell. A type was here, + And victory of Law. + + + +The Stone Fleet.[2] +An Old Sailor’s Lament. +(December, 1861.) + + +I have a feeling for those ships, + Each worn and ancient one, +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam; + Ay, it was unkindly done. + But so they serve the Obsolete-- + Even so, Stone Fleet! + +You’ll say I’m doting; do but think + I scudded round the Horn in one-- +The Tenedos, a glorious + Good old craft as ever run-- + Sunk (how all unmeet!) + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +An India ship of fame was she, + Spices and shawls and fans she bore; +A whaler when her wrinkles came-- + Turned off! till, spent and poor, + Her bones were sold (escheat)! + Ah! Stone Fleet. + +Four were erst patrician keels + (Names attest what families be), +The Kensington, and Richmond too, + Leonidas, and Lee: + But now they have their seat + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- + Sack them, and dismast; +They sunk so slow, they died so hard, + But gurgling dropped at last. + Their ghosts in gales repeat + _Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!_ + +And all for naught. The waters pass-- + Currents will have their way; +Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well; + The harbor is bettered--will stay. + A failure, and complete, + Was your Old Stone Fleet. + + + +Donelson. +(February, 1862.) + + +The bitter cup + Of that hard countermand +Which gave the Envoys up, +Still was wormwood in the mouth, + And clouds involved the land, +When, pelted by sleet in the icy street, + About the bulletin-board a band +Of eager, anxious people met, +And every wakeful heart was set +On latest news from West or South. +“No seeing here,” cries one--“don’t crowd--” +“You tall man, pray you, read aloud.” + +IMPORTANT. + _We learn that General Grant, + Marching from Henry overland, +And joined by a force up the Cumberland sent + (Some thirty thousand the command), +On Wednesday a good position won-- +Began the siege of Donelson. + +The stronghold crowns a river-bluff, + A good broad mile of leveled top; +Inland the ground rolls off + Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up-- +A wilderness of trees and brush. + The spaded summit shows the roods +Of fixed intrenchments in their hush; + Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods +Perplex the base.-- + The welcome weather + Is clear and mild; ’tis much like May. +The ancient boughs that lace together +Along the stream, and hang far forth, + Strange with green mistletoe, betray +A dreamy contrast to the North. + +Our troops are full of spirits--say + The siege won’t prove a creeping one. +They purpose not the lingering stay +Of old beleaguerers; not that way; + But, full of _vim_ from Western prairies won, + They’ll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson._ + +Washed by the storm till the paper grew +Every shade of a streaky blue, +That bulletin stood. The next day brought +A second. + + +LATER FROM THE FORT. +_Grant’s investment is complete-- + A semicircular one. +Both wings the Cumberland’s margin meet, +Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat. + On Wednesday this good work was done; + But of the doers some lie prone. +Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for; +The bold inclosing line we wrought for +Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost +A limb or life. But back we forced +Reserves and all; made good our hold; +And so we rest. + + Events unfold. +On Thursday added ground was won, + A long bold steep: we near the Den. +Later the foe came shouting down + In sortie, which was quelled; and then +We stormed them on their left. +A chilly change in the afternoon; +The sky, late clear, is now bereft +Of sun. Last night the ground froze hard-- +Rings to the enemy as they run +Within their works. A ramrod bites +The lip it meets. The cold incites +To swinging of arms with brisk rebound. +Smart blows ’gainst lusty chests resound. + +Along the outer line we ward + A crackle of skirmishing goes on. +Our lads creep round on hand and knee, + They fight from behind each trunk and stone; + And sometimes, flying for refuge, one +Finds ’tis an enemy shares the tree. +Some scores are maimed by boughs shot off + In the glades by the Fort’s big gun. + We mourn the loss of colonel Morrison, + Killed while cheering his regiment on. +Their far sharpshooters try our stuff; +And ours return them puff for puff: +’Tis diamond-cutting-diamond work. + Woe on the rebel cannoneer +Who shows his head. Our fellows lurk + Like Indians that waylay the deer +By the wild salt-spring.--The sky is dun, +Fordooming the fall of Donelson. + +Stern weather is all unwonted here. + The people of the country own +We brought it. Yea, the earnest North +Has elementally issued forth + To storm this Donelson._ + +FURTHER. + A yelling rout +Of ragamuffins broke profuse + To-day from out the Fort. + Sole uniform they wore, a sort +Of patch, or white badge (as you choose) + Upon the arm. But leading these, +Or mingling, were men of face +And bearing of patrician race, +Splendid in courage and gold lace-- + The officers. Before the breeze +Made by their charge, down went our line; +But, rallying, charged back in force, +And broke the sally; yet with loss. +This on the left; upon the right +Meanwhile there was an answering fight; + Assailants and assailed reversed. +The charge too upward, and not down-- +Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown, + A strong redoubt. But they who first +Gained the fort’s base, and marked the trees +Felled, heaped in horned perplexities, + And shagged with brush; and swarming there +Fierce wasps whose sting was present death-- +They faltered, drawing bated breath, + And felt it was in vain to dare; +Yet still, perforce, returned the ball, +Firing into the tangled wall +Till ordered to come down. They came; +But left some comrades in their fame, +Red on the ridge in icy wreath +And hanging gardens of cold Death. + But not quite unavenged these fell; +Our ranks once out of range, a blast + Of shrapnel and quick shell +Burst on the rebel horde, still massed, + Scattering them pell-mell. + (This fighting--judging what we read-- + Both charge and countercharge, + Would seem but Thursday’s told at large, + Before in brief reported.--Ed.) +Night closed in about the Den + Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains. +A night not soon to be forgot, + Reviving old rheumatic pains +And longings for a cot. + + No blankets, overcoats, or tents. +Coats thrown aside on the warm march here-- +We looked not then for changeful cheer; +Tents, coats, and blankets too much care. + No fires; a fire a mark presents; + Near by, the trees show bullet-dents. +Rations were eaten cold and raw. + The men well soaked, come snow; and more-- +A midnight sally. Small sleeping done-- + But such is war; +No matter, we’ll have Fort Donelson._ + + “Ugh! ugh! +’Twill drag along--drag along” +Growled a cross patriot in the throng, +His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover +Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over. +“Hurrah for Grant!” cried a stripling shrill; +Three urchins joined him with a will, +And some of taller stature cheered. +Meantime a Copperhead passed; he sneered. + “Win or lose,” he pausing said, +“Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys; +Any thing to make a noise. + Like to see the list of the dead; +These ‘_craven Southerners_’ hold out; +Ay, ay, they’ll give you many a bout” + “We’ll beat in the end, sir” +Firmly said one in staid rebuke, +A solid merchant, square and stout. + “And do you think it? that way tend, sir” +Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look +Of splenetic pity. “Yes, I do” +His yellow death’s head the croaker shook: +“The country’s ruined, that I know” +A shower of broken ice and snow, + In lieu of words, confuted him; +They saw him hustled round the corner go, + And each by-stander said--Well suited him. + +Next day another crowd was seen +In the dark weather’s sleety spleen. +Bald-headed to the storm came out +A man, who, ’mid a joyous shout, +Silently posted this brief sheet: + +GLORIOUS VICTORY OF THE FLEET! + +FRIDAY’S GREAT EVENT! + +THE ENEMY’S WATER-BATTERIES BEAT! + +WE SILENCED EVERY GUN! + +THE OLD COMMODORE’S COMPLIMENTS SENT +PLUMP INTO DONELSON! + +“Well, well, go on!” exclaimed the crowd +To him who thus much read aloud. +“That’s all,” he said. “What! nothing more” +“Enough for a cheer, though--hip, hurrah!” +“But here’s old Baldy come again--” +“More news!”--And now a different strain. + +(Our own reporter a dispatch compiles, + As best he may, from varied sources.) + +Large re-enforcements have arrived-- + Munitions, men, and horses-- +For Grant, and all debarked, with stores. + + The enemy’s field-works extend six miles-- +The gate still hid; so well contrived. + +Yesterday stung us; frozen shores + Snow-clad, and through the drear defiles + +And over the desolate ridges blew +A Lapland wind. + The main affair + Was a good two hours’ steady fight +Between our gun-boats and the Fort. + The Louisville’s wheel was smashed outright. +A hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound ball +Came planet-like through a starboard port, +Killing three men, and wounding all +The rest of that gun’s crew, +(The captain of the gun was cut in two); +Then splintering and ripping went-- +Nothing could be its continent. + In the narrow stream the Louisville, +Unhelmed, grew lawless; swung around, + And would have thumped and drifted, till +All the fleet was driven aground, +But for the timely order to retire. + +Some damage from our fire, ’tis thought, +Was done the water-batteries of the Fort. + +Little else took place that day, + Except the field artillery in line +Would now and then--for love, they say-- + Exchange a valentine. +The old sharpshooting going on. +Some plan afoot as yet unknown; +So Friday closed round Donelson. + +LATER. + Great suffering through the night-- +A stinging one. Our heedless boys + Were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen + Hapless wounded men were frozen. +During day being struck down out of sight, +And help-cries drowned in roaring noise, +They were left just where the skirmish shifted-- +Left in dense underbrush now-drifted. +Some, seeking to crawl in crippled plight, +So stiffened--perished. + Yet in spite +Of pangs for these, no heart is lost. +Hungry, and clothing stiff with frost, +Our men declare a nearing sun +Shall see the fall of Donelson. + And this they say, yet not disown +The dark redoubts round Donelson, + And ice-glazed corpses, each a stone-- + A sacrifice to Donelson; +They swear it, and swerve not, gazing on +A flag, deemed black, flying from Donelson. +Some of the wounded in the wood + Were cared for by the foe last night, +Though he could do them little needed good, + Himself being all in shivering plight. +The rebel is wrong, but human yet; +He’s got a heart, and thrusts a bayonet. +He gives us battle with wondrous will-- +The blufff’s a perverted Bunker Hill._ + +The stillness stealing through the throng +The silent thought and dismal fear revealed; + They turned and went, + Musing on right and wrong + And mysteries dimly sealed-- +Breasting the storm in daring discontent; +The storm, whose black flag showed in heaven, +As if to say no quarter there was given + To wounded men in wood, + Or true hearts yearning for the good-- +All fatherless seemed the human soul. +But next day brought a bitterer bowl-- + On the bulletin-board this stood; + + _Saturday morning at 3 A.M. + A stir within the Fort betrayed + That the rebels were getting under arms; + Some plot these early birds had laid. + But a lancing sleet cut him who stared + Into the storm. After some vague alarms, + Which left our lads unscared, + Out sallied the enemy at dim of dawn, + With cavalry and artillery, and went + In fury at our environment. + Under cover of shot and shell + Three columns of infantry rolled on, + Vomited out of Donelson-- + Rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell, + Surged at our line, and swelled and poured + Like breaking surf. But unsubmerged + Our men stood up, except where roared + The enemy through one gap. We urged + Our all of manhood to the stress, + But still showed shattered in our desperateness. + Back set the tide, + But soon afresh rolled in; + And so it swayed from side to side-- + Far batteries joining in the din, + Though sharing in another fray-- + Till all became an Indian fight, + Intricate, dusky, stretching far away, + Yet not without spontaneous plan + However tangled showed the plight; + Duels all over ’tween man and man, + Duels on cliff-side, and down in ravine, + Duels at long range, and bone to bone; + Duels every where flitting and half unseen. + Only by courage good as their own, + And strength outlasting theirs, + Did our boys at last drive the rebels off. + Yet they went not back to their distant lairs + In strong-hold, but loud in scoff + Maintained themselves on conquered ground-- + Uplands; built works, or stalked around. + Our right wing bore this onset. Noon + Brought calm to Donelson. + +The reader ceased; the storm beat hard; + ’Twas day, but the office-gas was lit; + Nature retained her sulking-fit, + In her hand the shard. +Flitting faces took the hue +Of that washed bulletin-board in view, +And seemed to bear the public grief +As private, and uncertain of relief; +Yea, many an earnest heart was won, + As broodingly he plodded on, +To find in himself some bitter thing, +Some hardness in his lot as harrowing + As Donelson. + +That night the board stood barren there, + Oft eyes by wistful people passing, + Who nothing saw but the rain-beads chasing +Each other down the wafered square, +As down some storm-beat grave-yard stone. +But next day showed-- + + MORE NEWS LAST NIGHT. + + +STORY OF SATURDAY AFTERNOON. + +VICISSITUDES OF THE WAR. + + _The damaged gun-boats can’t wage fight +For days; so says the Commodore. +Thus no diversion can be had. +Under a sunless sky of lead + Our grim-faced boys in blacked plight +Gaze toward the ground they held before, +And then on Grant. He marks their mood, +And hails it, and will turn the same to good. +Spite all that they have undergone, +Their desperate hearts are set upon +This winter fort, this stubborn fort, +This castle of the last resort, + This Donelson. + +1 P.M. + + An order given + Requires withdrawal from the front + Of regiments that bore the brunt +Of morning’s fray. Their ranks all riven +Are being replaced by fresh, strong men. +Great vigilance in the foeman’s Den; +He snuffs the stormers. Need it is +That for that fell assault of his, +That rout inflicted, and self-scorn-- +Immoderate in noble natures, torn +By sense of being through slackness overborne-- +The rebel be given a quick return: +The kindest face looks now half stern. +Balked of their prey in airs that freeze, +Some fierce ones glare like savages. +And yet, and yet, strange moments are-- +Well--blood, and tears, and anguished War! +The morning’s battle-ground is seen + In lifted glades, like meadows rare; + The blood-drops on the snow-crust there +Like clover in the white-week show-- + Flushed fields of death, that call again-- + Call to our men, and not in vain, +For that way must the stormers go. + +3 P.M. + + The work begins. +Light drifts of men thrown forward, fade + In skirmish-line along the slope, +Where some dislodgments must be made + Ere the stormer with the strong-hold cope. + +Lew Wallace, moving to retake +The heights late lost-- + (Herewith a break. + Storms at the West derange the wires. +Doubtless, ere morning, we shall hear +The end; we look for news to cheer-- + Let Hope fan all her fires.)_ + + +Next day in large bold hand was seen +The closing bulletin: + +VICTORY! + _Our troops have retrieved the day +By one grand surge along the line; +The spirit that urged them was divine. + The first works flooded, naught could stay +The stormers: on! still on! +Bayonets for Donelson! + +Over the ground that morning lost +Rolled the blue billows, tempest-tossed, + Following a hat on the point of a sword. +Spite shell and round-shot, grape and canister, +Up they climbed without rail or banister-- + Up the steep hill-sides long and broad, +Driving the rebel deep within his works. +’Tis nightfall; not an enemy lurks + In sight. The chafing men + Fret for more fight: + “To-night, to-night let us take the Den” +But night is treacherous, Grant is wary; +Of brave blood be a little chary. +Patience! the Fort is good as won; +To-morrow, and into Donelson._ + +LATER AND LAST. + + THE FORT IS OURS. + + _A flag came out at early morn +Bringing surrender. From their towers + Floats out the banner late their scorn. +In Dover, hut and house are full + Of rebels dead or dying. + The national flag is flying +From the crammed court-house pinnacle. +Great boat-loads of our wounded go +To-day to Nashville. The sleet-winds blow; +But all is right: the fight is won, +The winter-fight for Donelson. + Hurrah! +The spell of old defeat is broke, + The Habit of victory begun; +Grant strikes the war’s first sounding stroke + At Donelson. + +For lists of killed and wounded, see +The morrow’s dispatch: to-day ’tis victory._ + +The man who read this to the crowd + Shouted as the end he gained; + And though the unflagging tempest rained, + They answered him aloud. +And hand grasped hand, and glances met +In happy triumph; eyes grew wet. +O, to the punches brewed that night +Went little water. Windows bright +Beamed rosy on the sleet without, +And from the deep street came the frequent shout; +While some in prayer, as these in glee, +Blessed heaven for the winter-victory. + +But others were who wakeful laid + In midnight beds, and early rose, + And, feverish in the foggy snows, +Snatched the damp paper--wife and maid. + The death-list like a river flows + Down the pale sheet, +And there the whelming waters meet. + + Ah God! may Time with happy haste + Bring wail and triumph to a waste, + And war be done; + The battle flag-staff fall athwart + The curs’d ravine, and wither; naught + Be left of trench or gun; + The bastion, let it ebb away, + Washed with the river bed; and Day + In vain seek Donelson. + + + +The Cumberland. +(March, 1862.) + + +Some names there are of telling sound, + Whose voweled syllables free +Are pledge that they shall ever live renowned; + Such seem to be +A Frigate’s name (by present glory spanned)-- + The Cumberland. + + Sounding name as ere was sung, + Flowing, rolling on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +She warred and sunk. There’s no denying + That she was ended--quelled; +And yet her flag above her fate is flying, + As when it swelled +Unswallowed by the swallowing sea: so grand-- + The Cumberland. + + Goodly name as ere was sung, + Roundly rolling on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +What need to tell how she was fought-- + The sinking flaming gun-- +The gunner leaping out the port-- + Washed back, undone! +Her dead unconquerably manned + The Cumberland. + + Noble name as ere was sung, + Slowly roll it on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +Long as hearts shall share the flame + Which burned in that brave crew, +Her fame shall live--outlive the victor’s name; + For this is due. +Your flag and flag-staff shall in story stand-- + Cumberland! + + Sounding name as ere was sung, + Long they’ll roll it on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + + + +In the Turret. +(March, 1862.) + + +Your honest heart of duty, Worden, + So helped you that in fame you dwell; +You bore the first iron battle’s burden + Sealed as in a diving-bell. +Alcides, groping into haunted hell +To bring forth King Admetus’ bride, +Braved naught more vaguely direful and untried. + What poet shall uplift his charm, +Bold Sailor, to your height of daring, + And interblend therewith the calm, +And build a goodly style upon your bearing. + +Escaped the gale of outer ocean-- + Cribbed in a craft which like a log +Was washed by every billow’s motion-- + By night you heard of Og +The huge; nor felt your courage clog +At tokens of his onset grim: +You marked the sunk ship’s flag-staff slim, + Lit by her burning sister’s heart; +You marked, and mused: “Day brings the trial: + Then be it proved if I have part +With men whose manhood never took denial.” + +A prayer went up--a champion’s. Morning + Beheld you in the Turret walled +by adamant, where a spirit forewarning + And all-deriding called: +“Man, darest thou--desperate, unappalled-- +Be first to lock thee in the armored tower? +I have thee now; and what the battle-hour + To me shall bring--heed well--thou’lt share; +This plot-work, planned to be the foeman’s terror, + To thee may prove a goblin-snare; +Its very strength and cunning--monstrous error!” + +“Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter + If here thou seest thy welded tomb? +And let huge Og with thunders batter-- + Duty be still my doom, +Though drowning come in liquid gloom; +First duty, duty next, and duty last; +Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!--” + So nerved, you fought wisely and well; +And live, twice live in life and story; + But over your Monitor dirges swell, +In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory. + + + +The Temeraire.[3] + +_(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by +the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)_ + + +The gloomy hulls, in armor grim, + Like clouds o’er moors have met, +And prove that oak, and iron, and man + Are tough in fibre yet. + +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields + No front of old display; +The garniture, emblazonment, + And heraldry all decay. + +Towering afar in parting light, + The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine-- +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show + Of Ships-of-the-Line. + +The fighting Temeraire, + Built of a thousand trees, +Lunging out her lightnings, + And beetling o’er the seas-- +O Ship, how brave and fair, + That fought so oft and well, +On open decks you manned the gun + Armorial.[4] +What cheering did you share, + Impulsive in the van, +When down upon leagued France and Spain + We English ran-- +The freshet at your bowsprit + Like the foam upon the can. +Bickering, your colors + Licked up the Spanish air, +You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- + Your challenge, Temeraire! +The rear ones of our fleet + They yearned to share your place, +Still vying with the Victory + Throughout that earnest race-- +The Victory, whose Admiral, + With orders nobly won, +Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- + The angel in that sun. +Parallel in story, + Lo, the stately pair, +As late in grapple ranging, + The foe between them there-- +When four great hulls lay tiered, + And the fiery tempest cleared, +And your prizes twain appeared, + Temeraire! + +But Trafalgar’ is over now, + The quarter-deck undone; +The carved and castled navies fire + Their evening-gun. +O, Tital Temeraire, + Your stern-lights fade away; +Your bulwarks to the years must yield, + And heart-of-oak decay. +A pigmy steam-tug tows you, + Gigantic, to the shore-- +Dismantled of your guns and spars, + And sweeping wings of war. +The rivets clinch the iron-clads, + Men learn a deadlier lore; +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- + Your ghost it sails before: +O, the navies old and oaken, + O, the Temeraire no more! + + + +A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight. + + +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, + More ponderous than nimble; +For since grimed War here laid aside +His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit + Overmuch to ply +The Rhyme’s barbaric cymbal. + +Hail to victory without the gaud + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans +Of banners; plain mechanic power +Plied cogently in War now placed-- + Where War belongs-- +Among the trades and artisans. + +Yet this was battle, and intense-- + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; +Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm; +No passion; all went on by crank, + Pivot, and screw, +And calculations of caloric. + +Needless to dwell; the story’s known. + the ringing of those plates on plates +Still ringeth round the world-- +The clangor of that blacksmith’s fray. + The anvil-din +Resounds this message from the Fates: + +War shall yet be, and to the end; + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; +War yet shall be, but warriors +Are now but operatives; War’s made + Less grand than Peace, +And a singe runs through lace and feather. + + + +Shiloh. +A Requiem. +(April, 1862.) + + +Skimming lightly, wheeling still, + The swallows fly low +Over the field in clouded days, + The forest-field of Shiloh-- +Over the field where April rain +Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain +Through the pause of night +That followed the Sunday fight + Around the church of Shiloh-- +The church so lone, the log-built one, +That echoed to many a parting groan + And natural prayer +Of dying foemen mingled there-- +Foemen at morn, but friends at eve-- + Fame or country least their care: +(What like a bullet can undeceive!) + But now they lie low, +While over them the swallows skim, + And all is hushed at Shiloh. + + + +The Battle for the Mississipppi. +(April, 1862.) + + +When Israel camped by Migdol hoar, + Down at her feet her shawm she threw, +But Moses sung and timbrels rung + For Pharaoh’s standed crew. +So God appears in apt events-- + The Lord is a man of war! +So the strong wind to the muse is given + In victory’s roar. + +Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet-- + The fight by night--the fray +Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream, + And led it up to day. +Dully through din of larger strife + Shall bay that warring gun; +But none the less to us who live + It peals--an echoing one. + +The shock of ships, the jar of walls, + The rush through thick and thin-- +The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom-- + Eddies, and shells that spin-- +The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged, + The jam of gun-boats driven, +Or fired, or sunk--made up a war + Like Michael’s waged with leven. + +The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled + The odds which hard beset; +The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze, + Passed on and thundered yet; +While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame, + The Ram Manassas--hark the yell!-- +Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright, + The River gave a startled swell. + +They fought through lurid dark till dawn; + The war-smoke rolled away +With clouds of night, and showed the fleet + In scarred yet firm array, +Above the forts, above the drift + Of wrecks which strife had made; +And Farragut sailed up to the town + And anchored--sheathed the blade. + +The moody broadsides, brooding deep, + Hold the lewd mob at bay, +While o’er the armed decks’ solemn aisles + The meek church-pennons play; +By shotted guns the sailors stand, + With foreheads bound or bare; +The captains and the conquering crews + Humble their pride in prayer. + +They pray; and after victory, prayer + Is meet for men who mourn their slain; +The living shall unmoor and sail, + But Death’s dark anchor secret deeps detain. +Yet glory slants her shaft of rays + Far through the undisturbed abyss; +There must be other, nobler worlds for them + Who nobly yield their lives in this. + + + +Malvern Hill. +(July, 1862.) + + +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill + In prime of morn and May, +Recall ye how McClellan’s men + Here stood at bay? +While deep within yon forest dim + Our rigid comrades lay-- +Some with the cartridge in their mouth, +Others with fixed arms lifted South-- + Invoking so +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! + +The spires of Richmond, late beheld + Through rifts in musket-haze, +Were closed from view in clouds of dust + On leaf-walled ways, +Where streamed our wagons in caravan; + And the Seven Nights and Days +Of march and fast, retreat and fight, +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- + Does the elm wood +Recall the haggard beards of blood? + +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, + We followed (it never fell!)-- +In silence husbanded our strength-- + Received their yell; +Till on this slope we patient turned + With cannon ordered well; +Reverse we proved was not defeat; +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!-- + Does Malvern Wood +Bethink itself, and muse and brood? + + _We elms of Malvern Hill + Remember every thing; + But sap the twig will fill: + Wag the world how it will, + Leaves must be green in Spring._ + + + + +The Victor of Antietam.[5] +(1862.) + + +When tempest winnowed grain from bran; +And men were looking for a man, +Authority called you to the van, + McClellan: +Along the line the plaudit ran, +As later when Antietam’s cheers began. + +Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move +Each Cause and Man, dear to the stars and Jove; +Nor always can the wisest tell +Deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell-- +The struggler from the floundering ne’er-do-well. +A pall-cloth on the Seven Days fell, + Mcclellan-- +Unprosperously heroical! +Who could Antietam’s wreath foretell? + +Authority called you; then, in mist +And loom of jeopardy--dismissed. +But staring peril soon appalled; +You, the Discarded, she recalled-- +Recalled you, nor endured delay; +And forth you rode upon a blasted way, +Arrayed Pope’s rout, and routed Lee’s array, + McClellan: +Your tent was choked with captured flags that day, + McClellan. +Antietam was a telling fray. + +Recalled you; and she heard your drum +Advancing through the glastly gloom. +You manned the wall, you propped the Dome, +You stormed the powerful stormer home, + McClellan: +Antietam’s cannon long shall boom. + +At Alexandria, left alone, + McClellan-- +Your veterans sent from you, and thrown +To fields and fortunes all unknown-- +What thoughts were yours, revealed to none, +While faithful still you labored on-- +Hearing the far Manassas gun! + McClellan, +Only Antietam could atone. + +You fought in the front (an evil day, + McClellan)-- +The fore-front of the first assay; +The Cause went sounding, groped its way; +The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay; +Quills thwarted swords; divided sway; +The rebel flushed in his lusty May: +You did your best, as in you lay, + McClellan. +Antietam’s sun-burst sheds a ray. + +Your medalled soldiers love you well, + McClellan: +Name your name, their true hearts swell; +With you they shook dread Stonewall’s spell,[6] +With you they braved the blended yell +Of rebel and maligner fell; +With you in shame or fame they dwell, + McClellan: +Antietam-braves a brave can tell. + +And when your comrades (now so few, + McClellan-- +Such ravage in deep files they rue) +Meet round the board, and sadly view +The empty places; tribute due +They render to the dead--and you! +Absent and silent o’er the blue; +The one-armed lift the wine to _you_, + McClellan, +And great Antietam’s cheers renew. + + + +Battle of Stone River, Tennessee. +A View from Oxford Cloisters. +(January, 1863.) + + +With Tewksbury and Barnet heath + In days to come the field shall blend, +The story dim and date obscure; + In legend all shall end. +Even now, involved in forest shade + A Druid-dream the strife appears, +The fray of yesterday assumes + The haziness of years. + In North and South still beats the vein + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian. + +Our rival Roses warred for Sway-- + For Sway, but named the name of Right; +And Passion, scorning pain and death, + Lent sacred fervor to the fight. +Each lifted up a broidered cross, + While crossing blades profaned the sign; +Monks blessed the fraticidal lance, + And sisters scarfs could twine. + Do North and South the sin retain + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian? + +But Rosecrans in the cedarn glade, + And, deep in denser cypress gloom, +Dark Breckenridge, shall fade away + Or thinly loom. +The pale throngs who in forest cowed + Before the spell of battle’s pause, +Forefelt the stillness that shall dwell + On them and on their wars. + North and South shall join the train + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian. + +But where the sword has plunged so deep, + And then been turned within the wound +By deadly Hate; where Climes contend + On vasty ground-- +No warning Alps or seas between, + And small the curb of creed or law, +And blood is quick, and quick the brain; + Shall North and South their rage deplore, + And reunited thrive amain + Like Yorkist and Lancastrian? + + + +Running the Batteries, +As observed from the Anchorage above Vicksburgh. +(April, 1863.) + + +A moonless night--a friendly one; + A haze dimmed the shadowy shore +As the first lampless boat slid silent on; + Hist! and we spake no more; +We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw. + +We felt the dew, and seemed to feel + The secret like a burden laid. +The first boat melts; and a second keel + Is blent with the foliaged shade-- +Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made? + +Unspied as yet. A third--a fourth-- + Gun-boat and transport in Indian file +Upon the war-path, smooth from the North; + But the watch may they hope to beguile? +The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile. + +A flame leaps out; they are seen; + Another and another gun roars; +We tell the course of the boats through the screen + By each further fort that pours, +And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores. + +Converging fires. We speak, though low: + “That blastful furnace can they threadd” +“Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego + Came out all right, we read; +The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.” + +How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun + A golden growing flame appears-- +Confirms to a silvery steadfast one: + “The town is afire!” crows Hugh: “three cheers” +Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.” + +A purposed light; it shows our fleet; + Yet a little late in its searching ray, +So far and strong, that in phantom cheat + Lank on the deck our shadows lay; +The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play. + +How dread to mark her near the glare + And glade of death the beacon throws +Athwart the racing waters there; + One by one each plainer grows, +Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes. + +The impartial cresset lights as well + The fixed forts to the boats that run; +And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell + Back to each fortress dun: +Ponderous words speaks every monster gun. + +Fearless they flash through gates of flame, + The salamanders hard to hit, +Though vivid shows each bulky frame; + And never the batteries intermit, +Nor the boats huge guns; they fire and flit. + +Anon a lull. The beacon dies: + “Are they out of that strait accurst” +But other flames now dawning rise, + Not mellowly brilliant like the first, +But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst. + +A baleful brand, a hurrying torch + Whereby anew the boats are seen-- +A burning transport all alurch! + Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean +Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean. + +The effulgence takes an amber glow + Which bathes the hill-side villas far; +Affrighted ladies mark the show + Painting the pale magnolia-- +The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War. + +The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one. + Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly. +But the gauntlet now is nearly run, + The spleenful forts by fits reply, +And the burning boat dies down in morning’s sky. + +All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs! + Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun. +So burst we through their barriers + And menaces every one: +So Porter proves himself a brave man’s son.[7] + + + +Stonewall Jackson. +Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville. +(May, 1863.) + + +The Man who fiercest charged in fight, + Whose sword and prayer were long-- + Stonewall! + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, +How can we praise? Yet coming days + Shall not forget him with this song. + +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, + Vainly he died and set his seal-- + Stonewall! + Earnest in error, as we feel; +True to the thing he deemed was due, + True as John Brown or steel. + +Relentlessly he routed us; + But _we_ relent, for he is low-- + Stonewall! + Justly his fame we outlaw; so +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier, + Because no wreath we owe. + + + +Stonewall Jackson. +(Ascribed to a Virginian.) + + +One man we claim of wrought renown + Which not the North shall care to slur; +A Modern lived who sleeps in death, + Calm as the marble Ancients are: + ’Tis he whose life, though a vapor’s wreath, + Was charged with the lightning’s burning breath-- + Stonewall, stormer of the war. + +But who shall hymn the roman heart? + A stoic he, but even more: +The iron will and lion thew + Were strong to inflict as to endure: + Who like him could stand, or pursue? + His fate the fatalist followed through; + In all his great soul found to do + Stonewall followed his star. + +He followed his star on the Romney march + Through the sleet to the wintry war; +And he followed it on when he bowed the grain-- + The Wind of the Shenandoah; + At Gaines’s Mill in the giant’s strain-- + On the fierce forced stride to Manassas-plain, + Where his sword with thunder was clothed again, + Stonewall followed his star. + +His star he followed athwart the flood + To Potomac’s Northern shore, +When midway wading, his host of braves + “_My Maryland!_” loud did roar-- + To red Antietam’s field of graves, + Through mountain-passes, woods and waves, + They followed their pagod with hymns and glaives, + For Stonewall followed a star. + +Back it led him to Marye’s slope, + Where the shock and the fame he bore; +And to green Moss-Neck it guided him-- + Brief respite from throes of war: + To the laurel glade by the Wilderness grim, + Through climaxed victory naught shall dim, + Even unto death it piloted him-- + Stonewall followed his star. + +Its lead he followed in gentle ways + Which never the valiant mar; +A cap we sent him, bestarred, to replace + The sun-scorched helm of war: + A fillet he made of the shining lace + Childhood’s laughing brow to grace-- + Not his was a goldsmith’s star. + +O, much of doubt in after days + Shall cling, as now, to the war; +Of the right and the wrong they’ll still debate, + Puzzled by Stonewall’s star: + “Fortune went with the North elate” + “Ay, but the south had Stonewall’s weight, + And he fell in the South’s vain war.” + + + +Gettysburg. +The Check. +(July, 1863.) + + +O pride of the days in prime of the months + Now trebled in great renown, +When before the ark of our holy cause + Fell Dagon down-- +Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed, +Never his impious heart enlarged +Beyond that hour; god walled his power, +And there the last invader charged. + +He charged, and in that charge condensed + His all of hate and all of fire; +He sought to blast us in his scorn, + And wither us in his ire. +Before him went the shriek of shells-- +Aerial screamings, taunts and yells; +Then the three waves in flashed advance + Surged, but were met, and back they set: +Pride was repelled by sterner pride, + And Right is a strong-hold yet. + +Before our lines it seemed a beach + Which wild September gales have strown +With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith + Pale crews unknown-- +Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun +Died on the face of each lifeless one, +And died along the winding marge of fight + And searching-parties lone. + +Sloped on the hill the mounds were green, + Our center held that place of graves, +And some still hold it in their swoon, + And over these a glory waves. +The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,[8] +Shall soar transfigured in loftier light, + A meaning ampler bear; +Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer +Have laid the stone, and every bone + Shall rest in honor there. + + + +The House-top. +A Night Piece. +(July, 1863.) + + +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air +And binds the brain--a dense oppression, such +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, +Balefully glares red Arson--there-and there. +The Town is taken by its rats--ship-rats. +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms +And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe-- +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve, +And man rebounds whole æons back in nature.[9] +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall. +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll +Of black artillery; he comes, though late; +In code corroborating Calvin’s creed +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings; +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town redeemed, +Give thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds +The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied, +Which holds that Man is naturally good, +And--more--is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged. + + + +Look-out Mountain. +The Night Fight. +(November, 1863.) + + +Who inhabiteth the Mountain + That it shines in lurid light, +And is rolled about with thunders, + And terrors, and a blight, +Like Kaf the peak of Eblis-- + Kaf, the evil height? +Who has gone up with a shouting + And a trumpet in the night? + +There is battle in the Mountain-- + Might assaulteth Might; +’Tis the fastness of the Anarch, + Torrent-torn, an ancient height; +The crags resound the clangor + Of the war of Wrong and Right; +And the armies in the valley + Watch and pray for dawning light. + +Joy, Joy, the day is breaking, + And the cloud is rolled from sight; +There is triumph in the Morning + For the Anarch’s plunging flight; +God has glorified the Mountain + Where a Banner burneth bright, +And the armies in the valley + They are fortified in right. + + + +Chattanooga. +(November, 1863.) + + +A kindling impulse seized the host + Inspired by heaven’s elastic air;[9] +Their hearts outran their General’s plan, + Though Grant commanded there-- + Grant, who without reserve can dare; +And, “Well, go on and do your will” + He said, and measured the mountain then: +So master-riders fling the rein-- + But you must know your men. + +On yester-morn in grayish mist, + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought, +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud + The Cumberlands far had caught: + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, + And smoked as one who feels no cares; +But mastered nervousness intense + Alone such calmness wears. + +The summit-cannon plunge their flame + Sheer down the primal wall, +But up and up each linking troop + In stretching festoons crawl-- + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink, + Looks far along the breadth of slope, +And sees two miles of dark dots creep, + And knows they mean the cope. + +He sees them creep. Yet here and there + Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go; +As men who ply through traceries high + Of turreted marbles show-- + So dwindle these to eyes below. +But fronting shot and flanking shell + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways; +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, + But never the climbing stays. + +From right to left, from left to right + They roll the rallying cheer-- +Vie with each other, brother with brother, + Who shall the first appear-- + What color-bearer with colors clear +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, + Whose cigar must now be near the stump-- +While in solicitude his back + Heap slowly to a hump. + +Near and more near; till now the flags + Run like a catching flame; +And one flares highest, to peril nighest-- + _He_ means to make a name: + Salvos! they give him his fame. +The staff is caught, and next the rush, + And then the leap where death has led; +Flag answered flag along the crest, + And swarms of rebels fled. + +But some who gained the envied Alp, + And--eager, ardent, earnest there-- +Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms, + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air-- + Forever they slumber young and fair, +The smile upon them as they died; + Their end attained, that end a height: +Life was to these a dream fulfilled, + And death a starry night. + + + +The Armies of the Wilderness. +(1683-64.) + + +I + +Like snows the camps on southern hills + Lay all the winter long, +Our levies there in patience stood-- + They stood in patience strong. +On fronting slopes gleamed other camps + Where faith as firmly clung: +Ah, froward king! so brave miss-- + The zealots of the Wrong. + + _In this strife of brothers + (God, hear their country call), + However it be, whatever betide, + Let not the just one fall._ + +Through the pointed glass our soldiers saw + The base-ball bounding sent; +They could have joined them in their sport + But for the vale’s deep rent. +And others turned the reddish soil, + Like diggers of graves they bent: +The reddish soil and tranching toil + Begat presentiment. + + _Did the Fathers feel mistrust? + Can no final good be wrought? + Over and over, again and again + Must the fight for the Right be fought?_ + +They lead a Gray-back to the crag: + “Your earth-works yonder--tell us, man” +“A prisoner--no deserter, I, + Nor one of the tell-tale clan” +His rags they mark: “True-blue like you + Should wear the color--your Country’s, man” +He grinds his teeth: “However that be, + Yon earth-works have their plan.” + + _Such brave ones, foully snared + By Belial’s wily plea, + Were faithful unto the evil end-- + Feudal fidelity._ + +“Well, then, your camps--come, tell the names” + Freely he leveled his finger then: +“Yonder--see--are our Georgians; on the crest, + The Carolinians; lower, past the glen, +Virginians--Alabamians--Mississippians--Kentuckians + (Follow my finger)--Tennesseeans; and the ten +Camps _there_--ask your grave-pits; they’ll tell. + Halloa! I see the picket-hut, the den +Where I last night lay.” “Where’s Lee” + “In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men!” + + _The tribes swarm up to war + As in ages long ago, + Ere the palm of promise leaved + And the lily of Christ did blow._ + +Their mounted pickets for miles are spied + Dotting the lowland plain, +The nearer ones in their veteran-rags-- + Loutish they loll in lazy disdain. +But ours in perilous places bide + With rifles ready and eyes that strain +Deep through the dim suspected wood + Where the Rapidan rolls amain. + + _The Indian has passed away, + But creeping comes another-- + Deadlier far. Picket, + Take heed--take heed of thy brother!_ + +From a wood-hung height, an outpost lone, + Crowned with a woodman’s fort, +The sentinel looks on a land of dole, + Like Paran, all amort. +Black chimneys, gigantic in moor-like wastes, + The scowl of the clouded sky retort; +The hearth is a houseless stone again-- + Ah! where shall the people be sought? + + _Since the venom such blastment deals, + The south should have paused, and thrice, + Ere with heat of her hate she hatched + The egg with the cockatrice._ + +A path down the mountain winds to the glade + Where the dead of the Moonlight Fight lie low; +A hand reaches out of the thin-laid mould + As begging help which none can bestow. +But the field-mouse small and busy ant + Heap their hillocks, to hide if they may the woe: +By the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen, + And the drum which the drummer-boy dying let go. + + _Dust to dust, and blood for blood-- + Passion and pangs! Has Time + Gone back? or is this the Age + Of the world’s great Prime?_ + +The wagon mired and cannon dragged + Have trenched their scar; the plain +Tramped like the cindery beach of the damned-- + A site for the city of Cain. +And stumps of forests for dreary leagues + Like a massacre show. The armies have lain +By fires where gums and balms did burn, + And the seeds of Summer’s reign. + + _Where are the birds and boys? + Who shall go chestnutting when + October returns? The nuts-- + O, long ere they grow again._ + +They snug their huts with the chapel-pews, + In court-houses stable their steeds-- +Kindle their fires with indentures and bonds, + And old Lord Fairfax’s parchment deeds; +And Virginian gentlemen’s libraries old-- + Books which only the scholar heeds-- +Are flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range, + And gardens are left to weeds. + + _Turned adrift into war + Man runs wild on the plain, + Like the jennets let loose + On the Pampas--zebras again._ + +Like the Pleiads dim, see the tents through the storm-- + Aloft by the hill-side hamlet’s graves, +On a head-stone used for a hearth-stone there + The water is bubbling for punch for our braves. +What if the night be drear, and the blast + Ghostly shrieks? their rollicking staves +Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords, + What care they if Winter raves? + + _Is life but a dream? and so, + In the dream do men laugh aloud? + So strange seems mirth in a camp, + So like a white tent to a shroud._ + + +II + +The May-weed springs; and comes a Man + And mounts our Signal Hill; +A quiet Man, and plain in garb-- + Briefly he looks his fill, +Then drops his gray eye on the ground, + Like a loaded mortar he is still: +Meekness and grimness meet in him-- + The silent General. + + _Were men but strong and wise, + Honest as Grant, and calm, + War would be left to the red and black ants, + And the happy world disarm._ + +That eve a stir was in the camps, + Forerunning quiet soon to come +Among the streets of beechen huts + No more to know the drum. +The weed shall choke the lowly door, + And foxes peer within the gloom, +Till scared perchange by Mosby’s prowling men, + Who ride in the rear of doom. + + _Far West, and farther South, + Wherever the sword has been, + Deserted camps are met, + And desert graves are seen._ + +The livelong night they ford the flood; + With guns held high they silent press, +Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets’ sheen-- + On Morning’s banks their ranks they dress; +Then by the forests lightly wind, + Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless, +Borne by the cavalry scouting on-- + Sounding the Wilderness. + + _Like shoals of fish in spring + That visit Crusoe’s isle, + The host in the lonesome place-- + The hundred thousand file._ + +The foe that held his guarded hills + Must speed to woods afar; +For the scheme that was nursed by the Culpepper hearth + With the slowly-smoked cigar-- +The scheme that smouldered through winter long + Now bursts into act--into war-- +The resolute scheme of a heart as calm + As the Cyclone’s core. + + _The fight for the city is fought + In Nature’s old domain; + Man goes out to the wilds, + And Orpheus’ charm is vain._ + +In glades they meet skull after skull + Where pine-cones lay--the rusted gun, +Green shoes full of bones, the mouldering coat + And cuddled-up skeleton; +And scores of such. Some start as in dreams, + And comrades lost bemoan: +By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged-- + But the Year and the Man were gone. + + _At the height of their madness + The night winds pause, + Recollecting themselves; + But no lull in these wars._ + +A gleam!--a volley! And who shall go + Storming the swarmers in jungles dread? +No cannon-ball answers, no proxies are sent-- + They rush in the shrapnel’s stead. +Plume and sash are vanities now-- + Let them deck the pall of the dead; +They go where the shade is, perhaps into Hades, + Where the brave of all times have led. + + _There’s a dust of hurrying feet, + Bitten lips and bated breath, + And drums that challenge to the grave, + And faces fixed, forefeeling death._ + +What husky huzzahs in the hazy groves-- + What flying encounters fell; +Pursuer and pursued like ghosts disappear + In gloomed shade--their end who shall tell? +The crippled, a ragged-barked stick for a crutch, + Limp to some elfin dell-- +Hobble from the sight of dead faces--white + As pebbles in a well. + + _Few burial rites shall be; + No priest with book and band + Shall come to the secret place + Of the corpse in the foeman’s land._ + +Watch and fast, march and fight--clutch your gun? + Day-fights and night-fights; sore is the strees; +Look, through the pines what line comes on? + Longstreet slants through the hauntedness? +’Tis charge for charge, and shout for yell: + Such battles on battles oppress-- +But Heaven lent strength, the Right strove well, + And emerged from the Wilderness. + + _Emerged, for the way was won; + But the Pillar of Smoke that led + Was brand-like with ghosts that went up + Ashy and red._ + +None can narrate that strife in the pines, + A seal is on it--Sabaean lore! +Obscure as the wood, the entangled rhyme + But hints at the maze of war-- +Vivid glimpses or livid through peopled gloom, + And fires which creep and char-- +A riddle of death, of which the slain + Sole solvers are. + + _Long they withhold the roll + Of the shroudless dead. It is right; + Not yet can we bear the flare + Of the funeral light._ + + + +On the Photograph of a Corps Commander. + + +Ay, man is manly. Here you see + The warrior-carriage of the head, +And brave dilation of the frame; + And lighting all, the soul that led +In Spottsylvaniaa’s charge to victory, + Which justifies his fame. + +A cheering picture. It is good + To look upon a Chief like this, +In whom the spirit moulds the form. + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss, +With eagle mien expressive has endued + A man to kindle strains that warm. + +Trace back his lineage, and his sires, + Yeoman or noble, you shall find +Enrolled with men of Agincourt, + Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind. +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, + And front the Templars bore. + +Nothing can lift the heart of man + Like manhood in a fellow-man. +The thought of heaven’s great King afar + But humbles us--too weak to scan; +But manly greatness men can span, + And feel the bonds that draw. + + + +The Swamp Angel.[10] + + +There is a coal-black Angel + With a thick Afric lip, +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) + In a swamp where the green frogs dip. +But his face is against a City + Which is over a bay of the sea, +And he breathes with a breath that is blastment, + And dooms by a far decree. + +By night there is fear in the City, + Through the darkness a star soareth on; +There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith, + Then the poise of a meteor lone-- +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, + And downward the coming is seen; +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, + And wails and shrieks between. + +It comes like the thief in the gloaming; + It comes, and none may foretell +The place of the coming--the glaring; + They live in a sleepless spell +That wizens, and withers, and whitens; + It ages the young, and the bloom +Of the maiden is ashes of roses-- + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom. + +Swift is his messengers’ going, + But slowly he saps their halls, +As if by delay deluding. + They move from their crumbling walls +Farther and farther away; + But the Angel sends after and after, +By night with the flame of his ray-- + By night with the voice of his screaming-- +Sends after them, stone by stone, + And farther walls fall, farther portals, +And weed follows weed through the Town. + +Is this the proud City? the scorner + Which never would yield the ground? +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? + The cup of despair goes round. +Vainly she calls upon Michael + (The white man’s seraph was he), +For Michael has fled from his tower + To the Angel over the sea. + +Who weeps for the woeful City + Let him weep for our guilty kind; +Who joys at her wild despairing-- + Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. + + + +The Battle for the Bay. +(August, 1864.) + + +O mystery of noble hearts, + To whom mysterious seas have been +In midnight watches, lonely calm and storm, + A stern, sad disciple, +And rooted out the false and vain, + And chastened them to aptness for + Devotion and the deeds of war, +And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain. + +Beyond the bar the land-wind dies, + The prows becharmed at anchor swim: +A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down-- + Fair eve of battle grim. +The sentries pace, bonetas glide; + Below, the sleeping sailor swing, + And if their dreams to quarters spring, +Or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide. + +But drums are beat: _Up anchor all!_ + The triple lines steam slowly on; +Day breaks, and through the sweep of decks each man + Stands coldly by his gun-- +As cold as it. But he shall warm-- + Warm with the solemn metal there, + And all its ordered fury share, +In attitude a gladiatorial form. + +The Admiral--yielding the love + Which held his life and ship so dear-- +Sailed second in the long fleet’s midmost line; + Yet thwarted all their care: +He lashed himself aloft, and shone + Star of the fight, with influence sent + Throughout the dusk embattlement; +And so they neared the strait and walls of stone. + +No sprintly fife as in the field, + The decks were hushed like fanes in prayer; +Behind each man a holy angel stood-- + He stood, though none was ’ware. +Out spake the forts on either hand, + Back speak the ships when spoken to, + And set their flags in concert true, +And _On and in!_ is Farragut’s command. + +But what delays? ’mid wounds above + Dim buoys give hint of death below-- +Sea-ambuscades, where evil art had aped + Hecla that hides in snow. +The centre-van, entangled, trips; + The starboard leader holds straight on: + A cheer for the Tecumseh!--nay, +Before their eyes the turreted ship goes down! + +The fire redoubles, While the fleet + Hangs dubious--ere the horror ran-- +The Admiral rushes to his rightful place-- + Well met! apt hour and man!-- +Closes with peril, takes the lead, + His action is a stirring call; + He strikes his great heart through them all, +And is the genius of their daring deed. + +The forts are daunted, slack their fire, + Confounded by the deadlier aim +And rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet, + And fierce denouncing flame. +Yet shots from four dark hulls embayed + Come raking through the loyal crews, + Whom now each dying mate endues +With his last look, anguished yet undismayed. + +A flowering time to guilt is given, + And traitors have their glorying hour; +O late, but sure, the righteous Paramount comes-- + Palsy is on their power! +So proved it with the rebel keels, + The strong-holds past: assailed, they run; + The Selma strikes, and the work is done: +The dropping anchor the achievement seals. + +But no, she turns--the Tennessee! + The solid Ram of iron and oak, +Strong as Evil, and bold as Wrong, though lone-- + A pestilence in her smoke. +The flag-ship is her singled mark, + The wooden Hartford. Let her come; + She challenges the planet of Doom, +And naught shall save her--not her iron bark. + +_Slip anchor, all! and at her, all!_ + _Bear down with rushing beaks--and_ now! +First the Monongahela struck--and reeled; + The Lackawana’s prow +Next crashed--crashed, but not crashing; then + The Admiral rammed, and rasping nigh + Sloped in a broadside, which glanced by: +The Monitors battered at her adamant den. + +The Chickasaw plunged beneath the stern + And pounded there; a huge wrought orb +From the Manhattan pierced one wall, but dropped; + Others the seas absorb. +Yet stormed on all sides, narrowed in, + Hampered and cramped, the bad one fought-- + Spat ribald curses from the port +Who shutters, jammed, locked up this Man-of-Sin. + +No pause or stay. They made a din + Like hammers round a boiler forged; +Now straining strength tangled itself with strength, + Till Hate her will disgorged. +The white flag showed, the fight was won-- + Mad shouts went up that shook the Bay; + But pale on the scarred fleet’s decks there lay +A silent man for every silenced gun. + +And quiet far below the wave, + Where never cheers shall move their sleep, +Some who did boldly, nobly earn them, lie-- + Charmed children of the deep. +But decks that now are in the seed, + And cannon yet within the mine, + Shall thrill the deeper, gun and pine, +Because of the Tecumseh’s glorious deed. + + + +Sheridan at Cedar Creek. +(October, 1864.) + + +Shoe the steed with silver + That bore him to the fray, +When he heard the guns at dawning-- + Miles away; +When he heard them calling, calling-- + Mount! nor stay: + Quick, or all is lost; + They’ve surprised and stormed the post, + They push your routed host-- + Gallop! retrieve the day. + +House the horse in ermine-- + For the foam-flake blew +White through the red October; + He thundered into view; +They cheered him in the looming, + Horseman and horse they knew. + The turn of the tide began, + The rally of bugles ran, + He swung his hat in the van; + The electric hoof-spark flew. + +Wreathe the steed and lead him-- + For the charge he led +Touched and turned the cypress + Into amaranths for the head +Of Philip, king of riders, + Who raised them from the dead. + The camp (at dawning lost), + By eve, recovered--forced, + Rang with laughter of the host + At belated Early fled. + +Shroud the horse in sable-- + For the mounds they heap! +There is firing in the Valley, + And yet no strife they keep; +It is the parting volley, + It is the pathos deep. + There is glory for the brave + Who lead, and noblys ave, + But no knowledge in the grave + Where the nameless followers sleep. + + + +In the Prison Pen. +(1864.) + + +Listless he eyes the palisades + And sentries in the glare; +’Tis barren as a pelican-beach-- + But his world is ended there. + +Nothing to do; and vacant hands + Bring on the idiot-pain; +He tries to think--to recollect, + But the blur is on his brain. + +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts + Like those on Virgil’s shore-- +A wilderness of faces dim, + And pale ones gashed and hoar. + +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; + He totters to his lair-- +A den that sick hands dug in earth + Ere famine wasted there, + +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, + Walled in by throngs that press, +Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead-- + Dead in his meagreness. + + + +The College Colonel. + + +He rides at their head; + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view, +One slung arm is in splints, you see, + Yet he guides his strong steed--how coldly too. + +He brings his regiment home-- + Not as they filed two years before, +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn, +Like castaway sailors, who--stunned + By the surf’s loud roar, + Their mates dragged back and seen no more-- +Again and again breast the surge, + And at last crawl, spent, to shore. + +A still rigidity and pale-- + An Indian aloofness lones his brow; +He has lived a thousand years +Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers, + Marches and watches slow. + +There are welcoming shouts, and flags; + Old men off hat to the Boy, +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet, + But to _him_--there comes alloy. + +It is not that a leg is lost, + It is not that an arm is maimed. +It is not that the fever has racked-- + Self he has long disclaimed. + +But all through the Seven Day’s Fight, + And deep in the wilderness grim, +And in the field-hospital tent, + And Petersburg crater, and dim +Lean brooding in Libby, there came-- + Ah heaven!--what _truth_ to him. + + + +The Eagle of the Blue.[12] + + +Aloft he guards the starry folds + Who is the brother of the star; +The bird whose joy is in the wind + Exultleth in the war. + +No painted plume--a sober hue, + His beauty is his power; +That eager calm of gaze intent + Foresees the Sibyl’s hour. + +Austere, he crowns the swaying perch, + Flapped by the angry flag; +The hurricane from the battery sings, + But his claw has known the crag. + +Amid the scream of shells, his scream + Runs shrilling; and the glare +Of eyes that brave the blinding sun + The vollied flame can bear. + +The pride of quenchless strength is his-- + Strength which, though chained, avails; +The very rebel looks and thrills-- + The anchored Emblem hails. + +Though scarred in many a furious fray, + No deadly hurt he knew; +Well may we think his years are charmed-- + The Eagle of the Blue. + + + +A Dirge for McPherson,[13] +Killed in front of Atlanta. +(July, 1864.) + + +Arms reversed and banners craped-- + Muffled drums; +Snowy horses sable-draped-- + McPherson comes. + + _But, tell us, shall we know him more, + Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?_ + +Brave the sword upon the pall-- + A gleam in gloom; +So a bright name lighteth all + McPherson’s doom. + +Bear him through the chapel-door-- + Let priest in stole +Pace before the warrior + Who led. Bell--toll! + +Lay him down within the nave, + The Lesson read-- +Man is noble, man is brave, + But man’s--a weed. + +Take him up again and wend + Graveward, nor weep: +There’s a trumpet that shall rend + This Soldier’s sleep. + +Pass the ropes the coffin round, + And let descend; +Prayer and volley--let it sound + McPherson’s end. + + _True fame is his, for life is o’er-- + Sarpedon of the mighty war._ + + + +At the Cannon’s Mouth. +Destruction of the Ram Albermarle by the Torpedo-Launch. +(October, 1864.) + + +Palely intent, he urged his keel + Full on the guns, and touched the spring; +Himself involved in the bolt he drove +Timed with the armed hull’s shot that stove +His shallop--die or do! +Into the flood his life he threw, + Yet lives--unscathed--a breathing thing +To marvel at. + + He has his fame; +But that mad dash at death, how name? + +Had Earth no charm to stay the Boy + From the martyr-passion? Could he dare +Disdain the Paradise of opening joy + Which beckons the fresh heart every where? +Life has more lures than any girl + For youth and strength; puts forth a share +Of beauty, hinting of yet rarer store; +And ever with unfathomable eyes, + Which baffingly entice, +Still strangely does Adonis draw. +And life once over, who shall tell the rest? +Life is, of all we know, God’s best. +What imps these eagles then, that they +Fling disrespect on life by that proud way +In which they soar above our lower clay. + +Pretense of wonderment and doubt unblest: + In Cushing’s eager deed was shown + A spirit which brave poets own-- +That scorn of life which earns life’s crown; + Earns, but not always wins; but he-- + The star ascended in his nativity. + + + +The March to the Sea. +(December, 1864.) + + +Not Kenesaw high-arching, + Nor Allatoona’s glen-- +Though there the graves lie parching-- + Stayed Sherman’s miles of men; +From charred Atlanta marching + They launched the sword again. + The columns streamed like rivers + Which in their course agree, + And they streamed until their flashing + Met the flashing of the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + That marching to the sea. + +They brushed the foe before them + (Shall gnats impede the bull?); +Their own good bridges bore them + Over swamps or torrents full, +And the grand pines waving o’er them + Bowed to axes keen and cool. + The columns grooved their channels. + Enforced their own decree, + And their power met nothing larger + Until it met the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + A marching glad and free. + +Kilpatrick’s snare of riders + In zigzags mazed the land, +Perplexed the pale Southsiders + With feints on every hand; +Vague menace awed the hiders + In forts beyond command. + To Sherman’s shifting problem + No foeman knew the key; + But onward went the marching + Unpausing to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + The swinging step was free. + +The flankers ranged like pigeons + In clouds through field or wood; +The flocks of all those regions, + The herds and horses good, +Poured in and swelled the legions, + For they caught the marching mood. + A volley ahead! They hear it; + And they hear the repartee: + Fighting was but frolic + In that marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + A marching bold and free. + +All nature felt their coming, + The birds like couriers flew, +And the banners brightly blooming + The slaves by thousands drew, +And they marched beside the drumming, + And they joined the armies blue. + The cocks crowed from the cannon + (Pets named from Grant and Lee), + Plumed fighters and campaigners + In the marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + For every man was free. + +The foragers through calm lands + Swept in tempest gay, +And they breathed the air of balm-lands + Where rolled savannas lay, +And they helped themselves from farm-lands-- + As who should say them nay? + The regiments uproarious + Laughed in Plenty’s glee; + And they marched till their broad laughter + Met the laughter of the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + That marching to the sea. + +The grain of endless acres + Was threshed (as in the East) +By the trampling of the Takers, + Strong march of man and beast; +The flails of those earth-shakers + Left a famine where they ceased. + The arsenals were yielded; + The sword (that was to be), + Arrested in the forging, + Rued that marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + But ah, the stern decree! + +For behind they left a wailing, + A terror and a ban, +And blazing cinders sailing, + And houseless households wan, +Wide zones of counties paling, + And towns where maniacs ran. + Was it Treason’s retribution-- + Necessity the plea? + They will long remember Sherman + And his streaming columns free-- + They will long remember Sherman + Marching to the sea. + + + +The Frenzy in the Wake.[14] +Sherman’s advance through the Carolinas. +(February, 1865.) + + +So strong to suffer, shall we be + Weak to contend, and break +The sinews of the Oppressor’s knee + That grinds upon the neck? + O, the garments rolled in blood + Scorch in cities wrapped in flame, + And the African--the imp! + He gibbers, imputing shame. + +Shall Time, avenging every woe, + To us that joy allot +Which Israel thrilled when Sisera’s brow + Showed gaunt and showed the clot? + Curse on their foreheads, cheeks, and eyes-- + The Northern faces--true + To the flag we hate, the flag whose stars + Like planets strike us through. + +From frozen Maine they come, + Far Minnesota too; +They come to a sun whose rays disown-- + May it wither them as the dew! + The ghosts of our slain appeal: + “Vain shall our victories be” + But back from its ebb the flood recoils-- + Back in a whelming sea. + +With burning woods our skies are brass, + The pillars of dust are seen; +The live-long day their cavalry pass-- + No crossing the road between. + We were sore deceived--an awful host! + They move like a roaring wind. + Have we gamed and lost? but even despair + Shall never our hate rescind. + + + +The Fall of Richmond. +The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis. +(April, 1865.) + + +What mean these peals from every tower, + And crowds like seas that sway? +The cannon reply; they speak the heart + Of the People impassioned, and say-- +A city in flags for a city in flames, + Richmond goes Babylon’s way-- + _Sing and pray._ + +O weary years and woeful wars, + And armies in the grave; +But hearts unquelled at last deter +The helmed dilated Lucifer-- + Honor to Grant the brave, +Whose three stars now like Orion’s rise + When wreck is on the wave-- + _Bless his glaive._ + +Well that the faith we firmly kept, + And never our aim forswore +For the Terrors that trooped from each recess +When fainting we fought in the Wilderness, + And Hell made loud hurrah; +But God is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town, + And Right through might is Law-- + _God’s way adore._ + + + +The Surrender at Appomattox. +(April, 1865.) + + +As billows upon billows roll, + On victory victory breaks; +Ere yet seven days from Richmond’s fall + And crowning triumph wakes +The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run + By sea-shore, streams, and lakes. + The hope and great event agree + In the sword that Grant received from Lee. + +The warring eagles fold the wing, + But not in Cæsar’s sway; +Not Rome o’ercome by Roman arms we sing, + As on Pharsalia’s day, +But Treason thrown, though a giant grown, + And Freedom’s larger play. + All human tribes glad token see + In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee. + + + +A Canticle: +Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at +the close of the War. + + +O the precipice Titanic + Of the congregated Fall, +And the angle oceanic + Where the deepening thunders call-- + And the Gorge so grim, + And the firmamental rim! +Multitudinously thronging + The waters all converge, +Then they sweep adown in sloping + Solidity of surge. + + The Nation, in her impulse + Mysterious as the Tide, + In emotion like an ocean + Moves in power, not in pride; + And is deep in her devotion + As Humanity is wide. + + Thou Lord of hosts victorious, + The confluence Thou hast twined; + By a wondrous way and glorious + A passage Thou dost find-- + A passage Thou dost find: + Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, + The hosts of human kind. + +Stable in its baselessness + When calm is in the air, +The Iris half in tracelessness + Hovers faintly fair. +Fitfully assailing it + A wind from heaven blows, +Shivering and paling it + To blankness of the snows; +While, incessant in renewal, + The Arch rekindled grows, +Till again the gem and jewel + Whirl in blinding overthrows-- +Till, prevailing and transcending, + Lo, the Glory perfect there, +And the contest finds an ending, + For repose is in the air. + +But the foamy Deep unsounded, + And the dim and dizzy ledge, +And the booming roar rebounded, + And the gull that skims the edge! + The Giant of the Pool + Heaves his forehead white as wool-- +Toward the Iris every climbing + From the Cataracts that call-- +Irremovable vast arras + Draping all the Wall. + + The Generations pouring + From times of endless date, + In their going, in their flowing + Ever form the steadfast State; + And Humanity is growing + Toward the fullness of her fate. + + Thou Lord of hosts victorious, + Fulfill the end designed; + By a wondrous way and glorious + A passage Thou dost find-- + A passage Thou dost find: + Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, + The hosts of human kind. + + + +The Martyr. +Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of +April, 1865. + + +Good Friday was the day + Of the prodigy and crime, +When they killed him in his pity, + When they killed him in his prime +Of clemency and calm-- + When with yearning he was filled + To redeem the evil-willed, +And, though conqueror, be kind; + But they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And they killed him from behind. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + +He lieth in his blood-- + The father in his face; +They have killed him, the Forgiver-- + The Avenger takes his place, [15] +The Avenger wisely stern, + Who in righteousness shall do + What the heavens call him to, +And the parricides remand; + For they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And his blood is on their hand. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + + + +“The Coming Storm:” +A Picture by S.R. Gifford, and owned by E.B. +Included in the N.A. Exhibition, April, 1865. + + +All feeling hearts must feel for him + Who felt this picture. Presage dim-- +Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere + Fixed him and fascinated here. + +A demon-cloud like the mountain one + Burst on a spirit as mild +As this urned lake, the home of shades. + But Shakspeare’s pensive child + +Never the lines had lightly scanned, + Steeped in fable, steeped in fate; +The Hamlet in his heart was ’ware, + Such hearts can antedate. + +No utter surprise can come to him + Who reaches Shakspeare’s core; +That which we seek and shun is there-- + Man’s final lore. + + + +Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh:[16] +A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly +after the surrender at Appomattox. + + +The color-bearers facing death +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, + Stand boldly out before the line +Right and left their glances go, +Proud of each other, glorying in their show; +Their battle-flags about them blow, + And fold them as in flame divine: +Such living robes are only seen +Round martyrs burning on the green-- +And martyrs for the Wrong have been. + +Perish their Cause! but mark the men-- +Mark the planted statues, then +Draw trigger on them if you can. + +The leader of a patriot-band +Even so could view rebels who so could stand; + And this when peril pressed him sore, +Left aidless in the shivered front of war-- + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, +And fighting with a broken brand. +The challenge in that courage rare-- +Courage defenseless, proudly bare-- +Never could tempt him; he could dare +Strike up the leveled rifle there. + +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day +When Stonewall charged--McClellan’s crimson May, +And Chickamauga’s wave of death, +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath-- + All these have passed away. +The life in the veins of Treason lags, +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, + And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? + Can poor spite be? +Shall nobleness in victory less aspire +Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, + And think how Grant met Lee. + + + +The Muster:[17] +Suggested by the Two Days’ Review at Washington +(May, 1865.) + + +The Abrahamic river-- + Patriarch of floods, +Calls the roll of all his streams + And watery mutitudes: + Torrent cries to torrent, + The rapids hail the fall; + With shouts the inland freshets + Gather to the call. + + The quotas of the Nation, + Like the water-shed of waves, + Muster into union-- + Eastern warriors, Western braves. + + Martial strains are mingling, + Though distant far the bands, + And the wheeling of the squadrons + Is like surf upon the sands. + + The bladed guns are gleaming-- + Drift in lengthened trim, + Files on files for hazy miles-- + Nebulously dim. + + O Milky Way of armies-- + Star rising after star, + New banners of the Commonwealths, + And eagles of the War. + +The Abrahamic river + To sea-wide fullness fed, +Pouring from the thaw-lands + By the God of floods is led: + His deep enforcing current + The streams of ocean own, + And Europe’s marge is evened + By rills from Kansas lone. + + + +Aurora-Borealis. +Commemorative of the Dissolution of Armies at the Peace. +(May, 1865.) + + +What power disbands the Northern Lights + After their steely play? +The lonely watcher feels an awe + Of Nature’s sway, + As when appearing, + He marked their flashed uprearing +In the cold gloom-- + Retreatings and advancings, +(Like dallyings of doom), + Transitions and enhancings, + And bloody ray. + +The phantom-host has faded quite, + Splendor and Terror gone-- +Portent or promise--and gives way + To pale, meek Dawn; + The coming, going, + Alike in wonder showing-- +Alike the God, + Decreeing and commanding +The million blades that glowed, + The muster and disbanding-- + Midnight and Morn. + + + +The Released Rebel Prisoner.[18] +(June, 1865.) + + +Armies he’s seen--the herds of war, + But never such swarms of men +As now in the Nineveh of the North-- + How mad the Rebellion then! + +And yet but dimly he divines + The depth of that deceit, +And superstition of vast pride + Humbled to such defeat. + +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms-- + His steel the nearest magnet drew; +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives-- + ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue. + +His face is hidden in his beard, + But his heart peers out at eye-- +And such a heart! like mountain-pool + Where no man passes by. + +He thinks of Hill--a brave soul gone; + And Ashby dead in pale disdain; +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume, + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again. + +He hears the drum; he sees our boys + From his wasted fields return; +Ladies feast them on strawberries, + And even to kiss them yearn. + +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, + The rifle proudly borne; +They bear it for an heir-loom home, + And he--disarmed--jail-worn. + +Home, home--his heart is full of it; + But home he never shall see, +Even should he stand upon the spot; + ’Tis gone!--where his brothers be. + +The cypress-moss from tree to tree + Hangs in his Southern land; +As weird, from thought to thought of his + Run memories hand in hand. + +And so he lingers--lingers on + In the City of the Foe-- +His cousins and his countrymen + Who see him listless go. + + + +A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia.[19] + + +Head-board and foot-board duly placed-- + Grassed in the mound between; +Daniel Drouth is the slumberer’s name-- + Long may his grave be green! + +Quick was his way--a flash and a blow, + Full of his fire was he-- +A fire of hell--’tis burnt out now-- + Green may his grave long be! + +May his grave be green, though he + Was a rebel of iron mould; +Many a true heart--true to the Cause, + Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold. + +May his grave be green--still green + While happy years shall run; +May none come nigh to disinter + The--_Buried Gun_. + + + +“Formerly a Slave.” +An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring +Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865. + + +The sufferance of her race is shown, + And retrospect of life, +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; + Yet is she not at strife. + +Her children’s children they shall know + The good withheld from her; +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer-- + In spirit she sees the stir + +Far down the depth of thousand years, + And marks the revel shine; +Her dusky face is lit with sober light, + Sibylline, yet benign. + + + +The Apparition. +(A Retrospect.) + + +Convulsions came; and, where the field + Long slept in pastoral green, +A goblin-mountain was upheaved +(Sure the scared sense was all deceived), + Marl-glen and slag-ravine. + +The unreserve of Ill was there, + The clinkers in her last retreat; +But, ere the eye could take it in, +Or mind could comprehension win, + It sunk!--and at our feet. + +So, then, Solidity’s a crust-- + The core of fire below; +All may go well for many a year, +But who can think without a fear + Of horrors that happen so? + + + +Magnanimity Baffled. + + +“Sharp words we had before the fight; + But--now the fight is done-- +Look, here’s my hand,” said the Victor bold, + “Take it--an honest one! +What, holding back? I mean you well; + Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man; +The odds were great; I honor you; + Man honors man. + +“Still silent, friend? can grudges be? + Yet am I held a foe?-- +Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies-- + Never I’ll leave him so! +Brave one! I here implore your hand; + Dumb still? all fellowship fled? +Nay, then, I’ll have this stubborn hand” + He snatched it--it was dead. + + + +On the Slain Collegians.[20] + + +Youth is the time when hearts are large, + And stirring wars +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn + To the blade it draws. +If woman incite, and duty show + (Though made the mask of Cain), +Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause, + Who can aloof remain +That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow + Of wisdom or sordid gain? + +The liberal arts and nurture sweet +Which give his gentleness to man-- + Train him to honor, lend him grace +Through bright examples meet-- +That culture which makes never wan +With underminings deep, but holds + The surface still, its fitting place, + And so gives sunniness to the face +And bravery to the heart; what troops + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred-- + Saturnians through life’s Tempe led, +Went from the North and came from the South, +With golden mottoes in the mouth, + To lie down midway on a bloody bed. + +Woe for the homes of the North, +And woe for the seats of the South; +All who felt life’s spring in prime, +And were swept by the wind of their place and time-- + All lavish hearts, on whichever side, +Of birth urbane or courage high, +Armed them for the stirring wars-- +Armed them--some to die. + Apollo-like in pride, +Each would slay his Python--caught +The maxims in his temple taught-- + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze +Perforce enwrapped him--social laws, + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days-- +Vows, kisses--every heart unmoors, +And launches into the seas of wars. +What could they else--North or South? +Each went forth with blessings given +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; + And honor in both was chief. +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? +So be it; but they both were young-- +Each grape to his cluster clung, +All their elegies are sung. + +The anguish of maternal hearts + Must search for balm divine; +But well the striplings bore their fated parts + (The heavens all parts assign)-- +Never felt life’s care or cloy. +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; +Nor dreamed what death was--thought it mere +Sliding into some vernal sphere. +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf-- +Which storms lay low in kindly doom, +And kill them in their flush of bloom. + + + +America. + + +I. + +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand +I saw a Banner in gladsome air-- +Starry, like Berenice’s Hair-- +Afloat in broadened bravery there; +With undulating long-drawn flow, +As rolled Brazilian billows go +Voluminously o’er the Line. +The Land reposed in peace below; + The children in their glee +Were folded to the exulting heart + Of young Maternity. + + +II. + +Later, and it streamed in fight + When tempest mingled with the fray, +And over the spear-point of the shaft + I saw the ambiguous lightning play. +Valor with Valor strove, and died: +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; +And the lorn Mother speechless stood, +Pale at the fury of her brood. + + +III. + +Yet later, and the silk did wind + Her fair cold form; +Little availed the shining shroud, + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. +A watcher looked upon her low, and said-- +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. + But in that sleep contortion showed +The terror of the vision there-- + A silent vision unavowed, +Revealing earth’s foundation bare, + And Gorgon in her hidden place. +It was a thing of fear to see + So foul a dream upon so fair a face, +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. + + +IV. + +But from the trance she sudden broke-- + The trance, or death into promoted life; +At her feet a shivered yoke, +And in her aspect turned to heaven + No trace of passion or of strife-- +A clear calm look. It spake of pain, +But such as purifies from stain-- +Sharp pangs that never come again-- + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, + And youth matured for age’s seat-- +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. + So she, with graver air and lifted flag; +While the shadow, chased by light, +Fled along the far-drawn height, + And left her on the crag. + + + + +Verses +Inscriptive and Memorial + + + +On the Home Guards +who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri. + + +The men who here in harness died + Fell not in vain, though in defeat. +They by their end well fortified + The Cause, and built retreat +(With memory of their valor tried) +For emulous hearts in many an after fray-- +Hearts sore beset, which died at bay. + + + +Inscription +for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas. + + +Let none misgive we died amiss + When here we strove in furious fight: +Furious it was; nathless was this + Better than tranquil plight, +And tame surrender of the Cause +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. + We here who warred for Man and Right, +The choice of warring never laid with us. + There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice. + Nor long we stood to trim and poise, +But marched, and fell--victorious! + + + +The Fortitude of the North +under the Disaster of the Second Manassas. + + +They take no shame for dark defeat + While prizing yet each victory won, +Who fight for the Right through all retreat, + Nor pause until their work is done. +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; + Vainly against that foreland beat +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: + The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. + + + +On the Men of Maine +killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. + + +Afar they fell. It was the zone + Of fig and orange, cane and lime +(A land how all unlike their own, +With the cold pine-grove overgrown), + But still their Country’s clime. +And there in youth they died for her-- + The Volunteers, +For her went up their dying prayers: + So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie. +What doubt shall come, then, to deter + The Republic’s earnest faith and courage high. + + + +An Epitaph. + + +When Sunday tidings from the front + Made pale the priest and people, +And heavily the blessing went, + And bells were dumb in the steeple; +The Soldier’s widow (summering sweerly here, + In shade by waving beeches lent) + Felt deep at heart her faith content, +And priest and people borrowed of her cheer. + + + +Inscription +for Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg. + + +To them who crossed the flood +And climbed the hill, with eyes + Upon the heavenly flag intent, + And through the deathful tumult went +Even unto death: to them this Stone-- +Erect, where they were overthrown-- + Of more than victory the monument. + + + +The Mound by the Lake. + + +The grass shall never forget this grave. +When homeward footing it in the sun + After the weary ride by rail, +The stripling soldiers passed her door, + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, +She left her household work undone-- +Duly the wayside table spread, + With evergreens shaded, to regale +Each travel-spent and grateful one. +So warm her heart--childless--unwed, +Who like a mother comforted. + + + +On the Slain at Chickamauga. + + +Happy are they and charmed in life + Who through long wars arrive unscarred +At peace. To such the wreath be given, +If they unfalteringly have striven-- + In honor, as in limb, unmarred. +Let cheerful praise be rife, + And let them live their years at ease, +Musing on brothers who victorious died-- + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please. + +And yet mischance is honorable too-- + Seeming defeat in conflict justified +Whose end to closing eyes is his from view. +The will, that never can relent-- +The aim, survivor of the bafflement, + Make this memorial due. + + + +An uninscribed Monument +on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness. + + +Silence and Solitude may hint + (Whose home is in yon piny wood) +What I, though tableted, could never tell-- +The din which here befell, + And striving of the multitude. +The iron cones and spheres of death + Set round me in their rust, + These, too, if just, +Shall speak with more than animated breath. + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, +Not narrowed down to personal cheer, +Take in the import of the quiet here-- + The after-quiet--the calm full fraught; +Thou too wilt silent stand-- +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. + + + +On Sherman’s Men +who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia. + + +They said that Fame her clarion dropped + Because great deeds were done no more-- +That even Duty knew no shining ends, +And Glory--’twas a fallen star! + But battle can heroes and bards restore. + Nay, look at Kenesaw: +Perils the mailed ones never knew +Are lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue, +And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war. + + + +On the Grave +of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia. + + +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends-- + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he +Whom here low violets veil from eyes. + But all these gifts transcended be: +His happier fortune in this mound you see. + + + +A Requiem +for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports. + + +When, after storms that woodlands rue, + To valleys comes atoning dawn, +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn, +Caroling fly in the languid blue; +The while, from many a hid recess, +Alert to partake the blessedness, +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. + So, after ocean’s ghastly gales, +When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks, + Every finny hider wakes-- + From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales; + Through the delightsome sea he sails, +With shoals of shining tiny things +Frolic on every wave that flings + Against the prow its showery spray; +All creatures joying in the morn, +Save them forever from joyance torn, + Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play; +Save them that by the fabled shore, + Down the pale stream are washed away, +Far to the reef of bones are borne; + And never revisits them the light, +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; + Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour. + + + +On a natural Monument +in a field of Georgia.[21] + + +No trophy this--a Stone unhewn, + And stands where here the field immures +The nameless brave whose palms are won. +Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh-- + Pure fame of deeds, not doers; +Nor deeds of men who bleeding die + In cheer of hymns that round them float: +In happy dreams such close the eye. +But withering famine slowly wore, + And slowly fell disease did gloat. +Even Nature’s self did aid deny; +They choked in horror the pensive sigh. + Yea, off from home sad Memory bore +(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way), +Lest wreck of reason might befall. + As men in gales shun the lee shore, +Though there the homestead be, and call, +And thitherward winds and waters sway-- +As such lorn mariners, so fared they. +But naught shall now their peace molest. + Their fame is this: they did endure-- +Endure, when fortitude was vain +To kindle any approving strain +Which they might hear. To these who rest, + This healing sleep alone was sure. + + + +Commemorative of a Naval Victory. + + +Sailors there are of gentlest breed, + Yet strong, like every goodly thing; +The discipline of arms refines, + And the wave gives tempering. + The damasked blade its beam can fling; +It lends the last grave grace: +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman + In Titian’s picture for a king, +Are of Hunter or warrior race. + +In social halls a favored guest + In years that follow victory won, +How sweet to feel your festal fame, + In woman’s glance instinctive thrown: + Repose is yours--your deed is known, +It musks the amber wine; +It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days + Rich as October sunsets brown, +Which make the barren place to shine. + +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; +There’s a light and a shadow on every man + Who at last attains his lifted mark-- + Nursing through night the ethereal spark. +Elate he never can be; +He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth, + Sleep in oblivion.--The shark +Glides white through the prosphorus sea. + + + +Presentation to the Authorities, +by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the +Surrender of Lee. + + +These flags of armies overthrown-- +Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one +In end foredoomed which closes war; +We here, the captors, lay before + The altar which of right claims all-- +Our Country. And as freely we, + Revering ever her sacred call, +Could lay our lives down--though life be +Thrice loved and precious to the sense +Of such as reap the recompense + Of life imperiled for just cause-- +Imperiled, and yet preserved; +While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved, +Whose wives were all as dear, lie low. +But these flags given, glad we go + To waiting homes with vindicated laws. + + + +The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle. + + +Over the hearth--my father’s seat-- + Repose, to patriot-memory dear, +Thou tried companion, whom at last I greet + By steepy banks of Hudson here. +How oft I told thee of this scene-- +The Highlands blue--the river’s narrowing sheen. +Little at Gettysburg we thought +To find such haven; but God kept it green. +Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen. + + + + +The Scout toward Aldie. + + +The cavalry-camp lies on the slope + Of what was late a vernal hill, +But now like a pavement bare-- +An outpost in the perilous wilds + Which ever are lone and still; + But Mosby’s men are there-- + Of Mosby best beware. + +Great trees the troopers felled, and leaned + In antlered walls about their tents; +Strict watch they kept; ’twas _Hark!_ and _Mark!_ +Unarmed none cared to stir abroad + For berries beyond their forest-fence: + As glides in seas the shark, + Rides Mosby through green dark. + +All spake of him, but few had seen + Except the maimed ones or the low; +Yet rumor made him every thing-- +A farmer--woodman--refugee-- + The man who crossed the field but now; + A spell about his life did cling-- + Who to the ground shall Mosby bring? + +The morning-bugles lonely play, + Lonely the evening-bugle calls-- +Unanswered voices in the wild; +The settled hush of birds in nest + Becharms, and all the wood enthralls: + Memory’s self is so beguiled + That Mosby seems a satyr’s child. + +They lived as in the Eerie Land-- + The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam; +And yet from pine-tops one might ken +The Capitol dome--hazy--sublime-- + A vision breaking on a dream: + So strange it was that Mosby’s men + Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen. + +A scout toward Aldie broke the spell.-- + The Leader lies before his tent +Gazing at heaven’s all-cheering lamp +Through blandness of a morning rare; + His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent: + His sunny bride is in the camp-- + But Mosby--graves are beds of damp! + +The trumpet calls; he goes within; + But none the prayer and sob may know: +Her hero he, but bridegroom too. +Ah, love in a tent is a queenly thing, + And fame, be sure, refines the vow; + But fame fond wives have lived to rue, + And Mosby’s men fell deeds can do. + +_Tan-tara! tan-tara! tan-tara!_ + Mounted and armed he sits a king; +For pride she smiles if now she peep-- +Elate he rides at the head of his men; + He is young, and command is a boyish thing: + They file out into the forest deep-- + Do Mosby and his rangers sleep? + +The sun is gold, and the world is green, + Opal the vapors of morning roll; +The champing horses lightly prance-- +Full of caprice, and the riders too + Curving in many a caricole. + But marshaled soon, by fours advance-- + Mosby had checked that airy dance. + +By the hospital-tent the cripples stand-- + Bandage, and crutch, and cane, and sling, +And palely eye the brave array; +The froth of the cup is gone for them + (Caw! caw! the crows through the blueness wing); + Yet these were late as bold, as gay; + But Mosby--a clip, and grass is hay. + +How strong they feel on their horses free, + Tingles the tendoned thigh with life; +Their cavalry-jackets make boys of all-- +With golden breasts like the oriole; + The chat, the jest, and laugh are rife. + But word is passed from the front--a call + For order; the wood is Mosby’s hall. + +To which behest one rider sly + (Spurred, but unarmed) gave little heed-- +Of dexterous fun not slow or spare, +He teased his neighbors of touchy mood, + Into plungings he pricked his steed: + A black-eyed man on a coal-black mare, + Alive as Mosby in mountain air. + +His limbs were long, and large and round; + He whispered, winked--did all but shout: +A healthy man for the sick to view; +The taste in his mouth was sweet at morn; + Little of care he cared about. + And yet of pains and pangs he knew-- + In others, maimed by Mosby’s crew. + +The Hospital Steward--even he + (Sacred in person as a priest), +And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice +Wore the caduceus, black and green. + No wonder he sat so light on his beast; + This cheery man in suit of price + Not even Mosby dared to slice. + +They pass the picket by the pine + And hollow log--a lonesome place; +His horse adroop, and pistol clean; +’Tis cocked--kept leveled toward the wood; + Strained vigilance ages his childish face. + Since midnight has that stripling been + Peering for Mosby through the green. + +Splashing they cross the freshet-flood, + And up the muddy bank they strain; +A horse at the spectral white-ash shies-- +One of the span of the ambulance, + Black as a hearse. They give the rein: + Silent speed on a scout were wise, + Could cunning baffle Mosby’s spies. + +Rumor had come that a band was lodged + In green retreats of hills that peer +By Aldie (famed for the swordless charge[22]). +Much store they’d heaped of captured arms + And, peradventure, pilfered cheer; + For Mosby’s lads oft hearts enlarge + In revelry by some gorge’s marge. + +“Don’t let your sabres rattle and ring; + To his oat-bag let each man give heed-- +There now, that fellow’s bag’s untied, +Sowing the road with the precious grain. + Your carbines swing at hand--you need! + Look to yourselves, and your nags beside, + Men who after Mosby ride.” + +Picked lads and keen went sharp before-- + A guard, though scarce against surprise; +And rearmost rode an answering troop, +But flankers none to right or left. + No bugle peals, no pennon flies: + Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop + On Mosby with an Indian whoop. + +On, right on through the forest land, + Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen-- +Not even a dog. The air was still; +The blackened hut they turned to see, + And spied charred benches on the green; + A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill + Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill. + +By worn-out fields they cantered on-- + Drear fields amid the woodlands wide; +By cross-roads of some olden time, +In which grew groves; by gate-stones down-- + Grassed ruins of secluded pride: + A strange lone land, long past the prime, + Fit land for Mosby or for crime. + +The brook in the dell they pass. One peers + Between the leaves: “Ay, there’s the place-- +There, on the oozy ledge--’twas there +We found the body (Blake’s you know); + Such whirlings, gurglings round the face-- + Shot drinking! Well, in war all’s fair-- + So Mosby says. The bough--take care!” + +Hard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould + Danked and decayed the shaded roof; +The porch was punk; the clapboards spanned +With ruffled lichens gray or green; + Red coral-moss was not aloof; + And mid dry leaves green dead-man’s-hand + Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land. + +They leave the road and take the wood, + And mark the trace of ridges there-- +A wood where once had slept the farm-- +A wood where once tobacco grew + Drowsily in the hazy air, + And wrought in all kind things a calm-- + Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm. + +To ease even yet the place did woo-- + To ease which pines unstirring share, +For ease the weary horses sighed: +Halting, and slackening girths, they feed, + Their pipes they light, they loiter there; + Then up, and urging still the Guide, + On, and after Mosby ride. + +This Guide in frowzy coat of brown, + And beard of ancient growth and mould, +Bestrode a bony steed and strong, +As suited well with bulk he bore-- + A wheezy man with depth of hold + Who jouncing went. A staff he swung-- + A wight whom Mosby’s wasp had stung. + +Burnt out and homeless--hunted long! + That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood +Crouching (a fat man) for his life, +And spied his lean son ’mong the crew + That probed the covert. Ah! black blood + Was his ’gainst even child and wife-- + Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife. + +A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths, + Strains hard to readjust his seat +Ere the main body show the gap +’Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near + He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet; + Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap-- + “Let Mosby fine!” nor heeds mishap. + +A gable time-stained peeps through trees: + “You mind the fight in the haunted house? +That’s it; we clenched them in the room-- +An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought, + But proved sly rebels on a house! + Luke lies in the yard.” The chimneys loom: + Some muse on Mosby--some on doom. + +Less nimbly now through brakes they wind, + And ford wild creeks where men have drowned; +They skirt the pool, a void the fen, +And so till night, when down they lie, + They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground: + Rein in hand they slumber then, + Dreaming of Mosby’s cedarn den. + +But Colonel and Major friendly sat + Where boughs deformed low made a seat. +The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred) +Of the partisan’s blade he longed to win, + And frays in which he meant to beat. + The grizzled Major smoked, and heard: + “But what’s that--Mosby?” “No, a bird.” + +A contrast here like sire and son, + Hope and Experience sage did meet; +The Youth was brave, the Senior too; +But through the Seven Days one had served, + And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat: + So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew-- + “Any _sure_ news of Mosby’s crew?” + +He smoked and smoked, eying the while + A huge tree hydra-like in growth-- +Moon-tinged--with crook’d boughs rent or lopped-- +Itself a haggard forest. “Come” + The Colonel cried, “to talk you’re loath; + D’ye hear? I say he must be stopped, + This Mosby--caged, and hair close cropped.” + +“Of course; but what’s that dangling there” + “Where?” “From the tree--that gallows-bough; + A bit of frayed bark, is it not” +“Ay--or a rope; did _we_ hang last?-- + Don’t like my neckerchief any how” + He loosened it: “O ay, we’ll stop + This Mosby--but that vile jerk and drop!”[23] + +By peep of light they feed and ride, + Gaining a grove’s green edge at morn, +And mark the Aldie hills upread +And five gigantic horsemen carved + Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn; + Are more behind? an open snare? + Or Mosby’s men but watchmen there? + +The ravaged land was miles behind, + And Loudon spread her landscape rare; +Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood, +Cows were feeding, a cock loud crew, + But not a friend at need was there; + The valley-folk were only good + To Mosby and his wandering brood. + +What best to do? what mean yon men? + Colonel and Guide their minds compare; +Be sure some looked their Leader through; +Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned + As one who feigns an easy air; + And yet perplexed he was they knew-- + Perplexed by Mosby’s mountain-crew. + +The Major hemmed as he would speak, + But checked himself, and left the ring +Of cavalrymen about their Chief-- +Young courtiers mute who paid their court + By looking with confidence on their king; + They knew him brave, foresaw no grief-- + But Mosby--the time to think is brief. + +The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green) + Was glad ’twas not for _him_ to say +What next should be; if a trooper bleeds, +Why he will do his best, as wont, + And his partner in black will aid and pray; + But judgment bides with him who leads, + And Mosby many a problem breeds. + +The Surgeon was the kindliest man + That ever a callous trace professed; +He felt for him, that Leader young, +And offered medicine from his flask: + The Colonel took it with marvelous zest. + For such fine medicine good and strong, + Oft Mosby and his foresters long. + +A charm of proof. “Ho, Major, come-- + Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop, +Through the thickets wind--pray speedy be-- +And gain their read. And, Captain Morn, + Picket these roads--all travelers stop; + The rest to the edge of this crest with me, + That Mosby and his scouts may see.” + +Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep, + Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays, +Ten riding double--luckless ten!-- +Five horses gone, and looped hats lost, + And love-locks dancing in a maze-- + Certes, but sophomores from the glen + Of Mosby--not his veteran men. + +“Colonel,” said the Major, touching his cap, + “We’ve had our ride, and here they are” +“Well done! how many found you there” +“As many as I bring you here” + “And no one hurt?” “There’ll be no scar-- + One fool was battered.” “Find their lair” + “Why, Mosby’s brood camp every where.” + +He sighed, and slid down from his horse, + And limping went to a spring-head nigh. +“Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope” +“Battered my knee against a bar + When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.-- + Halloa! they gave you too much rope-- + Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?” + +Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood + The guard, remiss, had given a chance +For a sudden sally into the cover-- +But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot, + Though the issue was a deadly trance; + For, hurled ’gainst an oak that humped low over, + Mosby’s man fell, pale as a lover. + +They pulled some grass his head to ease + (Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred). +The Surgeon came--“Here’s a to-do” +“Ah!” cried the Major, darting a glance, + “This fellow’s the one that fired and spurred + Down hill, but met reserves below-- + My boys, not Mosby’s--so we go!” + +The Surgeon--bluff, red, goodly man-- + Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee +He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too-- +(Who went to the wars for cure of souls, + And his own student-ailments)--he + Bent over likewise; spite the two, + Mosby’s poor man more pallid grew. + +Meanwhile the mounted captives near + Jested; and yet they anxious showed; +Virginians; some of family-pride, +And young, and full of fire, and fine + In open feature and cheek that glowed; + And here thralled vagabonds now they ride-- + But list! one speaks for Mosby’s side. + +“Why, three to one--your horses strong-- + Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise-- +Surrender we account no shame! +We live, are gay, and life is hope; + We’ll fight again when fight is wise. + There are plenty more from where we came; + But go find Mosby--start the game!” + +Yet one there was who looked but glum; + In middle-age, a father he, +And this his first experience too: +“They shot at my heart when my hands were up-- + This fighting’s crazy work, I see” + But noon is high; what next do? + The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe. + +“Save what we’ve got,” the Major said; + “Bad plan to make a scout too long; +The tide may turn, and drag them back, +And more beside. These rides I’ve been, + And every time a mine was sprung. + To rescue, mind, they won’t be slack-- + Look out for Mosby’s rifle-crack.” + +“We’ll welcome it! give crack for crack! + Peril, old lad, is what I seek” +“O then, there’s plenty to be had-- +By all means on, and have our fill” + With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck, + Showing a scar by buck-shot made-- + Kind Mosby’s Christmas gift, he said. + +“But, Colonel, my prisoners--let a guard + Make sure of them, and lead to camp. +That done, we’re free for a dark-room fight +If so you say.” The other laughed; + “Trust me, Major, nor throw a damp. + But first to try a little sleight-- + Sure news of Mosby would suit me quite.” + +Herewith he turned--“Reb, have a dram” + Holding the Surgeon’s flask with a smile +To a young scapegrace from the glen. +“O yes!” he eagerly replied, + “And thank you, Colonel, but--any guile? + For if you think we’ll blab--why, then + You don’t know Mosby or his men.” + +The Leader’s genial air relaxed. + “Best give it up,” a whisperer said. +“By heaven, I’ll range their rebel den” +“They’ll treat you well,” the captive cried; + “They’re all like us--handsome--well bred: + In wood or town, with sword or pen, + Polite is Mosby, bland his men.” + +“Where were you, lads, last night?--come, tell” + “We?--at a wedding in the Vale-- +The bridegroom our comrade; by his side +Belisent, my cousin--O, so proud + Of her young love with old wounds pale-- + A Virginian girl! God bless her pride-- + Of a crippled Mosby-man the bride!” + +“Four wall shall mend that saucy mood, + And moping prisons tame him down” +Said Captain Cloud. “God help that day” +Cried Captain Morn, “and he so young. + But hark, he sings--a madcap one” + “_O we multiply merrily in the May, + The birds and Mosby’s men, they say!_” + +While echoes ran, a wagon old, + Under stout guard of Corporal Chew +Came up; a lame horse, dingy white, +With clouted harness; ropes in hand, + Cringed the humped driver, black in hue; + By him (for Mosby’s band a sight) + A sister-rebel sat, her veil held tight. + +“I picked them up,” the Corporal said, + “Crunching their way over stick and root, +Through yonder wood. The man here--Cuff-- +Says they are going to Leesburg town” + The Colonel’s eye took in the group; + The veiled one’s hand he spied--enough! + Not Mosby’s. Spite the gown’s poor stuff, + +Off went his hat: “Lady, fear not; + We soldiers do what we deplore-- +I must detain you till we march” +The stranger nodded. Nettled now, + He grew politer than before:-- + “’Tis Mosby’s fault, this halt and search” + The lady stiffened in her starch. + +“My duty, madam, bids me now + Ask what may seem a little rude. +Pardon--that veil--withdraw it, please +(Corporal! make every man fall back); + Pray, now I do but what I should; + Bethink you, ’tis in masks like these + That Mosby haunts the villages.” + +Slowly the stranger drew her veil, + And looked the Soldier in the eye-- +A glance of mingled foul and fair; +Sad patience in a proud disdain, + And more than quietude. A sigh + She heaved, and if all unaware, + And far seemed Mosby from her care. + +She came from Yewton Place, her home, + So ravaged by the war’s wild play-- +Campings, and foragings, and fires-- +That now she sought an aunt’s abode. + Her Kinsmen? In Lee’s army, they. + The black? A servant, late her sire’s. + And Mosby? Vainly he inquires. + +He gazed, and sad she met his eye; + “In the wood yonder were you lost” +No; at the forks they left the road +Because of hoof-prints (thick they were-- + Thick as the words in notes thrice crossed), + And fearful, made that episode. + In fear of Mosby? None she showed. + +Her poor attire again he scanned: + “Lady, once more; I grieve to jar +On all sweet usage, but must plead +To have what peeps there from your dress; + That letter--’tis justly prize of war” + She started--gave it--she must need. + “’Tis not from Mosby? May I read?” + +And straight such matter he perused + That with the Guide he went apart. +The Hospital Steward’s turn began: +“Must squeeze this darkey; every tap + Of knowledge we are bound to start” + “Garry,” she said, “tell all you can + Of Colonel Mosby--that brave man.” + +“Dun know much, sare; and missis here + Know less dan me. But dis I know--” +“Well, what?” “I dun know what I know” +“A knowing answer!” The hump-back coughed, + Rubbing his yellowish wool like tow. + “Come--Mosby--tell!” “O dun look so! + My gal nursed missis--let we go.” + +“Go where?” demanded Captain Cloud; + “Back into bondage? Man, you’re free” +“Well, _let_ we free!” The Captain’s brow +Lowered; the Colonel came--had heard: + “Pooh! pooh! his simple heart I see-- + A faithful servant.--Lady” (a bow), + “Mosby’s abroad--with us you’ll go. + +“Guard! look to your prisoners; back to camp! + The man in the grass--can he mount and away? +Why, how he groans!” “Bad inward bruise-- +Might lug him along in the ambulance” + “Coals to Newcastle! let him stay. + Boots and saddles!--our pains we lose, + Nor care I if Mosby hear the news!” + +But word was sent to a house at hand, + And a flask was left by the hurt one’s side. +They seized in that same house a man, +Neutral by day, by night a foe-- + So charged his neighbor late, the Guide. + A grudge? Hate will do what it can; + Along he went for a Mosby-man. + +No secrets now; the bugle calls; + The open road they take, nor shun +The hill; retrace the weary way. +But one there was who whispered low, + “This is a feint--we’ll back anon; + Young Hair-Brains don’t retreat, they say; + A brush with Mosby is the play!” + +They rode till eve. Then on a farm + That lay along a hill-side green, +Bivouacked. Fires were made, and then +Coffee was boiled; a cow was coaxed + And killed, and savory roasts were seen; + And under the lee of a cattle-pen + The guard supped freely with Mosby’s men. + +The ball was bandied to and fro; + Hits were given and hits were met; +“Chickamauga, Feds--take off your hat” +“But the Fight in the Clouds repaid you, Rebs” + “Forgotten about Manassas yet” + Chatting and chaffing, and tit for tat, + Mosby’s clan with the troopers sat. + +“Here comes the moon!” a captive cried; + “A song! what say? Archy, my lad” +Hailing are still one of the clan +(A boyish face with girlish hair), + “Give us that thing poor Pansy made + Last Year.” He brightened, and began; + And this was the song of Mosby’s man: + + _Spring is come; she shows her pass-- + Wild violets cool! + South of woods a small close grass-- + A vernal wool! + Leaves are a’bud on the sassafras-- + They’ll soon be full; + Blessings on the friendly screen-- + I’m for the South! says the leafage green._ + + _Robins! fly, and take your fill + Of out-of-doors-- + Garden, orchard, meadow, hill, + Barns and bowers; + Take your fill, and have your will-- + Virginia’s yours! + But, bluebirds! keep away, and fear + The ambuscade in bushes here._ + +“A green song that,” a seargeant said; + “But where’s poor Pansy? gone, I fear” +“Ay, mustered out at Ashby’s Gap” +“I see; now for a live man’s song; + Ditty for ditty--prepare to cheer. + My bluebirds, you can fling a cap! + You barehead Mosby-boys--why--clap!” + + _Nine Blue-coats went a-nutting + Slyly in Tennessee-- + Not for chestnuts--better than that-- + Hugh, you bumble-bee! + Nutting, nutting-- + All through the year there’s nutting!_ + + _A tree they spied so yellow, + Rustling in motion queer; + In they fired, and down they dropped-- + Butternuts, my dear! + Nutting, nutting-- + Who’ll ’list to go a-nutting?_ + +Ah! why should good fellows foemen be? + And who would dream that foes they were-- +Larking and singing so friendly then-- +A family likeness in every face. + But Captain Cloud made sour demur: + “Guard! keep your prisoners _in_ the pen, + And let none talk with Mosby’s men.” + +That captain was a valorous one + (No irony, but honest truth), +Yet down from his brain cold drops distilled, +Making stalactites in his heart-- + A conscientious soul, forsooth; + And with a formal hate was filled + Of Mosby’s band; and some he’d killed. + +Meantime the lady rueful sat, + Watching the flicker of a fire +Were the Colonel played the outdoor host +In brave old hall of ancient Night. + But ever the dame grew shyer and shyer, + Seeming with private grief engrossed-- + Grief far from Mosby, housed or lost. + +The ruddy embers showed her pale. + The Soldier did his best devoir: +“Some coffee?--no?--cracker?--one” +Cared for her servant--sought to cheer: + “I know, I know--a cruel war! + But wait--even Mosby’ll eat his bun; + The Old Hearth--back to it anon!” + +But cordial words no balm could bring; + She sighed, and kept her inward chafe, +And seemed to hate the voice of glee-- +Joyless and tearless. Soon he called + An escort: “See this lady safe + In yonder house.--Madam, you’re free. + And now for Mosby.--Guide! with me.” + +(“A night-ride, eh?”) “Tighten your girths! + But, buglers! not a note from you. +Fling more rails on the fires--a blaze” +(“Sergeant, a feint--I told you so-- + Toward Aldie again. Bivouac, adieu!”) + After the cheery flames they gaze, + Then back for Mosby through the maze. + +The moon looked through the trees, and tipped + The scabbards with her elfin beam; +The Leader backward cast his glance, +Proud of the cavalcade that came-- + A hundred horses, bay and cream: + “Major! look how the lads advance-- + Mosby we’ll have in the ambulance!” + +“No doubt, no doubt:--was that a hare?-- + First catch, then cook; and cook him brown” +“Trust me to catch,” the other cried-- +“The lady’s letter!--a dance, man, dance + This night is given in Leesburg town” + “He’ll be there too!” wheezed out the Guide; + “That Mosby loves a dance and ride!” + +“The lady, ah!--the lady’s letter-- + A _lady_, then, is in the case” +Muttered the Major. “Ay, her aunt +Writes her to come by Friday eve + (To-night), for people of the place, + At Mosby’s last fight jubilant, + A party give, though table-cheer be scant.” + +The Major hemmed. “Then this night-ride + We owe to her?--One lighted house +In a town else dark.--The moths, begar! +Are not quite yet all dead!” “How? how” + “A mute, meek mournful little mouse!-- + Mosby has wiles which subtle are-- + But woman’s wiles in wiles of war!” + +“Tut, Major! by what craft or guile--” + “Can’t tell! but he’ll be found in wait. +Softly we enter, say, the town-- +Good! pickets post, and all so sure-- + When--crack! the rifles from every gate, + The Gray-backs fire--dashes up and down-- + Each alley unto Mosby known!” + +“Now, Major, now--you take dark views + Of a moonlight night.” “Well, well, we’ll see” +And smoked as if each whiff were gain. +The other mused; then sudden asked, + “What would you do in grand decree” + I’d beat, if I could, Lee’s armies--then + Send constables after Mosby’s men.” + +“Ay! ay!--you’re odd.” The moon sailed up; + On through the shadowy land they went. +“_Names must be made and printed be!_” +Hummed the blithe Colonel. “Doc, your flask! + Major, I drink to your good content. + My pipe is out--enough for me! + One’s buttons shine--does Mosby see? + +“But what comes here?” A man from the front + Reported a tree athwart the road. +“Go round it, then; no time to bide; +All right--go on! Were one to stay + For each distrust of a nervous mood, + Long miles we’d make in this our ride + Through Mosby-land.--Oh! with the Guide!” + +Then sportful to the Surgeon turned: + “Green sashes hardly serve by night” +“Nor bullets nor bottles,” the Major sighed, +“Against these moccasin-snakes--such foes + As seldom come to solid fight: + They kill and vanish; through grass they glide; + Devil take Mosby!--” his horse here shied. + +“Hold! look--the tree, like a dragged balloon; + A globe of leaves--some trickery here; +My nag is right--best now be shy” +A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl; + Little was plain--they blindly steer. + The Pleiads, as from ambush sly, + Peep out--Mosby’s men in the sky! + +As restive they turn, how sore they feel, + And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen, +And curse the war. “Fools, North and South” +Said one right out. “O for a bed! + O now to drop in this woodland green” + He drops as the syllables leave his mouth-- + Mosby speaks from the undergrowth-- + +Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame! + Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees; +Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind; +“Steady--Dismount--form--and into the wood” + They go, but find what scarce can please: + Their steeds have been tied in the field behind, + And Mosby’s men are off like the wind. + +Sound the recall! vain to pursue-- + The enemy scatters in wilds he knows, +To reunite in his own good time; +And, to follow, they need divide-- + To come lone and lost on crouching foes: + Maple and hemlock, beech and lime, + Are Mosby’s confederates, share the crime. + +“Major,” burst in a bugler small, + “The fellow we left in Loudon grass-- +Sir slyboots with the inward bruise, +His voice I heard--the very same-- + Some watchword in the ambush pass; + Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes-- + We caught him--Mosby--but to lose!” + +“Go, go!--these saddle-dreamers! Well, + And here’s another.--Cool, sir, cool” +“Major, I saw them mount and sweep, +And one was humped, or I mistake, + And in the skurry dropped his wool” + “A wig! go fetch it:--the lads need sleep; + They’ll next see Mosby in a sheep! + +“Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks-- + All’s jackstraws here! Where’s Captain Morn?-- +We’ve parted like boats in a raging tide! +But stay-the Colonel--did he charge? + And comes he there? ’Tis streak of dawn; + Mosby is off, the woods are wide-- + Hist! there’s a groan--this crazy ride!” + +As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill; + They lay in the dew: “Ah! hurt much, Mink? +And--yes--the Colonel!” Dead! but so calm +That death seemed nothing--even death, + The thing we deem every thing heart can think; + Amid wilding roses that shed their balm, + Careless of Mosby he lay--in a charm! + +The Major took him by the Hand-- + Into the friendly clasp it bled +(A ball through heart and hand he rued): +“Good-by” and gazed with humid glance; + Then in a hollow revery said + “The weakness thing is lustihood; + But Mosby--” and he checked his mood. + +“Where’s the advance?--cut off, by heaven! + Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there” +“The ambulance will carry all” +“Well, get them in; we go to camp. + Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care” + Then to himself, “This grief is gall; + That Mosby!--I’ll cast a silver ball!” + +“Ho!” turning--“Captain Cloud, you mind + The place where the escort went--so shady? +Go search every closet low and high, +And barn, and bin, and hidden bower-- + Every covert--find that lady! + And yet I may misjudge her--ay, + Women (like Mosby) mystify. + +“We’ll see. Ay, Captain, go--with speed! + Surround and search; each living thing +Secure; that done, await us where +We last turned off. Stay! fire the cage + If the birds be flown.” By the cross-road spring + The bands rejoined; no words; the glare + Told all. Had Mosby plotted there? + +The weary troop that wended now-- + Hardly it seemed the same that pricked +Forth to the forest from the camp: +Foot-sore horses, jaded men; + Every backbone felt as nicked, + Each eye dim as a sick-room lamp, + All faces stamped with Mosby’s stamp. + +In order due the Major rode-- + Chaplain and Surgeon on either hand; +A riderless horse a negro led; +In a wagon the blanketed sleeper went; + Then the ambulance with the bleeding band; + And, an emptied oat-bag on each head, + Went Mosby’s men, and marked the dead. + +What gloomed them? what so cast them down, + And changed the cheer that late they took, +As double-guarded now they rode +Between the files of moody men? + Some sudden consciousness they brook, + Or dread the sequel. That night’s blood + Disturbed even Mosby’s brotherhood. + +The flagging horses stumbled at roots, + Floundered in mires, or clinked the stones; +No rider spake except aside; +But the wounded cramped in the ambulance, + It was horror to hear their groans-- + Jerked along in the woodland ride, + While Mosby’s clan their revery hide. + +The Hospital Steward--even he-- + Who on the sleeper kept his glance, +Was changed; late bright-black beard and eye +Looked now hearse-black; his heavy heart, + Like his fagged mare, no more could dance; + His grape was now a raisin dry: + ’Tis Mosby’s homily--_Man must die_. + +The amber sunset flushed the camp + As on the hill their eyes they fed; +The pickets dumb looks at the wagon dart; +A handkerchief waves from the bannered tent-- + As white, alas! the face of the dead: + Who shall the withering news impart? + The bullet of Mosby goes through heart to heart! + +They buried him where the lone ones lie + (Lone sentries shot on midnight post)-- +A green-wood grave-yard hid from ken, +Where sweet-fern flings an odor nigh-- + Yet held in fear for the gleaming ghost! + Though the bride should see threescore and ten, + She will dream of Mosby and his men. + +Now halt the verse, and turn aside-- + The cypress falls athwart the way; +No joy remains for bard to sing; +And heaviest dole of all is this, + That other hearts shall be as gay + As hers that now no more shall spring: + To Mosby-land the dirges cling. + + + + +Lee in the Capitol. + + + +Lee in the Capitol.[24] +(April, 1866.) + + +Hard pressed by numbers in his strait, + Rebellion’s soldier-chief no more contends-- +Feels that the hour is come of Fate, + Lays down one sword, and widened warfare ends. +The captain who fierce armies led +Becomes a quiet seminary’s head-- +Poor as his privates, earns his bread. +In studious cares and aims engrossed, + Strives to forget Stuart and Stonewall dead-- +Comrades and cause, station and riches lost, + And all the ills that flock when fortune’s fled. +No word he breathes of vain lament, + Mute to reproach, nor hears applause-- +His doom accepts, perforce content, + And acquiesces in asserted laws; +Secluded now would pass his life, +And leave to time the sequel of the strife. + But missives from the Senators ran; +Not that they now would gaze upon a swordless foe, +And power made powerless and brought low: + Reasons of state, ’tis claimed, require the man. +Demurring not, promptly he comes +By ways which show the blackened homes, + And--last--the seat no more his own, +But Honor’s; patriot grave-yards fill +The forfeit slopes of that patrician hill, + And fling a shroud on Arlington. +The oaks ancestral all are low; +No more from the porch his glance shall go +Ranging the varied landscape o’er, +Far as the looming Dome--no more. +One look he gives, then turns aside, +Solace he summons from his pride: +“So be it! They await me now +Who wrought this stinging overthrow; +They wait me; not as on the day +Of Pope’s impelled retreat in disarray-- +By me impelled--when toward yon Dome +The clouds of war came rolling home” +The burst, the bitterness was spent, +The heart-burst bitterly turbulent, +And on he fared. + + In nearness now + He marks the Capitol--a show +Lifted in amplitude, and set +With standards flushed with a glow of Richmond yet; + Trees and green terraces sleep below. +Through the clear air, in sunny light, +The marble dazes--a temple white. + +Intrepid soldier! had his blade been drawn +For yon stirred flag, never as now +Bid to the Senate-house had he gone, +But freely, and in pageant borne, +As when brave numbers without number, massed, +Plumed the broad way, and pouring passed-- +Bannered, beflowered--between the shores +Of faces, and the dinn’d huzzas, +And balconies kindling at the sabre-flash, +’Mid roar of drums and guns, and cymbal-crash, +While Grant and Sherman shone in blue-- +Close of the war and victory’s long review. + +Yet pride at hand still aidful swelled, +And up the hard ascent he held. +The meeting follows. In his mien +The victor and the vanquished both are seen-- +All that he is, and what he late had been. +Awhile, with curious eyes they scan +The Chief who led invasion’s van-- +Allied by family to one, +Founder of the Arch the Invader warred upon: +Who looks at Lee must think of Washington; +In pain must think, and hide the thought, +So deep with grievous meaning it is fraught. + +Secession in her soldier shows +Silent and patient; and they feel + (Developed even in just success) +Dim inklings of a hazy future steal; + Their thoughts their questions well express: +“Does the sad South still cherish hate? +Freely will Southen men with Northern mate? +The blacks--should we our arm withdraw, +Would that betray them? some distrust your law. +And how if foreign fleets should come-- +Would the South then drive her wedges home” +And more hereof. The Virginian sees-- +Replies to such anxieties. +Discreet his answers run--appear +Briefly straightforward, coldly clear. + +“If now,” the Senators, closing, say, +“Aught else remain, speak out, we pray” +Hereat he paused; his better heart +Strove strongly then; prompted a worthier part +Than coldly to endure his doom. +Speak out? Ay, speak, and for the brave, +Who else no voice or proxy have; +Frankly their spokesman here become, +And the flushed North from her own victory save. +That inspiration overrode-- +Hardly it quelled the galling load +Of personal ill. The inner feud +He, self-contained, a while withstood; +They waiting. In his troubled eye +Shadows from clouds unseen they spy; +They could not mark within his breast +The pang which pleading thought oppressed: +He spoke, nor felt the bitterness die. + +“My word is given--it ties my sword; +Even were banners still abroad, +Never could I strive in arms again +While you, as fit, that pledge retain. +Our cause I followed, stood in field and gate-- +All’s over now, and now I follow Fate. +But this is naught. A People call-- +A desolted land, and all +The brood of ills that press so sore, +The natural offspring of this civil war, +Which ending not in fame, such as might rear +Fitly its sculptured trophy here, +Yields harvest large of doubt and dread +To all who have the heart and head +To feel and know. How shall I speak? +Thoughts knot with thoughts, and utterance check. +Before my eyes there swims a haze, +Through mists departed comrades gaze-- +First to encourage, last that shall upbraid! +How shall I speak? The South would fain +Feel peace, have quiet law again-- +Replant the trees for homestead-shade. + You ask if she recants: she yields. +Nay, and would more; would blend anew, +As the bones of the slain in her forests do, +Bewailed alike by us and you. + A voice comes out from these charnel-fields, +A plaintive yet unheeded one: +_‘Died all in vain? both sides undone’_ +Push not your triumph; do not urge +Submissiveness beyond the verge. +Intestine rancor would you bide, +Nursing eleven sliding daggers in your side? + +“Far from my thought to school or threat; +I speak the things which hard beset. +Where various hazards meet the eyes, +To elect in magnanimity is wise. +Reap victory’s fruit while sound the core; +What sounder fruit than re-established law? +I know your partial thoughts do press +Solely on us for war’s unhappy stress; +But weigh--consider--look at all, +And broad anathema you’ll recall. +The censor’s charge I’ll not repeat, +The meddlers kindled the war’s white heat-- +Vain intermeddlers and malign, +Both of the palm and of the pine; +I waive the thought--which never can be rife-- +Common’s the crime in every civil strife: +But this I feel, that North and South were driven +By Fate to arms. For our unshriven, +What thousands, truest souls, were tried-- + As never may any be again-- +All those who stemmed Secession’s pride, +But at last were swept by the urgent tide + Into the chasm. I know their pain. +A story here may be applied: +‘In Moorish lands there lived a maid + Brought to confess by vow the creed + Of Christians. Fain would priests persuade +That now she must approve by deed + The faith she kept. “What dead?” she asked. +“Your old sire leave, nor deem it sin, + And come with us.” Still more they tasked +The sad one: “If heaven you’d win-- + Far from the burning pit withdraw, +Then must you learn to hate your kin, + Yea, side against them--such the law, +For Moor and Christian are at war” +“Then will I never quit my sire, +But here with him through every trial go, +Nor leave him though in flames below-- +God help me in his fire!” +So in the South; vain every plea +’Gainst Nature’s strong fidelity; + True to the home and to the heart, +Throngs cast their lot with kith and kin, + Foreboding, cleaved to the natural part-- +Was this the unforgivable sin? +These noble spirits are yet yours to win. +Shall the great North go Sylla’s way? +Proscribe? prolong the evil day? +Confirm the curse? infix the hate? +In Unions name forever alienate? + +“From reason who can urge the plea-- +Freemen conquerors of the free? +When blood returns to the shrunken vein, +Shall the wound of the Nation bleed again? +Well may the wars wan thought supply, +And kill the kindling of the hopeful eye, +Unless you do what even kings have done +In leniency--unless you shun +To copy Europe in her worst estate-- +Avoid the tyranny you reprobate.” + +He ceased. His earnestness unforeseen +Moved, but not swayed their former mien; + And they dismissed him. Forth he went +Through vaulted walks in lengthened line +Like porches erst upon the Palatine: + Historic reveries their lesson lent, + The Past her shadow through the Future sent. + +But no. Brave though the Soldier, grave his plea-- + Catching the light in the future’s skies, +Instinct disowns each darkening prophecy: + Faith in America never dies; +Heaven shall the end ordained fulfill, +We march with Providence cheery still. + + + + +A Meditation: + +Attributed to a northerner after attending the last of two funerals +from the same homestead--those of a national and a confederate +officer (brothers), his kinsmen, who had died from the effects of +wounds received in the closing battles. + + + +A Meditation. + + +How often in the years that close, + When truce had stilled the sieging gun, +The soldiers, mounting on their works, + With mutual curious glance have run +From face to face along the fronting show, +And kinsman spied, or friend--even in a foe. + +What thoughts conflicting then were shared. + While sacred tenderness perforce +Welled from the heart and wet the eye; + And something of a strange remorse +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood. + +Then stirred the god within the breast-- + The witness that is man’s at birth; +A deep misgiving undermined + Each plea and subterfuge of earth; +The felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, +Horror and anguish for the civil strife. + +Of North or South they recked not then, + Warm passion cursed the cause of war: +Can Africa pay back this blood + Spilt on Potomac’s shore? +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay, +And hands that fain had clasped again could slay. + +How frequent in the camp was seen + The herald from the hostile one, +A guest and frank companion there + When the proud formal talk was done; +The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war, +And fields in Mexico again fought o’er. + +In Western battle long they lay + So near opposed in trench or pit, +That foeman unto foeman called + As men who screened in tavern sit: +“You bravely fight” each to the other said-- +“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped. + +And pale on those same slopes, a boy-- + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, + He cried to them who nearest were, +And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell +A daring foe who him befriended well. + +Mark the great Captains on both sides, + The soldiers with the broad renown-- +They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge, + Beneath one roof they laid them down; +And free from hate in many an after pass, +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class. + +A darker side there is; but doubt + In Nature’s charity hovers there: +If men for new agreement yearn, + Then old upbraiding best forbear: +“_The South’s the sinner!_” Well, so let it be; +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee? + +O, now that brave men yield the sword, + Mine be the manful soldier-view; +By how much more they boldly warred, + By so much more is mercy due: +When Vickburg fell, and the moody files marched out, +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout. + + + + +Footnotes. + + +1. The gloomy lull of the early part of the winter of 1860-1, seeming +big with final disaster to our institutions, affected some minds that +believed them to constitute one of the great hopes of mankind, much as +the eclipse which came over the promise of the first French Revolution +affected kindred natures, throwing them for the time into doubt and +misgivings universal. + +2. “The terrible Stone Fleet on a mission as pitiless as the granite +that freights it, sailed this morning from Port Royal, and before two +days are past will have made Charleston an inland city. The ships are +all old whalers, and cost the government from $2500 to $5000 each. Some +of them were once famous ships.--” (From Newspaper Correspondences of +the day.) + +Sixteen vessels were accordingly sunk on the bar at the river entrance. +Their names were as follows: + +Amazon, +America, +American, +Archer, +Courier, +Fortune, +Herald, +Kensington, +Leonidas, +Maria Theresa, +Potomac, +Rebecca Simms, +L.C. Richmond, +Robin Hood, +Tenedos, +William Lee. + +All accounts seem to agree that the object proposed was not +accomplished. The channel is even said to have become ultimately +benefited by the means employed to obstruct it. + +3. The _Temeraire_, that storied ship of the old English fleet, and the +subject of the well-known painting by Turner, commends itself to the +mind seeking for some one craft to stand for the poetic ideal of those +great historic wooden warships, whose gradual displacement is lamented +by none more than by regularly educated navy officers, and of all +nations. + +4. Some of the cannon of old times, especially the brass ones, unlike +the more effective ordnance of the present day, were cast in shapes +which Cellini might have designed, were gracefully enchased, generally +with the arms of the country. A few of them--field-pieces--captured in +our earlier wars, are preserved in arsenals and navy-yards. + +5. Whatever just military criticism, favorable or otherwise, has at any +time been made upon General McClellan’s campaigns, will stand. But if, +during the excitement of the conflict, aught was spread abroad tending +the unmerited disparagement of the man, it must necessarily die out, +though not perhaps without leaving some traces, which may or may not +prove enduring. Some there are whose votes aided in the re-election of +Abraham Lincoln, who yet believed, and retain the belief, that General +McClellan, to say the least, always proved himself a patriotic and +honorable soldier. The feeling which surviving comrades entertain for +their late commnder is one which, from its passion, is susceptible of +versified representation, and such it receives. + +6. At Antietam Stonewall Jackson led one wing of Lee’s army, consequenty +sharing that day in whatever may be deemed to have been the fortunes of +his superior. + +7. Admiral Porter is son of the late Commodore Porter, commander of the +Frigate Essex on that Pacific cruise which ended in the desparate fight +off Valparaiso with the English frigates Cherub and Phoebe, in the year +1814. + +8. Among numerous head-stones or monuments on Cemetery Hill, marred or +destroyed by the enemy’s concentrated fire, was one, somewhat +conspicuous, of a Federal officer killed before Richmond in 1862. + +On the 4th of July 1865, the Gettysburg National Cemetery, on the same +height with the original burial-ground, was consecrated, and the +corner-stone laid of a commemorative pile. + +9. “I dare not write the horrible and inconceivable atrocities +committed,” says Froissart, in alluding to the remarkable sedition in +France during his time. The like may be hinted of some proceedings of +the draft-rioters. + +10. Although the month was November, the day was in character an October +one--cool, clear, bright, intoxicatingly invigorating; one of those days +peculiar to the ripest hours of our American Autumn. This weather must +have had much to do with the spontaneous enthusiasm which seized the +troops--and enthusiasm aided, doubtless, by glad thoughts of the victory +of Look-out Mountain won the day previous, and also by the elation +attending the capture, after a fierce struggle, of the long ranges of +rifle-pits at the mountain’s base, where orders for the time should have +stopped the advance. But there and then it was that the army took the +bit between its teeth, and ran away with the generals to the victory +commemorated. General Grant, at Culpepper, a few weeks prior to crossing +the Rapidan for the Wilderness, expressed to a visitor his impression of +the impulse and the spectacle: Said he: “I never saw any thing like it:” +language which seems curiously undertoned, considering its application; +but from the taciturn Commander it was equivalent to a superlative or +hyperbole from the talkative. + +The height of the Ridge, according to the account at hand, varies along +its length from six to seven hundred feet above the plain; it slopes at +an angle of about forty-five degrees. + +11. The great Parrott gun, planted in the marshes of James Island, and +employed in the prolonged, though at times intermitted bombardment of +Charleston, was known among our soldiers as the Swamp Angel. + +St. Michael’s, characterized by its venerable tower, was the historic +and aristrocratic church of the town. + +12. Among the Northwestern regiments there would seem to have been more +than one which carried a living eagle as an added ensign. The bird +commemorated here was, according the the account, borne aloft on a perch +beside the standard; went through successive battles and campaigns; was +more than once under the surgeon’s hands; and at the close of the +contest found honorable repose in the capital of Wisconsin, from which +state he had gone to the wars. + +13. The late Major General McPherson, commanding the Army of the +Tennessee, a major of Ohio and a West Pointer, was one of the foremost +spirits of the war. Young, though a veteran; hardy, intrepid, sensitive +in honor, full of engaging qualities, with manly beauty; possessed of +genius, a favorite with the army, and with Grant and Sherman. Both +Generals have generously acknowledged their professional obligiations to +the able engineer and admirable soldier, their subordinate and junior. + +In an informal account written by the Achilles to this Sarpedon, he +says: “On that day we avenged his death. Near twenty-two hundred of the +enemy’s dead remained on the ground when night closed upon the scene of +action.” + +It is significant of the scale on which the war was waged, that the +engagement thus written of goes solely (so far as can be learned) under +the vague designation of one of the battles before Atlanta. + +14. The piece was written while yet the reports were coming North of +Sherman’s homeward advance from Savannah. It is needless to point out +its purely dramatic character. + +Though the sentiment ascribed in the beginning of the second stanza +must, in the present reading, suggest the historic tragedy of the 14th +of April, nevertheless, as intimated, it was written prior to that +event, and without any distinct application in the writer’s mind. After +consideration, it is allowed to remain. + +Few need be reminded that, by the less intelligent classes of the South, +Abraham Lincoln, by nature the most kindly of men, was regarded as a +monster wantonly warring upon liberty. He stood for the personification +of tyrannic power. Each Union soldier was called a Lincolnite. + +Undoubtedly Sherman, in the desolation he inflicted after leaving +Atlanta, acted not in contravention of orders; and all, in a military +point of view, if by military judged deemed to have been expedient, and +nothing can abate General Sherman’s shining renown; his claims to it +rest on no single campaign. Still, there are those who can not but +contrast some of the scenes enacted in Georgia and the Carolinas, and +also in the Shenandoah, with a circumstance in a great Civil War of +heathen antiquity. Plutarch relates that in a military council held by +Pompey and the chiefs of that party which stood for the Commonwealth, it +was decided that under no plea should any city be sacked that was +subject to the people of Rome. There was this difference, however, +between the Roman civil conflict and the American one. The war of Pompey +and Caesar divided the Roman people promiscuously; that of the North and +South ran a frontier line between what for the time were distinct +communities or nations. In this circumstance, possibly, and some others, +may be found both the cause and the justification of some of the +sweeping measures adopted. + +15. At this period of excitement the thought was by some passionately +welcomed that the Presidential successor had been raised up by heaven to +wreak vengeance on the South. The idea originated in the remembrance +that Andrew Johnson by birth belonged to that class of Southern whites +who never cherished love for the dominant: that he was a citizen of +Tennessee, where the contest at times and in places had been close and +bitter as a Middle-Age feud; the himself and family had been hardly +treated by the Secessionists. + +But the expectations build hereon (if, indeed, ever soberly +entertained), happily for the country, have not been verified. + +Likely the feeling which would have held the entire South chargeable +with the crime of one exceptional assassin, this too has died away with +the natural excitement of the hour. + +16. The incident on which this piece is based is narrated in a newspaper +account of the battle to be found in the “Rebellion Record.” During the +disaster to the national forces on the first day, a brigade on the +extreme left found itself isolated. The perils it encountered are given +in detail. Among others, the following sentences occur: + +“Under cover of the fire from the bluffs, the rebels rushed down, +crossed the ford, and in a moment were seen forming this side the creek +in open fields, and within close musket-range. Their color-bearers +stepped defiantly to the front as the engagement opened furiously; the +rebels pouring in sharp, quick volleys of musketry, and their batteries +above continuing to support them with a destructive fire. Our +sharpshooters wanted to pick off the audacious rebel color-bearers, but +Colonel Stuart interposed: ‘No, no, they’re too brave fellows to be +killed.’” + +17. According to a report of the Secretary of War, there were on the +first day of March, 1865, 965,000 men on the army pay-rolls. Of these, +some 200,000--artillery, cavalry, and infantry--made up from the larger +portion of the veterans of Grant and Sherman, marched by the President. +The total number of Union troops enlisted during the war was 2,668,000. + +18. For a month or two after the completion of peace, some thousands of +released captives from the military prisons of the North, natives of all +parts of the South, passed through the city of New York, sometimes +waiting farther transportation for days, during which interval they +wandered penniless about the streets, or lay in their worn and patched +gray uniforms under the trees of Battery, near the barracks where they +were lodged and fed. They were transported and provided for at the +charge of government. + +19. Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a +view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the +same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to +deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem. + +20. The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest +youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same +classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern +seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched +who never returned except on the shield. + +21. Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at +Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each +beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the +prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at +the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at +Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four +large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like +getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the +interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople. + +22. In one of Kilpatrick’s earlier cavalry fights near Aldie, a Colonel +who, being under arrest, had been temporarily deprived of his sword, +nevertheless, unarmed, insisted upon charging at the head of his men, +which he did, and the onset proved victorious. + +23. Certain of Mosby’s followers, on the charge of being unlicensed +foragers or fighters, being hung by order of a Union cavalry commander, +the Partisan promptly retaliated in the woods. In turn, this also was +retaliated, it is said. To what extent such deplorable proceedings were +carried, it is not easy to learn. + +South of the Potamac in Virginia, and within a gallop of the Long Bridge +at Washington, is the confine of a country, in some places wild, which +throughout the war it was unsafe for a Union man to traverse except with +an armed escort. This was the chase of Mosby, the scene of many of his +exploits or those of his men. In the heart of this region at least one +fortified camp was maintained by our cavalry, and from time to time +expeditions ended disastrously. Such results were helped by the +exceeding cunning of the enemy, born of his wood-craft, and, in some +instances, by undue confidence on the part of our men. A body of +cavalry, starting from camp with the view of breaking up a nest of +rangers, and absent say three days, would return with a number of their +own forces killed and wounded (ambushed), without being able to +retaliate farther than by foraging on the country, destroying a house or +two reported to be haunts of the guerrillas, or capturing non-combatants +accused of being secretly active in their behalf. + +In the verse the name of Mosby is invested with some of those +associations with which the popular mind is familiar. But facts do not +warrant the belief that every clandestine attack of men who passed for +Mosby’s was made under his eye or even by his knowledge. + +In partisan warfare he proved himself shrewd, able, and enterprising, +and always a wary fighter. He stood well in the confidence of his +superior officers, and was empoyed by them at times in furtherance of +important movements. To our wounded on more than one occasion he showed +considerate kindness. Officers and civilians captured by forces under +his immediate command were, so long as remaining under his orders, +treated with civility. These things are well known to those personally +familiar with the irregular fighting in Virginia. + +24. Among those summoned during the spring just passed to appear before +the Reconstruction Committee of Congress was Robert E. Lee. His +testimony is deeply interesting, both in itself and as coming from him. +After various questions had been put and briefly answered, these words +were addressed to him: + +“If there be any other matter about which you wish to speak on this +occasions, do so freely.” Waiving this invitation, he responded by a +short personal explanation of some point in a previous answer, and after +a few more brief questions and replies, the interview closed. + +In the verse a poetical liberty has been ventured. Lee is not only +represented as responding to the invitation, but also as at last +renouncing his cold reserve, doubtless the cloak to feelings more or +less poignant. If for such freedom warrant be necessary the speeches in +ancient histories, not to speak of those in Shakespeare’s historic +plays, may not unfitly perhaps be cited. + +The character of the original measures proposed about time in the +National Legislature for the treatment of the (as yet) Congressionally +excluded South, and the spirit in which those measures were +advocated--these are circumstances which it is fairly supposable would +have deeply influenced the thoughts, whether spoken or withheld, of a +Southerner placed in the position of Lee before the Reconstruction +Committee. + + + + +Supplement. + + +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism--not free +from solicitude--urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. + +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheavel affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion to +spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who shall +hymn the politicians? + +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen. + +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which +time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast. + +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered by a cause not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much. + +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all practical +purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of civil war to +feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; that both now lie +buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and that +together we comprise the Nation. + +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it +was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people of +the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. + +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and +upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea--a +renown which we of the North could not suppress even if we would. In +personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the South +enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from +disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can respect. +Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from our +passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV. could out of the +graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the +great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty, +Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout at Preston +Pans--Upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign removed has set +a price--is it probable that the grandchildren of General Grant will +pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall +Jackson? + +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies +which record the deeds of her chieftains--writings freely published at +the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though +saddened interest. By students of the war such works are hailed as +welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the record. + +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers +of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd +felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through their +fidelity to the Stuarts--a feeling whose passion was tempered by the +poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to the +Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed excellent +things to literature. But, setting this view aside, dishonorable would +it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the memory of +brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her +behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray. + +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast. + +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of a poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied--an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry +or patriotism. + +There were excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities--exalted ones--courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be +held the characteristic traits, and not the former. + +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumph, so far as it +may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity. + +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men--few in number, we trust--who have resolved never +to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts every thing is thrown away +except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them +call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with +impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a +little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his own +heart at Richmond. + +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos--a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity. + +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though to +treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth--namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating strength +and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other side, on +ours might have lain those actions which now in our late opponents we +stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us own--what it +would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned--that our +triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior resources +and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a people for +years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we) were +the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with ourselves, +share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may possess. No one +can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat has now cast upon +Secession by withholding the recognition of these verities. + +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which law-making, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy--Christianity and +Machiavelli--dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate +fellow-men late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be +wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those attested in the +War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them nationally +available at need. + +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the +interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and +benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to exclude +kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For the +future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future of +the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a paramount +claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, is not +narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, it is +vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the +situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor +theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved. +And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length +attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we +still turn our eyes toward the South, as the Neapolitan, months after +the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may +be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has the crater but shifted? Let +us revere that sacred uncertainty which forever impends over men and +nations. Those of us who always abhorred slavery as an atheistical +iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of humanity over its +downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was accomplished not +by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence could so +mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the +benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of +dubious constitutional rightfulness toward our white countrymen +--measures of a nature to provoke, among other of the last evils, +exterminating hatred of race toward race. In imagination let us place +ourselves in the unprecedented position of the Southerners--their +position as regards the millions of ignorant manumitted slaves in their +midst, for whom some of us now claim the suffrage. Let us be Christians +toward our fellow-whites, as well as philanthropists toward the blacks +our fellow-men. In all things, and toward all, we are enjoined to do as +we would be done by. Nor should we forget that benevolent desires, after +passing a certain point, can not undertake their own fulfillment without +incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be remedied. +Something may well be left to the graduated care of future legislation, +and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two races in +the South--whether the negro be bond or free--seems (even as it did to +Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of +the reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present +transition period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble +may not unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too +swift to charge the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain +evils men must be more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent +digestion, and may in time convert and assimilate to good all elements +thrown in, however originally alien. + +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent +Re-establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent. + +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land--what then? Why the Congressman elected by the +people of the South will--represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itelf can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly with +the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than +the South, for the North is victor. + +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath opertively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This +is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted +fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo alteration, +assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission into the +National Legislature of men who represent the populations lately in +revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the principles of +democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the political +existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be +ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the +Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in +democracy. + +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is any thing +here thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural +--inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to many +thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they must +have that weight with the public which already they have had with +individuals. + +For that heroic band--those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials--we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet +passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic +in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to +discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side. + +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BATTLE-PIECES AND ASPECTS OF THE WAR *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Herman Melville</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 19, 2004 [eBook #12384]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 17, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Maddock</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BATTLE-PIECES AND ASPECTS OF THE WAR ***</div> + +<div id="tp"> +<h1>Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Herman Melville.</h2> + + +<p>NEW YORK:<br /> +Harper & Brothers, Publishers,<br /> +Franklin Square<br /> +1866.</p> +</div> + +<div id="verso"> +<p>Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight +hundred and sixty-six, by<br /> +<span class="smallcaps">Harper & Brothers</span>,<br /> +In the Clerk’s Office of +the District Court of the Southern District of New York.</p> +</div> + +<div id="dedication"> +<p>The Battle-Pieces<br /> +in this volume are dedicated<br /> +to the memory of the<br /> +THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND<br /> +who in the war<br /> +for the maintenance of the Union<br /> +fell devotedly<br /> +under the flag of their fathers.</p> +</div> + +<div class="section"> +<p>[With few exceptions, the Pieces in this volume originated in an impulse +imparted by the fall of Richmond. They were composed without reference +to collective arrangement, but being brought together in review, +naturally fall into the order assumed.</p> + +<p>The events and incidents of the conflict—making up a whole, in varied +amplitude, corresponding with the geographical area covered by the +war—from these but a few themes have been taken, such as for any cause +chanced to imprint themselves upon the mind.</p> + +<p>The aspects which the strife as a memory assumes are as manifold as are +the moods of involuntary meditation—moods variable, and at times widely +at variance. Yielding instinctively, one after another, to feelings not +inspired from any one source exclusively, and unmindful, without +purposing to be, of consistency, I seem, in most of these verses, to +have but placed a harp in a window, and noted the contrasted airs which +wayward wilds have played upon the strings.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="poem" id="poem1"> +<h3>The Portent.</h3> +<h5>(1859.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem1_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem1_1">Hanging from the beam,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_2"> Slowly swaying (such the law),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_3">Gaunt the shadow on your green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_4"> Shenandoah!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_5">The cut is on the crown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_6">(Lo, John Brown),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_7">And the stabs shall heal no more.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem1_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem1_8">Hidden in the cap</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_9"> Is the anguish none can draw;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_10">So your future veils its face,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_11"> Shenandoah!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_12">But the streaming beard is shown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_13">(Weird John Brown),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem1_14">The meteor of the the war.</div> +</div> +</div> + +<h2>Contents.</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem2">Misgivings</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem3">The Conflict of Convictions</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem4">Apathy and Enthusiasm</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem5">The March into Virginia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem6">Lyon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem7">Ball’s Bluff</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem8">Dupont’s Round Fight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem9">The Stone Fleet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem10">Donelson</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem11">The Cumberland</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem12">In the Turret</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem13">The Temeraire</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem14">A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem15">Shiloh</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem16">The Battle for the Mississipppi</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem17">Malvern Hill</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem18">The Victor of Antietam</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem19">Battle of Stone River</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem20">Running the Batteries</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem21">Stonewall Jackson</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem22">Stonewall Jackson (ascribed to a Virginian)</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem23">Gettysburg</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem24">The House-top</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem25">Look-out Mountain</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem26">Chattanooga</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem27">The Armies of the Wilderness</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem28">On the Photograph of a Corps Commander</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem29">The Swamp Angel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem30">The Battle for the Bay</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem31">Sheridan at Cedar Creek</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem32">In the Prison Pen</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem33">The College Colonel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem34">The Eagle of the Blue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem35">A Dirge for McPherson</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem36">At the Cannon’s Mouth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem37">The March to the Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem38">The Frenzy in the Wake</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem39">The Fall of Richmond</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem40">The Surrender at Appomattox</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem41">A Canticle</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem42">The Martyr</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem43">“The Coming Storm”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem44">Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem45">The Muster</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem46">Aurora-Borealis</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem47">The Released Rebel Prisoner</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem48">A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem49">“Formerly a Slave.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem50">The Apparition</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem51">Magnanimity Baffled</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem52">On the Slain Collegians</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem53">America</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<h3>Verses Inscriptive and Memorial</h3> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem54">On the Home Guards who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem55">Inscription for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem56">The Fortitude of the North Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem57">On the Men of Maine killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem58">An Epitaph</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem59">Inscription for Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem60">The Mound by the Lake</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem61">On the Slain at Chickamauga</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem62">An uninscribed Monument on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem63">On Sherman’s Men Who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem64">On the Grave of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem65">A Requiem for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem66">On a natural Monument in a field of Georgia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem67">Commemorative of a Naval Victory</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem68">Presentation to the Authorities, by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the Surrender of Lee</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem69">The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem70">The Scout toward Aldie</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem71">Lee in the Capitol</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#poem72">A Meditation</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#supplement">Supplement</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="poem" id="poem2"> +<h3>Misgivings.</h3> +<h5>(1860.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem2_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem2_1"> When ocean-clouds over inland hills</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_2"> Sweep storming in late autumn brown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_3"> And horror the sodden valley fills,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_4"> And the spire falls crashing in the town,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_5"> I muse upon my country’s ills—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_6"> The tempest bursting from the waste of Time</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_7">On the world’s fairest hope linked with man’s foulest crime.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem2_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem2_8"> Nature’s dark side is heeded now—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_9"> (Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_10"> A child may read the moody brow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_11"> Of yon black mountain lone.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_12"> With shouts the torrents down the gorges go,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_13"> And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem2_14">The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem" id="poem3"> +<h3>The Conflict of Convictions.<a id="fnt1" href="#fn1"><sup>[1]</sup></a></h3> +<h5>(1860-1.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn1"> +<p><a href="#fnt1">[1]</a> The gloomy lull of the early part of the winter of 1860-1, seeming +big with final disaster to our institutions, affected some minds that +believed them to constitute one of the great hopes of mankind, much as +the eclipse which came over the promise of the first French Revolution +affected kindred natures, throwing them for the time into doubt and +misgivings universal.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_1">On starry heights</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_2"> A bugle wails the long recall;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_3">Derision stirs the deep abyss,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_4"> Heaven’s ominous silence over all.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_5">Return, return, O eager Hope,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_6"> And face man’s latter fall.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_7">Events, they make the dreamers quail;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_8">Satan’s old age is strong and hale,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_9">A disciplined captain, gray in skill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_10">And Raphael a white enthusiast still;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_11">Dashed aims, at which Christ’s martyrs pale,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_12">Shall Mammon’s slaves fulfill?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_13"><i> (Dismantle the fort,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_14"><i> Cut down the fleet—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_15"><i> Battle no more shall be!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_16"><i> While the fields for fight in æons to come</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_17"><i> Congeal beneath the sea.)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_18">The terrors of truth and dart of death</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_19"> To faith alike are vain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_20">Though comets, gone a thousand years,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_21"> Return again,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_22">Patient she stands—she can no more—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_23">And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_24"><i> (At a stony gate,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_25"><i> A statue of stone,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_26"><i> Weed overgrown—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_27"><i> Long ’twill wait!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_28">But God his former mind retains,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_29"> Confirms his old decree;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_30">The generations are inured to pains,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_31"> And strong Necessity</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_32">Surges, and heaps Time’s strand with wrecks.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_33"> The People spread like a weedy grass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_34"> The thing they will they bring to pass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_35">And prosper to the apoplex.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_36">The rout it herds around the heart,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_37"> The ghost is yielded in the gloom;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_38">Kings wag their heads—Now save thyself</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_39"> Who wouldst rebuild the world in bloom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_40"><i> (Tide-mark</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_41"><i> And top of the ages’ strike,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_42"><i> Verge where they called the world to come,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_43"><i> The last advance of life—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_44"><i> Ha ha, the rust on the Iron Dome!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_45">Nay, but revere the hid event;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_46"> In the cloud a sword is girded on,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_47">I mark a twinkling in the tent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_48"> Of Michael the warrior one.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_49">Senior wisdom suits not now,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_50">The light is on the youthful brow.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_51"><i> (Ay, in caves the miner see:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_52"><i> His forehead bears a blinking light;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_53"><i> Darkness so he feebly braves—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_54"><i> A meagre wight!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_55">But He who rules is old—is old;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_56">Ah! faith is warm, but heaven with age is cold.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_57"><i> (Ho ho, ho ho,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_58"><i> The cloistered doubt</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_59"><i> Of olden times</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_60"><i> Is blurted out!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_61">The Ancient of Days forever is young,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_62"> Forever the scheme of Nature thrives;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_63">I know a wind in purpose strong—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_64"> It spins <i>against</i> the way it drives.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_65">What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_66">So deep must the stones be hurled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_67">Whereon the throes of ages rear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_68">The final empire and the happier world.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_69"><i> (The poor old Past,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_70"><i> The Future’s slave,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_71"><i> She drudged through pain and crime</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_72"><i> To bring about the blissful Prime,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_73"><i> Then—perished.</i> There’s <i>a grave!)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_74"> Power unanointed may come—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_75">Dominion (unsought by the free)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_76"> And the Iron Dome,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_77">Stronger for stress and strain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_78">Fling her huge shadow athwart the main;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_79">But the Founders’ dream shall flee.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_80">Agee after age shall be</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_81">As age after age has been,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_82">(From man’s changeless heart their way they win);</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem3_83">And death be busy with all who strive—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem3_84">Death, with silent negative.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s15"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_85"> Yea, and Nay—</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_86"> Each hath his say;</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_87"> But God He keeps the middle way.</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_88"> None was by</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_89"> When He spread the sky;</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_90"> Wisdom is vain, and prophesy.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem4"> +<h3>Apathy and Enthusiasm.</h3> +<h5>(1860-1.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem4_s1"> +<h6>I.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem4_1">O the clammy cold November,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_2"> And the winter white and dead,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_3">And the terror dumb with stupor,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_4"> And the sky a sheet of lead;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_5">And events that came resounding</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_6"> With the cry that <i>All was lost</i>,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_7">Like the thunder-cracks of massy ice</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_8"> In intensity of frost—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_9">Bursting one upon another</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_10"> Through the horror of the calm.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_11"> The paralysis of arm</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_12">In the anguish of the heart;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_13">And the hollowness and dearth.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_14"> The appealings of the mother</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_15"> To brother and to brother</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_16">Not in hatred so to part—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_17">And the fissure in the hearth</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_18"> Growing momently more wide.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_19">Then the glances ’tween the Fates,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_20"> And the doubt on every side,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_21">And the patience under gloom</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_22">In the stoniness that waits</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_23">The finality of doom.</div> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem4_s2"> +<h6>II.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem4_24">So the winter died despairing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_25"> And the weary weeks of Lent;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_26">And the ice-bound rivers melted,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_27"> And the tomb of Faith was rent.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_28">O, the rising of the People</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_29"> Came with springing of the grass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_30">They rebounded from dejection</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_31"> And Easter came to pass.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_32">And the young were all elation</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_33"> Hearing Sumter’s cannon roar,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_34">And they thought how tame the Nation</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_35"> In the age that went before.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_36">And Michael seemed gigantical,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_37"> The Arch-fiend but a dwarf;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_38">And at the towers of Erebus</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_39"> Our striplings flung the scoff.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_40">But the elders with foreboding</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_41"> Mourned the days forever o’er,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_42">And re called the forest proverb,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_43"> The Iroquois’ old saw:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_44"><i>Grief to every graybeard</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem4_45"><i> When young Indians lead the war.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem5"> +<h3>The March into Virginia,</h3> +<h4>Ending in the First Manassas.</h4> +<h5>(July, 1861.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem5_1">Did all the lets and bars appear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_2"> To every just or larger end,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_3">Whence should come the trust and cheer?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_4"> Youth must its ignorant impulse lend—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_5">Age finds place in the rear.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_6"> All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_7">The champions and enthusiasts of the state:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_8"> Turbid ardors and vain joys</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_9"> Not barrenly abate—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_10"> Stimulants to the power mature,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_11"> Preparatives of fate.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem5_12">Who here forecasteth the event?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_13">What heart but spurns at precedent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_14">And warnings of the wise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_15">Contemned foreclosures of surprise?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem5_16">The banners play, the bugles call,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_17">The air is blue and prodigal.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_18"> No berrying party, pleasure-wooed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_19">No picnic party in the May,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_20">Ever went less loth than they</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_21"> Into that leafy neighborhood.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_22">In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_23">Moloch’s uninitiate;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_24">Expectancy, and glad surmise</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_25">Of battle’s unknown mysteries.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_26">All they feel is this: ’tis glory,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_27">A rapture sharp, though transitory,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_28">Yet lasting in belaureled story.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_29">So they gayly go to fight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_30">Chatting left and laughing right.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem5_31">But some who this blithe mood present,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_32"> As on in lightsome files they fare,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_33">Shall die experienced ere three days are spent—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_34"> Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_35">Or shame survive, and, like to adamant,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem5_36"> The throe of Second Manassas share.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem6"> +<h3>Lyon.</h3> +<h4>Battle of Springfield, Missouri.</h4> +<h5>(August, 1861.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_1">Some hearts there are of deeper sort,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_2"> Prophetic, sad,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_3">Which yet for cause are trebly clad;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_4"> Known death they fly on:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_5">This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_6">“They are more than twenty thousand strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_7"> We less than five,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_8">Too few with such a host to strive”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_9"> “Such counsel, fie on!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_10">’Tis battle, or ’tis shame;” and firm stood Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_11">“For help at need in van we wait—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_12"> Retreat or fight:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_13">Retreat the foe would take for flight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_14"> And each proud scion</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_15">Feel more elate; the end must come,” said Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_16">By candlelight he wrote the will,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_17"> And left his all</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_18">To Her for whom ’twas not enough to fall;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_19"> Loud neighed Orion</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_20">Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_21">The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_22"> With guard-fires lit;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_23">Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_24"> “A field to die on”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_25">Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_26">We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_27"> Fate seemed malign;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_28">His horse the Leader led along the line—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_29"> Star-browed Orion;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_30">Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_31">There came a sound like the slitting of air</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_32"> By a swift sharp sword—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_33">A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_34"> Of black Orion</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_35">Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_36">“General, you’re hurt—this sleet of balls!”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_37"> He seemed half spent;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_38">With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_39"> “The field to die on;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_40">But not—not yet; the day is long,” breathed Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_41">For a time becharmed there fell a lull</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_42"> In the heart of the fight;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_43">The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_44"> Warm noon-winds sigh on,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_45">And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_46">Texans and Indians trim for a charge:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_47"> “Stand ready, men!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_48">Let them come close, right up, and then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_49"> After the lead, the iron;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_50">Fire, and charge back!” So strength returned to Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_51">The Iowa men who held the van,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_52"> Half drilled, were new</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_53">To battle: “Some one lead us, then we’ll do”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_54"> Said Corporal Tryon:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_55">“Men! <i>I</i> will lead,” and a light glared in Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_56">On they came: they yelped, and fired;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_57"> His spirit sped;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_58">We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_59"> Nor stayed the iron,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_60">Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem6_61">This seer foresaw his soldier-doom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_62"> Yet willed the fight.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_63">He never turned; his only flight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_64"> Was up to Zion,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem6_65">Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem7"> +<h3>Ball’s Bluff.</h3> +<h4>A Reverie.</h4> +<h5>(October, 1861.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem7_1">One noonday, at my window in the town,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_2"> I saw a sight—saddest that eyes can see—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_3"> Young soldiers marching lustily</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_4"> Unto the wars,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_5">With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_6"> While all the porches, walks, and doors</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_7">Were rich with ladies cheering royally.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem7_8">They moved like Juny morning on the wave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_9"> Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_10"> (It was the breezy summer time),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_11"> Life throbbed so strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_12">How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_13"> Would come to thin their shining throng?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_14">Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem7_15">Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_16"> By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_17"> On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_18"> Some marching feet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_19">Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_20"> Wakeful I mused, while in the street</div> +<div class="line" id="poem7_21">Far footfalls died away till none were left.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem8"> +<h3>Dupont’s Round Fight.</h3> +<h5>(November, 1861.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem8_1">In time and measure perfect moves</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_2"> All Art whose aim is sure;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_3">Evolving ryhme and stars divine</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_4"> Have rules, and they endure.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem8_5">Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_6"> And, warring so, prevailed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_7">In geometric beauty curved,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_8"> And in an orbit sailed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem8_9">The rebel at Port Royal felt</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_10"> The Unity overawe,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_11">And rued the spell. A type was here,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem8_12"> And victory of Law.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem9"> +<h3>The Stone Fleet.<a id="fnt2" href="#fn2"><sup>[2]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>An Old Sailor’s Lament.</h4> +<h5>(December, 1861.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn2"> +<p><a href="#fnt2">[2]</a> “The terrible Stone Fleet on a mission as pitiless as the granite +that freights it, sailed this morning from Port Royal, and before two +days are past will have made Charleston an inland city. The ships are +all old whalers, and cost the government from $2500 to $5000 each. Some +of them were once famous ships.—” (From Newspaper Correspondences of the +day.)</p> + +<p>Sixteen vessels were accordingly sunk on the bar at the river entrance. +Their names were as follows:</p> + +<ul> +<li>Amazon,</li> +<li>America,</li> +<li>American,</li> +<li>Archer,</li> +<li>Courier,</li> +<li>Fortune,</li> +<li>Herald,</li> +<li>Kensington,</li> +<li>Leonidas,</li> +<li>Maria Theresa,</li> +<li>Potomac,</li> +<li>Rebecca Simms,</li> +<li>L.C. Richmond,</li> +<li>Robin Hood,</li> +<li>Tenedos,</li> +<li>William Lee.</li> +</ul> + +<p>All accounts seem to agree that the object proposed was not +accomplished. The channel is even said to have become ultimately +benefited by the means employed to obstruct it.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_1">I have a feeling for those ships,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_2"> Each worn and ancient one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_3">With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_4"> Ay, it was unkindly done.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_5"> But so they serve the Obsolete—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_6"> Even so, Stone Fleet!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_7">You’ll say I’m doting; do but think</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_8"> I scudded round the Horn in one—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_9">The Tenedos, a glorious</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_10"> Good old craft as ever run—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_11"> Sunk (how all unmeet!)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_12"> With the Old Stone Fleet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_13">An India ship of fame was she,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_14"> Spices and shawls and fans she bore;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_15">A whaler when her wrinkles came—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_16"> Turned off! till, spent and poor,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_17"> Her bones were sold (escheat)!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_18"> Ah! Stone Fleet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_19">Four were erst patrician keels</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_20"> (Names attest what families be),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_21">The Kensington, and Richmond too,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_22"> Leonidas, and Lee:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_23"> But now they have their seat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_24"> With the Old Stone Fleet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_25">To scuttle them—a pirate deed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_26"> Sack them, and dismast;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_27">They sunk so slow, they died so hard,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_28"> But gurgling dropped at last.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_29"> Their ghosts in gales repeat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_30"> <i>Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem9_31">And all for naught. The waters pass—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_32"> Currents will have their way;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_33">Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_34"> The harbor is bettered—will stay.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_35"> A failure, and complete,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem9_36"> Was your Old Stone Fleet.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem10"> +<h3>Donelson.</h3> +<h5>(February, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_1">The bitter cup</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_2"> Of that hard countermand</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_3">Which gave the Envoys up,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_4">Still was wormwood in the mouth,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_5"> And clouds involved the land,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_6">When, pelted by sleet in the icy street,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_7"> About the bulletin-board a band</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_8">Of eager, anxious people met,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_9">And every wakeful heart was set</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_10">On latest news from West or South.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_11">“No seeing here,” cries one—“don’t crowd—”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_12">“You tall man, pray you, read aloud.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s2"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_13">Important.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_14"><i> We learn that General Grant,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_15"><i> Marching from Henry overland,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_16"><i>And joined by a force up the Cumberland sent</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_17"><i> (Some thirty thousand the command),</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_18"><i>On Wednesday a good position won—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_19"><i>Began the siege of Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_20"><i>The stronghold crowns a river-bluff,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_21"><i> A good broad mile of leveled top;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_22"><i>Inland the ground rolls off</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_23"><i> Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_24"><i>A wilderness of trees and brush.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_25"><i> The spaded summit shows the roods</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_26"><i>Of fixed intrenchments in their hush;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_27"><i> Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_28"><i>Perplex the base.—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_29"><i> The welcome weather</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_30"><i> Is clear and mild; ’tis much like May.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_31"><i>The ancient boughs that lace together</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_32"><i>Along the stream, and hang far forth,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_33"><i> Strange with green mistletoe, betray</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_34"><i>A dreamy contrast to the North.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_35"><i>Our troops are full of spirits—say</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_36"><i> The siege won’t prove a creeping one.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_37"><i>They purpose not the lingering stay</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_38"><i>Of old beleaguerers; not that way;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_39"><i> But, full of</i> vim <i>from Western prairies won,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_40"><i> They’ll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_41">Washed by the storm till the paper grew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_42">Every shade of a streaky blue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_43">That bulletin stood. The next day brought</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_44">A second.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s6"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_45">Later from the Fort.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_46"><i>Grant’s investment is complete—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_47"><i> A semicircular one.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_48"><i>Both wings the Cumberland’s margin meet,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_49"><i>Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_50"><i> On Wednesday this good work was done;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_51"><i> But of the doers some lie prone.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_52"><i>Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_53"><i>The bold inclosing line we wrought for</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_54"><i>Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_55"><i>A limb or life. But back we forced</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_56"><i>Reserves and all; made good our hold;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_57"><i>And so we rest.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_58"><i> Events unfold.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_59"><i>On Thursday added ground was won,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_60"><i> A long bold steep: we near the Den.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_61"><i>Later the foe came shouting down</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_62"><i> In sortie, which was quelled; and then</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_63"><i>We stormed them on their left.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_64"><i>A chilly change in the afternoon;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_65"><i>The sky, late clear, is now bereft</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_66"><i>Of sun. Last night the ground froze hard—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_67"><i>Rings to the enemy as they run</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_68"><i>Within their works. A ramrod bites</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_69"><i>The lip it meets. The cold incites</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_70"><i>To swinging of arms with brisk rebound.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_71"><i>Smart blows ’gainst lusty chests resound.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_72"><i>Along the outer line we ward</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_73"><i> A crackle of skirmishing goes on.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_74"><i>Our lads creep round on hand and knee,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_75"><i> They fight from behind each trunk and stone;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_76"><i> And sometimes, flying for refuge, one</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_77"><i>Finds ’tis an enemy shares the tree.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_78"><i>Some scores are maimed by boughs shot off</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_79"><i> In the glades by the Fort’s big gun.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_80"><i> We mourn the loss of colonel Morrison,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_81"><i> Killed while cheering his regiment on.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_82"><i>Their far sharpshooters try our stuff;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_83"><i>And ours return them puff for puff:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_84"><i>’Tis diamond-cutting-diamond work.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_85"><i> Woe on the rebel cannoneer</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_86"><i>Who shows his head. Our fellows lurk</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_87"><i> Like Indians that waylay the deer</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_88"><i>By the wild salt-spring.—The sky is dun,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_89"><i>Fordooming the fall of Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_90"><i>Stern weather is all unwonted here.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_91"><i> The people of the country own</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_92"><i>We brought it. Yea, the earnest North</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_93"><i>Has elementally issued forth</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_94"><i> To storm this Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s10"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_95">Further.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_96"><i> A yelling rout</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_97"><i>Of ragamuffins broke profuse</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_98"><i> To-day from out the Fort.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_99"><i> Sole uniform they wore, a sort</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_100"><i>Of patch, or white badge (as you choose)</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_101"><i> Upon the arm. But leading these,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_102"><i>Or mingling, were men of face</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_103"><i>And bearing of patrician race,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_104"><i>Splendid in courage and gold lace—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_105"><i> The officers. Before the breeze</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_106"><i>Made by their charge, down went our line;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_107"><i>But, rallying, charged back in force,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_108"><i>And broke the sally; yet with loss.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_109"><i>This on the left; upon the right</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_110"><i>Meanwhile there was an answering fight;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_111"><i> Assailants and assailed reversed.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_112"><i>The charge too upward, and not down—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_113"><i>Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_114"><i> A strong redoubt. But they who first</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_115"><i>Gained the fort’s base, and marked the trees</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_116"><i>Felled, heaped in horned perplexities,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_117"><i> And shagged with brush; and swarming there</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_118"><i>Fierce wasps whose sting was present death—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_119"><i>They faltered, drawing bated breath,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_120"><i> And felt it was in vain to dare;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_121"><i>Yet still, perforce, returned the ball,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_122"><i>Firing into the tangled wall</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_123"><i>Till ordered to come down. They came;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_124"><i>But left some comrades in their fame,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_125"><i>Red on the ridge in icy wreath</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_126"><i>And hanging gardens of cold Death.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_127"><i> But not quite unavenged these fell;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_128"><i>Our ranks once out of range, a blast</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_129"><i> Of shrapnel and quick shell</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_130"><i>Burst on the rebel horde, still massed,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_131"><i> Scattering them pell-mell.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_132"><i> (This fighting—judging what we read—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_133"><i> Both charge and countercharge,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_134"><i> Would seem but Thursday’s told at large,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_135"><i> Before in brief reported.—Ed.)</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_136"><i>Night closed in about the Den</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_137"><i> Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_138"><i>A night not soon to be forgot,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_139"><i> Reviving old rheumatic pains</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_140"><i>And longings for a cot.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_141"><i> No blankets, overcoats, or tents.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_142"><i>Coats thrown aside on the warm march here—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_143"><i>We looked not then for changeful cheer;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_144"><i>Tents, coats, and blankets too much care.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_145"><i> No fires; a fire a mark presents;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_146"><i> Near by, the trees show bullet-dents.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_147"><i>Rations were eaten cold and raw.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_148"><i> The men well soaked, come snow; and more—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_149"><i>A midnight sally. Small sleeping done—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_150"><i> But such is war;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_151"><i>No matter, we’ll have Fort Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_152"> “Ugh! ugh!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_153">’Twill drag along—drag along”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_154">Growled a cross patriot in the throng,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_155">His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_156">Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_157">“Hurrah for Grant!” cried a stripling shrill;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_158">Three urchins joined him with a will,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_159">And some of taller stature cheered.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_160">Meantime a Copperhead passed; he sneered.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_161"> “Win or lose,” he pausing said,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_162">“Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_163">Any thing to make a noise.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_164"> Like to see the list of the dead;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_165">These ‘<i>craven Southerners</i>’ hold out;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_166">Ay, ay, they’ll give you many a bout”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_167"> “We’ll beat in the end, sir”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_168">Firmly said one in staid rebuke,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_169">A solid merchant, square and stout.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_170"> “And do you think it? that way tend, sir”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_171">Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_172">Of splenetic pity. “Yes, I do”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_173">His yellow death’s head the croaker shook:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_174">“The country’s ruined, that I know”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_175">A shower of broken ice and snow,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_176"> In lieu of words, confuted him;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_177">They saw him hustled round the corner go,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_178"> And each by-stander said—Well suited him.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_179">Next day another crowd was seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_180">In the dark weather’s sleety spleen.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_181">Bald-headed to the storm came out</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_182">A man, who, ’mid a joyous shout,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_183">Silently posted this brief sheet:</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s14"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_184">Glorious Victory of the Fleet!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s15"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_185">Friday’s great event!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s16"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_186">The enemy’s water-batteries beat!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s17"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_187">We silenced every gun!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s18"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_188">The old Commodore’s compliments sent</div> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_189">Plump into Donelson!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s19"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_190">“Well, well, go on!” exclaimed the crowd</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_191">To him who thus much read aloud.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_192">“That’s all,” he said. “What! nothing more”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_193">“Enough for a cheer, though—hip, hurrah!”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_194">“But here’s old Baldy come again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_195">More news!—” And now a different strain.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s20"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_196"><i>(Our own reporter a dispatch compiles,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_197"><i> As best he may, from varied sources.)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s21"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_198"><i>Large re-enforcements have arrived—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_199"><i> Munitions, men, and horses—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_200"><i>For Grant, and all debarked, with stores.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s22"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_201"><i> The enemy’s field-works extend six miles—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_202"><i>The gate still hid; so well contrived.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s23"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_203"><i>Yesterday stung us; frozen shores</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_204"><i> Snow-clad, and through the drear defiles</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s24"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_205"><i>And over the desolate ridges blew</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_206"><i>A Lapland wind.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_207"><i> The main affair</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_208"><i> Was a good two hours’ steady fight</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_209"><i>Between our gun-boats and the Fort.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_210"><i> The Louisville’s wheel was smashed outright.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_211"><i>A hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound ball</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_212"><i>Came planet-like through a starboard port,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_213"><i>Killing three men, and wounding all</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_214"><i>The rest of that gun’s crew,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_215"><i>(The captain of the gun was cut in two);</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_216"><i>Then splintering and ripping went—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_217"><i>Nothing could be its continent.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_218"><i> In the narrow stream the Louisville,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_219"><i>Unhelmed, grew lawless; swung around,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_220"><i> And would have thumped and drifted, till</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_221"><i>All the fleet was driven aground,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_222"><i>But for the timely order to retire.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s25"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_223"><i>Some damage from our fire, ’tis thought,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_224"><i>Was done the water-batteries of the Fort.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s26"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_225"><i>Little else took place that day,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_226"><i> Except the field artillery in line</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_227"><i>Would now and then—for love, they say—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_228"><i> Exchange a valentine.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_229"><i>The old sharpshooting going on.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_230"><i>Some plan afoot as yet unknown;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_231"><i>So Friday closed round Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s27"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_232">Later.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_233"><i> Great suffering through the night—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_234"><i>A stinging one. Our heedless boys</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_235"><i> Were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_236"><i> Hapless wounded men were frozen.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_237"><i>During day being struck down out of sight,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_238"><i>And help-cries drowned in roaring noise,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_239"><i>They were left just where the skirmish shifted—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_240"><i>Left in dense underbrush now-drifted.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_241"><i>Some, seeking to crawl in crippled plight,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_242"><i>So stiffened—perished.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_243"><i> Yet in spite</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_244"><i>Of pangs for these, no heart is lost.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_245"><i>Hungry, and clothing stiff with frost,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_246"><i>Our men declare a nearing sun</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_247"><i>Shall see the fall of Donelson.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_248"><i> And this they say, yet not disown</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_249"><i>The dark redoubts round Donelson,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_250"><i> And ice-glazed corpses, each a stone—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_251"><i> A sacrifice to Donelson;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_252"><i>They swear it, and swerve not, gazing on</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_253"><i>A flag, deemed black, flying from Donelson.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_254"><i>Some of the wounded in the wood</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_255"><i> Were cared for by the foe last night,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_256"><i>Though he could do them little needed good,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_257"><i> Himself being all in shivering plight.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_258"><i>The rebel is wrong, but human yet;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_259"><i>He’s got a heart, and thrusts a bayonet.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_260"><i>He gives us battle with wondrous will—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_261"><i>The bluff’s a perverted Bunker Hill.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s28"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_262">The stillness stealing through the throng</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_263">The silent thought and dismal fear revealed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_264"> They turned and went,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_265"> Musing on right and wrong</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_266"> And mysteries dimly sealed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_267">Breasting the storm in daring discontent;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_268">The storm, whose black flag showed in heaven,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_269">As if to say no quarter there was given</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_270"> To wounded men in wood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_271"> Or true hearts yearning for the good—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_272">All fatherless seemed the human soul.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_273">But next day brought a bitterer bowl—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_274"> On the bulletin-board this stood;</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s29"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_275"><i> Saturday morning at 3 A.M.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_276"><i> A stir within the Fort betrayed</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_277"><i> That the rebels were getting under arms;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_278"><i> Some plot these early birds had laid.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_279"><i> But a lancing sleet cut him who stared</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_280"><i> Into the storm. After some vague alarms,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_281"><i> Which left our lads unscared,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_282"><i> Out sallied the enemy at dim of dawn,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_283"><i> With cavalry and artillery, and went</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_284"><i> In fury at our environment.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_285"><i> Under cover of shot and shell</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_286"><i> Three columns of infantry rolled on,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_287"><i> Vomited out of Donelson—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_288"><i> Rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_289"><i> Surged at our line, and swelled and poured</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_290"><i> Like breaking surf. But unsubmerged</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_291"><i> Our men stood up, except where roared</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_292"><i> The enemy through one gap. We urged</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_293"><i> Our all of manhood to the stress,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_294"><i> But still showed shattered in our desperateness.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_295"><i> Back set the tide,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_296"><i> But soon afresh rolled in;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_297"><i> And so it swayed from side to side—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_298"><i> Far batteries joining in the din,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_299"><i> Though sharing in another fray—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_300"><i> Till all became an Indian fight,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_301"><i> Intricate, dusky, stretching far away,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_302"><i> Yet not without spontaneous plan</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_303"><i> However tangled showed the plight;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_304"><i> Duels all over ’tween man and man,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_305"><i> Duels on cliff-side, and down in ravine,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_306"><i> Duels at long range, and bone to bone;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_307"><i> Duels every where flitting and half unseen.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_308"><i> Only by courage good as their own,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_309"><i> And strength outlasting theirs,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_310"><i> Did our boys at last drive the rebels off.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_311"><i> Yet they went not back to their distant lairs</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_312"><i> In strong-hold, but loud in scoff</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_313"><i> Maintained themselves on conquered ground—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_314"><i> Uplands; built works, or stalked around.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_315"><i> Our right wing bore this onset. Noon</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_316"><i> Brought calm to Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s30"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_317">The reader ceased; the storm beat hard;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_318"> ’Twas day, but the office-gas was lit;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_319"> Nature retained her sulking-fit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_320"> In her hand the shard.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_321">Flitting faces took the hue</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_322">Of that washed bulletin-board in view,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_323">And seemed to bear the public grief</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_324">As private, and uncertain of relief;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_325">Yea, many an earnest heart was won,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_326"> As broodingly he plodded on,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_327">To find in himself some bitter thing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_328">Some hardness in his lot as harrowing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_329"> As Donelson.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s31"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_330">That night the board stood barren there,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_331"> Oft eyes by wistful people passing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_332"> Who nothing saw but the rain-beads chasing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_333">Each other down the wafered square,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_334">As down some storm-beat grave-yard stone.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_335">But next day showed—</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s32"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_336"> More news of last night.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s33"> + +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_337">Story of Saturday afternoon.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s34"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_338">Vicissitudes of the war.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s35"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_339"><i> The damaged gun-boats can’t wage fight</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_340"><i>For days; so says the Commodore.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_341"><i>Thus no diversion can be had.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_342"><i>Under a sunless sky of lead</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_343"><i> Our grim-faced boys in blacked plight</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_344"><i>Gaze toward the ground they held before,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_345"><i>And then on Grant. He marks their mood,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_346"><i>And hails it, and will turn the same to good.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_347"><i>Spite all that they have undergone,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_348"><i>Their desperate hearts are set upon</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_349"><i>This winter fort, this stubborn fort,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_350"><i>This castle of the last resort,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_351"><i> This Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s36"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_352">1 P.M.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s37"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_353"><i> An order given</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_354"><i> Requires withdrawal from the front</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_355"><i> Of regiments that bore the brunt</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_356"><i>Of morning’s fray. Their ranks all riven</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_357"><i>Are being replaced by fresh, strong men.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_358"><i>Great vigilance in the foeman’s Den;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_359"><i>He snuffs the stormers. Need it is</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_360"><i>That for that fell assault of his,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_361"><i>That rout inflicted, and self-scorn—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_362"><i>Immoderate in noble natures, torn</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_363"><i>By sense of being through slackness overborne—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_364"><i>The rebel be given a quick return:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_365"><i>The kindest face looks now half stern.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_366"><i>Balked of their prey in airs that freeze,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_367"><i>Some fierce ones glare like savages.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_368"><i>And yet, and yet, strange moments are—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_369"><i>Well—blood, and tears, and anguished War!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_370"><i>The morning’s battle-ground is seen</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_371"><i> In lifted glades, like meadows rare;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_372"><i> The blood-drops on the snow-crust there</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_373"><i>Like clover in the white-week show—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_374"><i> Flushed fields of death, that call again—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_375"><i> Call to our men, and not in vain,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_376"><i>For that way must the stormers go.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s38"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_377">3 P.M.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s39"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_378"><i> The work begins.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_379"><i>Light drifts of men thrown forward, fade</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_380"><i> In skirmish-line along the slope,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_381"><i>Where some dislodgments must be made</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_382"><i> Ere the stormer with the strong-hold cope.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s40"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_383"><i>Lew Wallace, moving to retake</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_384"><i>The heights late lost—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_385"><i> (Herewith a break.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_386"><i> Storms at the West derange the wires.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_387"><i>Doubtless, ere morning, we shall hear</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_388"><i>The end; we look for news to cheer—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_389"><i> Let Hope fan all her fires.)</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s41"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_390">Next day in large bold hand was seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_391">The closing bulletin:</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s42"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_392">Victory!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_393"><i> Our troops have retrieved the day</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_394"><i>By one grand surge along the line;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_395"><i>The spirit that urged them was divine.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_396"><i> The first works flooded, naught could stay</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_397"><i>The stormers: on! still on!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_398"><i>Bayonets for Donelson!</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s43"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_399"><i>Over the ground that morning lost</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_400"><i>Rolled the blue billows, tempest-tossed,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_401"><i> Following a hat on the point of a sword.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_402"><i>Spite shell and round-shot, grape and canister,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_403"><i>Up they climbed without rail or banister—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_404"><i> Up the steep hill-sides long and broad,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_405"><i>Driving the rebel deep within his works.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_406"><i>’Tis nightfall; not an enemy lurks</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_407"><i> In sight. The chafing men</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_408"><i> Fret for more fight:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_409"><i> “To-night, to-night let us take the Den”</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_410"><i>But night is treacherous, Grant is wary;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_411"><i>Of brave blood be a little chary.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_412"><i>Patience! the Fort is good as won;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_413"><i>To-morrow, and into Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s44"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_414">Later and last.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s45"> +<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_415"> The Fort is ours.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s46"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_416"><i> A flag came out at early morn</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_417"><i>Bringing surrender. From their towers</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_418"><i> Floats out the banner late their scorn.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_419"><i>In Dover, hut and house are full</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_420"><i> Of rebels dead or dying.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_421"><i> The national flag is flying</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_422"><i>From the crammed court-house pinnacle.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_423"><i>Great boat-loads of our wounded go</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_424"><i>To-day to Nashville. The sleet-winds blow;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_425"><i>But all is right: the fight is won,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_426"><i>The winter-fight for Donelson.</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_427"><i> Hurrah!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_428"><i>The spell of old defeat is broke,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_429"><i> The Habit of victory begun;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_430"><i>Grant strikes the war’s first sounding stroke</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_431"><i> At Donelson.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s47"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_432"><i>For lists of killed and wounded, see</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_433"><i>The morrow’s dispatch: to-day ’tis victory.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s48"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_434">The man who read this to the crowd</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_435"> Shouted as the end he gained;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_436"> And though the unflagging tempest rained,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_437"> They answered him aloud.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_438">And hand grasped hand, and glances met</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_439">In happy triumph; eyes grew wet.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_440">O, to the punches brewed that night</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_441">Went little water. Windows bright</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_442">Beamed rosy on the sleet without,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_443">And from the deep street came the frequent shout;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_444">While some in prayer, as these in glee,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_445">Blessed heaven for the winter-victory.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s49"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_446">But others were who wakeful laid</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_447"> In midnight beds, and early rose,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_448"> And, feverish in the foggy snows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_449">Snatched the damp paper—wife and maid.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_450"> The death-list like a river flows</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_451"> Down the pale sheet,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_452">And there the whelming waters meet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s50"> +<div class="line" id="poem10_453"> Ah God! may Time with happy haste</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_454"> Bring wail and triumph to a waste,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_455"> And war be done;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_456"> The battle flag-staff fall athwart</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_457"> The curs’d ravine, and wither; naught</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_458"> Be left of trench or gun;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_459"> The bastion, let it ebb away,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_460"> Washed with the river bed; and Day</div> +<div class="line" id="poem10_461"> In vain seek Donelson.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem11"> +<h3>The Cumberland.</h3> +<h5>(March, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_1">Some names there are of telling sound,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_2"> Whose voweled syllables free</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_3">Are pledge that they shall ever live renowned;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_4"> Such seem to be</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_5">A Frigate’s name (by present glory spanned)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_6"> The Cumberland.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_7"> Sounding name as ere was sung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_8"> Flowing, rolling on the tongue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_9"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_10">She warred and sunk. There’s no denying</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_11"> That she was ended—quelled;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_12">And yet her flag above her fate is flying,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_13"> As when it swelled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_14">Unswallowed by the swallowing sea: so grand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_15"> The Cumberland.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_16"> Goodly name as ere was sung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_17"> Roundly rolling on the tongue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_18"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_19">What need to tell how she was fought—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_20"> The sinking flaming gun—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_21">The gunner leaping out the port—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_22"> Washed back, undone!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_23">Her dead unconquerably manned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_24"> The Cumberland.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_25"> Noble name as ere was sung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_26"> Slowly roll it on the tongue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_27"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_28">Long as hearts shall share the flame</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_29"> Which burned in that brave crew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_30">Her fame shall live—outlive the victor’s name;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_31"> For this is due.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_32">Your flag and flag-staff shall in story stand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_33"> Cumberland!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem11_34"> Sounding name as ere was sung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_35"> Long they’ll roll it on the tongue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem11_36"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem12"> +<h3>In the Turret.</h3> +<h5>(March, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem12_1">Your honest heart of duty, Worden,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_2"> So helped you that in fame you dwell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_3">You bore the first iron battle’s burden</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_4"> Sealed as in a diving-bell.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_5">Alcides, groping into haunted hell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_6">To bring forth King Admetus’ bride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_7">Braved naught more vaguely direful and untried.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_8"> What poet shall uplift his charm,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_9">Bold Sailor, to your height of daring,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_10"> And interblend therewith the calm,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_11">And build a goodly style upon your bearing.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem12_12">Escaped the gale of outer ocean—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_13"> Cribbed in a craft which like a log</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_14">Was washed by every billow’s motion—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_15"> By night you heard of Og</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_16">The huge; nor felt your courage clog</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_17">At tokens of his onset grim:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_18">You marked the sunk ship’s flag-staff slim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_19"> Lit by her burning sister’s heart;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_20">You marked, and mused: “Day brings the trial:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_21"> Then be it proved if I have part</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_22">With men whose manhood never took denial.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem12_23">A prayer went up—a champion’s. Morning</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_24"> Beheld you in the Turret walled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_25">by adamant, where a spirit forewarning</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_26"> And all-deriding called:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_27">“Man, darest thou—desperate, unappalled—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_28">Be first to lock thee in the armored tower?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_29">I have thee now; and what the battle-hour</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_30"> To me shall bring—heed well—thou’lt share;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_31">This plot-work, planned to be the foeman’s terror,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_32"> To thee may prove a goblin-snare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_33">Its very strength and cunning—monstrous error!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem12_34">“Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_35"> If here thou seest thy welded tomb?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_36">And let huge Og with thunders batter—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_37"> Duty be still my doom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_38">Though drowning come in liquid gloom;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_39">First duty, duty next, and duty last;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_40">Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!—”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_41"> So nerved, you fought wisely and well;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_42">And live, twice live in life and story;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_43"> But over your Monitor dirges swell,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem12_44">In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem13"> +<h3>The Temeraire.<a id="fnt3" href="#fn3"><sup>[3]</sup></a></h3> + +<p><i>(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by +the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)</i></p> + +<div class="note" id="fn3"> +<p><a href="#fnt3">[3]</a> The <i>Temeraire</i>, that storied ship of the old English fleet, and the +subject of the well-known painting by Turner, commends itself to the +mind seeking for some one craft to stand for the poetic ideal of those +great historic wooden warships, whose gradual displacement is lamented +by none more than by regularly educated navy officers, and of all +nations.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_1">The gloomy hulls, in armor grim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_2"> Like clouds o’er moors have met,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_3">And prove that oak, and iron, and man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_4"> Are tough in fibre yet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_5">But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_6"> No front of old display;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_7">The garniture, emblazonment,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_8"> And heraldry all decay.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_9">Towering afar in parting light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_10"> The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_11">The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_12"> Of Ships-of-the-Line.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_13">The fighting Temeraire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_14"> Built of a thousand trees,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_15">Lunging out her lightnings,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_16"> And beetling o’er the seas—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_17">O Ship, how brave and fair,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_18"> That fought so oft and well,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_19">On open decks you manned the gun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_20"> Armorial.<a id="fnt4" href="#fn4"><sup>[4]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_21">What cheering did you share,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_22"> Impulsive in the van,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_23">When down upon leagued France and Spain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_24"> We English ran—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_25">The freshet at your bowsprit</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_26"> Like the foam upon the can.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_27">Bickering, your colors</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_28"> Licked up the Spanish air,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_29">You flapped with flames of battle-flags—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_30"> Your challenge, Temeraire!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_31">The rear ones of our fleet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_32"> They yearned to share your place,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_33">Still vying with the Victory</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_34"> Throughout that earnest race—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_35">The Victory, whose Admiral,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_36"> With orders nobly won,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_37">Shone in the globe of the battle glow—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_38"> The angel in that sun.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_39">Parallel in story,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_40"> Lo, the stately pair,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_41">As late in grapple ranging,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_42"> The foe between them there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_43">When four great hulls lay tiered,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_44"> And the fiery tempest cleared,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_45">And your prizes twain appeared,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_46"> Temeraire!</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn4"> +<p><a href="#fnt4">[4]</a> Some of the cannon of old times, especially the brass ones, unlike +the more effective ordnance of the present day, were cast in shapes +which Cellini might have designed, were gracefully enchased, generally +with the arms of the country. A few of them—field-pieces—captured in +our earlier wars, are preserved in arsenals and navy-yards.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem13_47">But Trafalgar’ is over now,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_48"> The quarter-deck undone;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_49">The carved and castled navies fire</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_50"> Their evening-gun.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_51">O, Tital Temeraire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_52"> Your stern-lights fade away;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_53">Your bulwarks to the years must yield,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_54"> And heart-of-oak decay.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_55">A pigmy steam-tug tows you,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_56"> Gigantic, to the shore—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_57">Dismantled of your guns and spars,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_58"> And sweeping wings of war.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_59">The rivets clinch the iron-clads,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_60"> Men learn a deadlier lore;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_61">But Fame has nailed your battle-flags—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_62"> Your ghost it sails before:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_63">O, the navies old and oaken,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem13_64"> O, the Temeraire no more!</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem14"> +<h3>A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_1">Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_2"> More ponderous than nimble;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_3">For since grimed War here laid aside</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_4">His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_5"> Overmuch to ply</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_6">The Rhyme’s barbaric cymbal.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_7">Hail to victory without the gaud</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_8"> Of glory; zeal that needs no fans</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_9">Of banners; plain mechanic power</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_10">Plied cogently in War now placed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_11"> Where War belongs—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_12">Among the trades and artisans.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_13">Yet this was battle, and intense—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_14"> Beyond the strife of fleets heroic;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_15">Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_16">No passion; all went on by crank,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_17"> Pivot, and screw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_18">And calculations of caloric.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_19">Needless to dwell; the story’s known.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_20"> the ringing of those plates on plates</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_21">Still ringeth round the world—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_22">The clangor of that blacksmith’s fray.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_23"> The anvil-din</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_24">Resounds this message from the Fates:</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem14_25">War shall yet be, and to the end;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_26"> But war-paint shows the streaks of weather;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_27">War yet shall be, but warriors</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_28">Are now but operatives; War’s made</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_29"> Less grand than Peace,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem14_30">And a singe runs through lace and feather.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="poem" id="poem15"> +<h3>Shiloh.</h3> +<h4>A Requiem.</h4> +<h5>(April, 1862.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem15_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem15_1">Skimming lightly, wheeling still,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_2"> The swallows fly low</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_3">Over the field in clouded days,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_4"> The forest-field of Shiloh—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_5">Over the field where April rain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_6">Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_7">Through the pause of night</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_8">That followed the Sunday fight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_9"> Around the church of Shiloh—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_10">The church so lone, the log-built one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_11">That echoed to many a parting groan</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_12"> And natural prayer</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_13">Of dying foemen mingled there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_14">Foemen at morn, but friends at eve—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_15"> Fame or country least their care:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_16">(What like a bullet can undeceive!)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_17"> But now they lie low,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_18">While over them the swallows skim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem15_19"> And all is hushed at Shiloh.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem16"> +<h3>The Battle for the Mississipppi.</h3> +<h5>(April, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_1">When Israel camped by Migdol hoar,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_2"> Down at her feet her shawm she threw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_3">But Moses sung and timbrels rung</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_4"> For Pharaoh’s standed crew.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_5">So God appears in apt events—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_6"> The Lord is a man of war!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_7">So the strong wind to the muse is given</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_8"> In victory’s roar.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_9">Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_10"> The fight by night—the fray</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_11">Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_12"> And led it up to day.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_13">Dully through din of larger strife</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_14"> Shall bay that warring gun;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_15">But none the less to us who live</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_16"> It peals—an echoing one.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_17">The shock of ships, the jar of walls,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_18"> The rush through thick and thin—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_19">The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_20"> Eddies, and shells that spin—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_21">The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_22"> The jam of gun-boats driven,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_23">Or fired, or sunk—made up a war</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_24"> Like Michael’s waged with leven.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_25">The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_26"> The odds which hard beset;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_27">The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_28"> Passed on and thundered yet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_29">While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_30"> The Ram Manassas—hark the yell!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_31">Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_32"> The River gave a startled swell.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_33">They fought through lurid dark till dawn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_34"> The war-smoke rolled away</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_35">With clouds of night, and showed the fleet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_36"> In scarred yet firm array,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_37">Above the forts, above the drift</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_38"> Of wrecks which strife had made;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_39">And Farragut sailed up to the town</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_40"> And anchored—sheathed the blade.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_41">The moody broadsides, brooding deep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_42"> Hold the lewd mob at bay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_43">While o’er the armed decks’ solemn aisles</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_44"> The meek church-pennons play;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_45">By shotted guns the sailors stand,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_46"> With foreheads bound or bare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_47">The captains and the conquering crews</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_48"> Humble their pride in prayer.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem16_49">They pray; and after victory, prayer</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_50"> Is meet for men who mourn their slain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_51">The living shall unmoor and sail,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_52"> But Death’s dark anchor secret deeps detain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_53">Yet glory slants her shaft of rays</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_54"> Far through the undisturbed abyss;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_55">There must be other, nobler worlds for them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem16_56"> Who nobly yield their lives in this.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem17"> +<h3>Malvern Hill.</h3> +<h5>(July, 1862.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem17_57">Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_58"> In prime of morn and May,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_59">Recall ye how McClellan’s men</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_60"> Here stood at bay?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_61">While deep within yon forest dim</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_62"> Our rigid comrades lay—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_63">Some with the cartridge in their mouth,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_64">Others with fixed arms lifted South—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_65"> Invoking so</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_66">The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem17_67">The spires of Richmond, late beheld</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_68"> Through rifts in musket-haze,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_69">Were closed from view in clouds of dust</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_70"> On leaf-walled ways,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_71">Where streamed our wagons in caravan;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_72"> And the Seven Nights and Days</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_73">Of march and fast, retreat and fight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_74">Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_75"> Does the elm wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_76">Recall the haggard beards of blood?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem17_77">The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_78"> We followed (it never fell!)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_79">In silence husbanded our strength—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_80"> Received their yell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_81">Till on this slope we patient turned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_82"> With cannon ordered well;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_83">Reverse we proved was not defeat;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_84">But ah, the sod what thousands meet!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_85"> Does Malvern Wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_86">Bethink itself, and muse and brood?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem17_87"><i> We elms of Malvern Hill</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_88"><i> Remember every thing;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_89"><i> But sap the twig will fill:</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_90"><i> Wag the world how it will,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem17_91"><i> Leaves must be green in Spring.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem18"> +<h3>The Victor of Antietam.<a id="fnt5" href="#fn5"><sup>[5]</sup></a></h3> +<h5>(1862.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn5"> +<p><a href="#fnt5">[5]</a> Whatever just military criticism, favorable or otherwise, has at any +time been made upon General McClellan’s campaigns, will stand. But if, +during the excitement of the conflict, aught was spread abroad tending +the unmerited disparagement of the man, it must necessarily die out, +though not perhaps without leaving some traces, which may or may not +prove enduring. Some there are whose votes aided in the re-election of +Abraham Lincoln, who yet believed, and retain the belief, that General +McClellan, to say the least, always proved himself a patriotic and +honorable soldier. The feeling which surviving comrades entertain for +their late commnder is one which, from its passion, is susceptible of +versified representation, and such it receives.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_1">When tempest winnowed grain from bran;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_2">And men were looking for a man,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_3">Authority called you to the van,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_4"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_5">Along the line the plaudit ran,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_6">As later when Antietam’s cheers began.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_7">Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_8">Each Cause and Man, dear to the stars and Jove;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_9">Nor always can the wisest tell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_10">Deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_11">The struggler from the floundering ne’er-do-well.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_12">A pall-cloth on the Seven Days fell,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_13"> Mcclellan—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_14">Unprosperously heroical!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_15">Who could Antietam’s wreath foretell?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_16">Authority called you; then, in mist</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_17">And loom of jeopardy—dismissed.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_18">But staring peril soon appalled;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_19">You, the Discarded, she recalled—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_20">Recalled you, nor endured delay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_21">And forth you rode upon a blasted way,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_22">Arrayed Pope’s rout, and routed Lee’s array,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_23"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_24">Your tent was choked with captured flags that day,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_25"> McClellan.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_26">Antietam was a telling fray.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_27">Recalled you; and she heard your drum</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_28">Advancing through the glastly gloom.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_29">You manned the wall, you propped the Dome,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_30">You stormed the powerful stormer home,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_31"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_32">Antietam’s cannon long shall boom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_33">At Alexandria, left alone,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_34"> McClellan—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_35">Your veterans sent from you, and thrown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_36">To fields and fortunes all unknown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_37">What thoughts were yours, revealed to none,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_38">While faithful still you labored on—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_39">Hearing the far Manassas gun!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_40"> McClellan,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_41">Only Antietam could atone.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_42">You fought in the front (an evil day,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_43"> McClellan)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_44">The fore-front of the first assay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_45">The Cause went sounding, groped its way;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_46">The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_47">Quills thwarted swords; divided sway;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_48">The rebel flushed in his lusty May:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_49">You did your best, as in you lay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_50"> McClellan.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_51">Antietam’s sun-burst sheds a ray.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_52">Your medalled soldiers love you well,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_53"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_54">Name your name, their true hearts swell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_55">With you they shook dread Stonewall’s spell,<a id="fnt6" href="#fn6"><sup>[6]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_56">With you they braved the blended yell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_57">Of rebel and maligner fell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_58">With you in shame or fame they dwell,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_59"> McClellan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_60">Antietam-braves a brave can tell.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn6"> +<p><a href="#fnt6">[6]</a> At Antietam Stonewall Jackson led one wing of Lee’s army, consequenty +sharing that day in whatever may be deemed to have been the fortunes of +his superior.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem18_61">And when your comrades (now so few,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_62"> McClellan—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_63">Such ravage in deep files they rue)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_64">Meet round the board, and sadly view</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_65">The empty places; tribute due</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_66">They render to the dead—and you!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_67">Absent and silent o’er the blue;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_68">The one-armed lift the wine to <i>you</i>,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_69"> McClellan,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem18_70">And great Antietam’s cheers renew.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem19"> +<h3>Battle of Stone River, Tennessee.</h3> +<h4>A View from Oxford Cloisters.</h4> +<h5>(January, 1863.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem19_1">With Tewksbury and Barnet heath</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_2"> In days to come the field shall blend,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_3">The story dim and date obscure;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_4"> In legend all shall end.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_5">Even now, involved in forest shade</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_6"> A Druid-dream the strife appears,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_7">The fray of yesterday assumes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_8"> The haziness of years.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_9"> In North and South still beats the vein</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_10"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem19_11">Our rival Roses warred for Sway—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_12"> For Sway, but named the name of Right;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_13">And Passion, scorning pain and death,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_14"> Lent sacred fervor to the fight.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_15">Each lifted up a broidered cross,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_16"> While crossing blades profaned the sign;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_17">Monks blessed the fraticidal lance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_18"> And sisters scarfs could twine.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_19"> Do North and South the sin retain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_20"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem19_21">But Rosecrans in the cedarn glade,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_22"> And, deep in denser cypress gloom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_23">Dark Breckenridge, shall fade away</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_24"> Or thinly loom.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_25">The pale throngs who in forest cowed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_26"> Before the spell of battle’s pause,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_27">Forefelt the stillness that shall dwell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_28"> On them and on their wars.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_29"> North and South shall join the train</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_30"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem19_31">But where the sword has plunged so deep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_32"> And then been turned within the wound</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_33">By deadly Hate; where Climes contend</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_34"> On vasty ground—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_35">No warning Alps or seas between,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_36"> And small the curb of creed or law,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_37">And blood is quick, and quick the brain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_38"> Shall North and South their rage deplore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_39"> And reunited thrive amain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem19_40"> Like Yorkist and Lancastrian?</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem20"> +<h3>Running the Batteries,</h3> +<h4>As observed from the Anchorage above Vicksburgh.</h4> +<h5>(April, 1863.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_1">A moonless night—a friendly one;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_2"> A haze dimmed the shadowy shore</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_3">As the first lampless boat slid silent on;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_4"> Hist! and we spake no more;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_5">We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_6">We felt the dew, and seemed to feel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_7"> The secret like a burden laid.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_8">The first boat melts; and a second keel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_9"> Is blent with the foliaged shade—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_10">Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_11">Unspied as yet. A third—a fourth—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_12"> Gun-boat and transport in Indian file</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_13">Upon the war-path, smooth from the North;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_14"> But the watch may they hope to beguile?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_15">The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_16">A flame leaps out; they are seen;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_17"> Another and another gun roars;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_18">We tell the course of the boats through the screen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_19"> By each further fort that pours,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_20">And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_21">Converging fires. We speak, though low:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_22"> “That blastful furnace can they thread”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_23">“Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_24"> Came out all right, we read;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_25">The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_26">How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_27"> A golden growing flame appears—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_28">Confirms to a silvery steadfast one:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_29"> “The town is afire!” crows Hugh: “three cheers”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_30">Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_31">A purposed light; it shows our fleet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_32"> Yet a little late in its searching ray,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_33">So far and strong, that in phantom cheat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_34"> Lank on the deck our shadows lay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_35">The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_36">How dread to mark her near the glare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_37"> And glade of death the beacon throws</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_38">Athwart the racing waters there;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_39"> One by one each plainer grows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_40">Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_41">The impartial cresset lights as well</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_42"> The fixed forts to the boats that run;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_43">And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_44"> Back to each fortress dun:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_45">Ponderous words speaks every monster gun.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_46">Fearless they flash through gates of flame,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_47"> The salamanders hard to hit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_48">Though vivid shows each bulky frame;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_49"> And never the batteries intermit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_50">Nor the boats huge guns; they fire and flit.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_51">Anon a lull. The beacon dies:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_52"> “Are they out of that strait accurst”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_53">But other flames now dawning rise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_54"> Not mellowly brilliant like the first,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_55">But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_56">A baleful brand, a hurrying torch</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_57"> Whereby anew the boats are seen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_58">A burning transport all alurch!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_59"> Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_60">Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_61">The effulgence takes an amber glow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_62"> Which bathes the hill-side villas far;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_63">Affrighted ladies mark the show</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_64"> Painting the pale magnolia—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_65">The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_66">The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_67"> Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_68">But the gauntlet now is nearly run,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_69"> The spleenful forts by fits reply,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_70">And the burning boat dies down in morning’s sky.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s15"> +<div class="line" id="poem20_71">All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_72"> Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_73">So burst we through their barriers</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_74"> And menaces every one:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem20_75">So Porter proves himself a brave man’s son.<a id="fnt7" href="#fn7"><sup>[7]</sup></a></div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn7"> +<p><a href="#fnt7">[7]</a>) Admiral Porter is son of the late Commodore Porter, commander of the +Frigate Essex on that Pacific cruise which ended in the desparate fight +off Valparaiso with the English frigates Cherub and Phœbe, in the year +1814.</p> +</div> + +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem21"> +<h3>Stonewall Jackson.</h3> +<h4>Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville.</h4> +<h5>(May, 1863.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem21_1">The Man who fiercest charged in fight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_2"> Whose sword and prayer were long—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_3"> Stonewall!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_4"> Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_5">How can we praise? Yet coming days</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_6"> Shall not forget him with this song.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem21_7">Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_8"> Vainly he died and set his seal—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_9"> Stonewall!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_10"> Earnest in error, as we feel;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_11">True to the thing he deemed was due,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_12"> True as John Brown or steel.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem21_13">Relentlessly he routed us;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_14"> But <i>we</i> relent, for he is low—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_15"> Stonewall!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_16"> Justly his fame we outlaw; so</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_17">We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem21_18"> Because no wreath we owe.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem22"> +<h3>Stonewall Jackson.</h3> +<h4>(Ascribed to a Virginian.)</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_1">One man we claim of wrought renown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_2"> Which not the North shall care to slur;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_3">A Modern lived who sleeps in death,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_4"> Calm as the marble Ancients are:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_5"> ’Tis he whose life, though a vapor’s wreath,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_6"> Was charged with the lightning’s burning breath—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_7"> Stonewall, stormer of the war.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_8">But who shall hymn the roman heart?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_9"> A stoic he, but even more:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_10">The iron will and lion thew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_11"> Were strong to inflict as to endure:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_12"> Who like him could stand, or pursue?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_13"> His fate the fatalist followed through;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_14"> In all his great soul found to do</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_15"> Stonewall followed his star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_16">He followed his star on the Romney march</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_17"> Through the sleet to the wintry war;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_18">And he followed it on when he bowed the grain—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_19"> The Wind of the Shenandoah;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_20"> At Gaines’s Mill in the giant’s strain—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_21"> On the fierce forced stride to Manassas-plain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_22"> Where his sword with thunder was clothed again,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_23"> Stonewall followed his star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_24">His star he followed athwart the flood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_25"> To Potomac’s Northern shore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_26">When midway wading, his host of braves</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_27"> “<i>My Maryland!</i>“ loud did roar—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_28"> To red Antietam’s field of graves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_29"> Through mountain-passes, woods and waves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_30"> They followed their pagod with hymns and glaives,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_31"> For Stonewall followed a star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_32">Back it led him to Marye’s slope,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_33"> Where the shock and the fame he bore;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_34">And to green Moss-Neck it guided him—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_35"> Brief respite from throes of war:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_36"> To the laurel glade by the Wilderness grim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_37"> Through climaxed victory naught shall dim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_38"> Even unto death it piloted him—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_39"> Stonewall followed his star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_40">Its lead he followed in gentle ways</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_41"> Which never the valiant mar;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_42">A cap we sent him, bestarred, to replace</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_43"> The sun-scorched helm of war:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_44"> A fillet he made of the shining lace</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_45"> Childhood’s laughing brow to grace—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_46"> Not his was a goldsmith’s star.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem22_47">O, much of doubt in after days</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_48"> Shall cling, as now, to the war;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_49">Of the right and the wrong they’ll still debate,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_50"> Puzzled by Stonewall’s star:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_51"> “Fortune went with the North elate”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_52"> “Ay, but the south had Stonewall’s weight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem22_53"> And he fell in the South’s vain war.”</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem23"> +<h3>Gettysburg.</h3> +<h4>The Check.</h4> +<h5>(July, 1863.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem23_1">O pride of the days in prime of the months</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_2"> Now trebled in great renown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_3">When before the ark of our holy cause</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_4"> Fell Dagon down—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_5">Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_6">Never his impious heart enlarged</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_7">Beyond that hour; god walled his power,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_8">And there the last invader charged.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem23_9">He charged, and in that charge condensed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_10"> His all of hate and all of fire;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_11">He sought to blast us in his scorn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_12"> And wither us in his ire.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_13">Before him went the shriek of shells—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_14">Aerial screamings, taunts and yells;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_15">Then the three waves in flashed advance</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_16"> Surged, but were met, and back they set:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_17">Pride was repelled by sterner pride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_18"> And Right is a strong-hold yet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem23_19">Before our lines it seemed a beach</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_20"> Which wild September gales have strown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_21">With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_22"> Pale crews unknown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_23">Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_24">Died on the face of each lifeless one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_25">And died along the winding marge of fight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_26"> And searching-parties lone.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem23_27">Sloped on the hill the mounds were green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_28"> Our center held that place of graves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_29">And some still hold it in their swoon,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_30"> And over these a glory waves.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_31">The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,<a id="fnt8" href="#fn8"><sup>[8]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_32">Shall soar transfigured in loftier light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_33"> A meaning ampler bear;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_34">Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_35">Have laid the stone, and every bone</div> +<div class="line" id="poem23_36"> Shall rest in honor there.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn8"> +<p><a href="#fnt8">[8]</a> Among numerous head-stones or monuments on Cemetery Hill, marred or +destroyed by the enemy’s concentrated fire, was one, somewhat +conspicuous, of a Federal officer killed before Richmond in 1862.</p> + +<p>On the 4th of July 1865, the Gettysburg National Cemetery, on the same +height with the original burial-ground, was consecrated, and the +corner-stone laid of a commemorative pile.</p> +</div> + +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem24"> +<h3>The House-top.</h3> +<h4>A Night Piece.</h4> +<h5>(July, 1863.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem24_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem24_1">No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_2">And binds the brain—a dense oppression, such</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_3">As tawny tigers feel in matted shades,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_4">Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_5">Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_6">Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_7">Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_8">Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_9">Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_10">Balefully glares red Arson—there-and there.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_11">The Town is taken by its rats—ship-rats.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_12">And rats of the wharves. All civil charms</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_13">And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_14">Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_15">Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_16">And man rebounds whole æons back in nature.<a id="fnt9" href="#fn9"><sup>[9]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_17">Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_18">And ponderous drag that shakes the wall.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_19">Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_20">Of black artillery; he comes, though late;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_21">In code corroborating Calvin’s creed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_22">And cynic tyrannies of honest kings;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_23">He comes, nor parlies; and the Town redeemed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_24">Give thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_25">The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_26">Which holds that Man is naturally good,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem24_27">And—more—is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn9"> +<p><a href="#fnt9">[9]</a> “I dare not write the horrible and inconceivable atrocities +committed,” says Froissart, in alluding to the remarkable sedition in +France during his time. The like may be hinted of some proceedings of +the draft-rioters.</p> +</div> + +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem25"> +<h3>Look-out Mountain.</h3> +<h4>The Night Fight.</h4> +<h5>(November, 1863.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem25_1">Who inhabiteth the Mountain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_2"> That it shines in lurid light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_3">And is rolled about with thunders,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_4"> And terrors, and a blight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_5">Like Kaf the peak of Eblis—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_6"> Kaf, the evil height?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_7">Who has gone up with a shouting</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_8"> And a trumpet in the night?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem25_9">There is battle in the Mountain—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_10"> Might assaulteth Might;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_11">’Tis the fastness of the Anarch,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_12"> Torrent-torn, an ancient height;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_13">The crags resound the clangor</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_14"> Of the war of Wrong and Right;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_15">And the armies in the valley</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_16"> Watch and pray for dawning light.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem25_17">Joy, Joy, the day is breaking,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_18"> And the cloud is rolled from sight;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_19">There is triumph in the Morning</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_20"> For the Anarch’s plunging flight;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_21">God has glorified the Mountain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_22"> Where a Banner burneth bright,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_23">And the armies in the valley</div> +<div class="line" id="poem25_24"> They are fortified in right.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem26"> +<h3>Chattanooga.</h3> +<h5>(November, 1863.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_1">A kindling impulse seized the host</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_2"> Inspired by heaven’s elastic air;<a id="fnt10" href="#fn10"><sup>[10]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_3">Their hearts outran their General’s plan,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_4"> Though Grant commanded there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_5"> Grant, who without reserve can dare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_6">And, “Well, go on and do your will”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_7"> He said, and measured the mountain then:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_8">So master-riders fling the rein—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_9"> But you must know your men.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn10"> +<p><a href="#fnt10">[10]</a> Although the month was November, the day was in character an October +one—cool, clear, bright, intoxicatingly invigorating; one of those days +peculiar to the ripest hours of our American Autumn. This weather must +have had much to do with the spontaneous enthusiasm which seized the +troops—and enthusiasm aided, doubtless, by glad thoughts of the victory +of Look-out Mountain won the day previous, and also by the elation +attending the capture, after a fierce struggle, of the long ranges of +rifle-pits at the mountain’s base, where orders for the time should have +stopped the advance. But there and then it was that the army took the +bit between its teeth, and ran away with the generals to the victory +commemorated. General Grant, at Culpepper, a few weeks prior to crossing +the Rapidan for the Wilderness, expressed to a visitor his impression of +the impulse and the spectacle: Said he: “I never saw any thing like it:” +language which seems curiously undertoned, considering its application; +but from the taciturn Commander it was equivalent to a superlative or +hyperbole from the talkative.</p> + +<p>The height of the Ridge, according to the account at hand, varies along +its length from six to seven hundred feet above the plain; it slopes at +an angle of about forty-five degrees.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_10">On yester-morn in grayish mist,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_11"> Armies like ghosts on hills had fought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_12">And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_13"> The Cumberlands far had caught:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_14"> To-day the sunlit steeps are sought.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_15">Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_16"> And smoked as one who feels no cares;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_17">But mastered nervousness intense</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_18"> Alone such calmness wears.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_19">The summit-cannon plunge their flame</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_20"> Sheer down the primal wall,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_21">But up and up each linking troop</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_22"> In stretching festoons crawl—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_23"> Nor fire a shot. Such men appall</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_24">The foe, though brave. He, from the brink,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_25"> Looks far along the breadth of slope,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_26">And sees two miles of dark dots creep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_27"> And knows they mean the cope.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_28">He sees them creep. Yet here and there</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_29"> Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_30">As men who ply through traceries high</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_31"> Of turreted marbles show—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_32"> So dwindle these to eyes below.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_33">But fronting shot and flanking shell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_34"> Sliver and rive the inwoven ways;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_35">High tops of oaks and high hearts fall,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_36"> But never the climbing stays.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_37">From right to left, from left to right</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_38"> They roll the rallying cheer—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_39">Vie with each other, brother with brother,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_40"> Who shall the first appear—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_41"> What color-bearer with colors clear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_42">In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_43"> Whose cigar must now be near the stump—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_44">While in solicitude his back</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_45"> Heap slowly to a hump.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_46">Near and more near; till now the flags</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_47"> Run like a catching flame;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_48">And one flares highest, to peril nighest—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_49"> <i>He</i> means to make a name:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_50"> Salvos! they give him his fame.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_51">The staff is caught, and next the rush,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_52"> And then the leap where death has led;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_53">Flag answered flag along the crest,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_54"> And swarms of rebels fled.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem26_55">But some who gained the envied Alp,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_56"> And—eager, ardent, earnest there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_57">Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_58"> Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_59"> Forever they slumber young and fair,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_60">The smile upon them as they died;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_61"> Their end attained, that end a height:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_62">Life was to these a dream fulfilled,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem26_63"> And death a starry night.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem27"> +<h3>The Armies of the Wilderness.</h3> +<h5>(1683-64.)</h5> + + +<h6>I.</h6> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_1">Like snows the camps on southern hills</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_2"> Lay all the winter long,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_3">Our levies there in patience stood—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_4"> They stood in patience strong.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_5">On fronting slopes gleamed other camps</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_6"> Where faith as firmly clung:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_7">Ah, froward king! so brave miss—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_8"> The zealots of the Wrong.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_9"><i> In this strife of brothers</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_10"><i> (God, hear their country call),</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_11"><i> However it be, whatever betide,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_12"><i> Let not the just one fall.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_13">Through the pointed glass our soldiers saw</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_14"> The base-ball bounding sent;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_15">They could have joined them in their sport</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_16"> But for the vale’s deep rent.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_17">And others turned the reddish soil,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_18"> Like diggers of graves they bent:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_19">The reddish soil and tranching toil</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_20"> Begat presentiment.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_21"><i> Did the Fathers feel mistrust?</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_22"><i> Can no final good be wrought?</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_23"><i> Over and over, again and again</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_24"><i> Must the fight for the Right be fought?</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_25">They lead a Gray-back to the crag:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_26"> “Your earth-works yonder—tell us, man”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_27">“A prisoner—no deserter, I,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_28"> Nor one of the tell-tale clan”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_29">His rags they mark: “True-blue like you</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_30"> Should wear the color—your Country’s, man”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_31">He grinds his teeth: “However that be,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_32"> Yon earth-works have their plan.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_33"><i> Such brave ones, foully snared</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_34"><i> By Belial’s wily plea,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_35"><i> Were faithful unto the evil end—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_36"><i> Feudal fidelity.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_37">“Well, then, your camps—come, tell the names”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_38"> Freely he leveled his finger then:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_39">“Yonder—see—are our Georgians; on the crest,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_40"> The Carolinians; lower, past the glen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_41">Virginians—Alabamians—Mississippians—Kentuckians</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_42"> (Follow my finger)—Tennesseeans; and the ten</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_43">Camps <i>there</i>—ask your grave-pits; they’ll tell.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_44"> Halloa! I see the picket-hut, the den</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_45">Where I last night lay.” “Where’s Lee”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_46"> “In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_47"><i> The tribes swarm up to war</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_48"><i> As in ages long ago,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_49"><i> Ere the palm of promise leaved</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_50"><i> And the lily of Christ did blow.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_51">Their mounted pickets for miles are spied</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_52"> Dotting the lowland plain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_53">The nearer ones in their veteran-rags—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_54"> Loutish they loll in lazy disdain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_55">But ours in perilous places bide</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_56"> With rifles ready and eyes that strain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_57">Deep through the dim suspected wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_58"> Where the Rapidan rolls amain.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_59"><i> The Indian has passed away,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_60"><i> But creeping comes another—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_61"><i> Deadlier far. Picket,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_62"><i> Take heed—take heed of thy brother!</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_63">From a wood-hung height, an outpost lone,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_64"> Crowned with a woodman’s fort,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_65">The sentinel looks on a land of dole,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_66"> Like Paran, all amort.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_67">Black chimneys, gigantic in moor-like wastes,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_68"> The scowl of the clouded sky retort;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_69">The hearth is a houseless stone again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_70"> Ah! where shall the people be sought?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_71"><i> Since the venom such blastment deals,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_72"><i> The south should have paused, and thrice,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_73"><i> Ere with heat of her hate she hatched</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_74"><i> The egg with the cockatrice.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_75">A path down the mountain winds to the glade</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_76"> Where the dead of the Moonlight Fight lie low;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_77">A hand reaches out of the thin-laid mould</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_78"> As begging help which none can bestow.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_79">But the field-mouse small and busy ant</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_80"> Heap their hillocks, to hide if they may the woe:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_81">By the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_82"> And the drum which the drummer-boy dying let go.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_83"><i> Dust to dust, and blood for blood—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_84"><i> Passion and pangs! Has Time</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_85"><i> Gone back? or is this the Age</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_86"><i> Of the world’s great Prime?</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s15"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_87">The wagon mired and cannon dragged</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_88"> Have trenched their scar; the plain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_89">Tramped like the cindery beach of the damned—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_90"> A site for the city of Cain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_91">And stumps of forests for dreary leagues</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_92"> Like a massacre show. The armies have lain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_93">By fires where gums and balms did burn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_94"> And the seeds of Summer’s reign.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s16"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_95"><i> Where are the birds and boys?</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_96"><i> Who shall go chestnutting when</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_97"><i> October returns? The nuts—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_98"><i> O, long ere they grow again.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s17"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_99">They snug their huts with the chapel-pews,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_100"> In court-houses stable their steeds—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_101">Kindle their fires with indentures and bonds,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_102"> And old Lord Fairfax’s parchment deeds;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_103">And Virginian gentlemen’s libraries old—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_104"> Books which only the scholar heeds—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_105">Are flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_106"> And gardens are left to weeds.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s18"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_107"><i> Turned adrift into war</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_108"><i> Man runs wild on the plain,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_109"><i> Like the jennets let loose</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_110"><i> On the Pampas—zebras again.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s19"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_111">Like the Pleiads dim, see the tents through the storm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_112"> Aloft by the hill-side hamlet’s graves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_113">On a head-stone used for a hearth-stone there</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_114"> The water is bubbling for punch for our braves.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_115">What if the night be drear, and the blast</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_116"> Ghostly shrieks? their rollicking staves</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_117">Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_118"> What care they if Winter raves?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s20"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_119"><i> Is life but a dream? and so,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_120"><i> In the dream do men laugh aloud?</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_121"><i> So strange seems mirth in a camp,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_122"><i> So like a white tent to a shroud.</i></div> +</div> + + +<h6>II.</h6> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s21"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_123">The May-weed springs; and comes a Man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_124"> And mounts our Signal Hill;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_125">A quiet Man, and plain in garb—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_126"> Briefly he looks his fill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_127">Then drops his gray eye on the ground,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_128"> Like a loaded mortar he is still:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_129">Meekness and grimness meet in him—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_130"> The silent General.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s22"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_131"><i> Were men but strong and wise,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_132"><i> Honest as Grant, and calm,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_133"><i> War would be left to the red and black ants,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_134"><i> And the happy world disarm.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s23"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_135">That eve a stir was in the camps,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_136"> Forerunning quiet soon to come</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_137">Among the streets of beechen huts</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_138"> No more to know the drum.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_139">The weed shall choke the lowly door,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_140"> And foxes peer within the gloom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_141">Till scared perchange by Mosby’s prowling men,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_142"> Who ride in the rear of doom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s24"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_143"><i> Far West, and farther South,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_144"><i> Wherever the sword has been,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_145"><i> Deserted camps are met,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_146"><i> And desert graves are seen.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s25"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_147">The livelong night they ford the flood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_148"> With guns held high they silent press,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_149">Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets’ sheen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_150"> On Morning’s banks their ranks they dress;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_151">Then by the forests lightly wind,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_152"> Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_153">Borne by the cavalry scouting on—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_154"> Sounding the Wilderness.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s26"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_155"><i> Like shoals of fish in spring</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_156"><i> That visit Crusoe’s isle,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_157"><i> The host in the lonesome place—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_158"><i> The hundred thousand file.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s27"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_159">The foe that held his guarded hills</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_160"> Must speed to woods afar;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_161">For the scheme that was nursed by the Culpepper hearth</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_162"> With the slowly-smoked cigar—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_163">The scheme that smouldered through winter long</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_164"> Now bursts into act—into waw—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_165">The resolute scheme of a heart as calm</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_166"> As the Cyclone’s core.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s28"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_167"><i> The fight for the city is fought</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_168"><i> In Nature’s old domain;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_169"><i> Man goes out to the wilds,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_170"><i> And Orpheus’ charm is vain.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s29"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_171">In glades they meet skull after skull</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_172"> Where pine-cones lay—the rusted gun,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_173">Green shoes full of bones, the mouldering coat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_174"> And cuddled-up skeleton;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_175">And scores of such. Some start as in dreams,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_176"> And comrades lost bemoan:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_177">By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_178"> But the Year and the Man were gone.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s30"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_179"><i> At the height of their madness</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_180"><i> The night winds pause,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_181"><i> Recollecting themselves;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_182"><i> But no lull in these wars.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s31"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_183">A gleam!—a volley! And who shall go</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_184"> Storming the swarmers in jungles dread?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_185">No cannon-ball answers, no proxies are sent—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_186"> They rush in the shrapnel’s stead.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_187">Plume and sash are vanities now—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_188"> Let them deck the pall of the dead;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_189">They go where the shade is, perhaps into Hades,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_190"> Where the brave of all times have led.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s32"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_191"><i> There’s a dust of hurrying feet,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_192"><i> Bitten lips and bated breath,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_193"><i> And drums that challenge to the grave,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_194"><i> And faces fixed, forefeeling death.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s33"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_195">What husky huzzahs in the hazy groves—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_196"> What flying encounters fell;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_197">Pursuer and pursued like ghosts disappear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_198"> In gloomed shade—their end who shall tell?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_199">The crippled, a ragged-barked stick for a crutch,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_200"> Limp to some elfin dell—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_201">Hobble from the sight of dead faces—white</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_202"> As pebbles in a well.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s34"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_203"><i> Few burial rites shall be;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_204"><i> No priest with book and band</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_205"><i> Shall come to the secret place</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_206"><i> Of the corpse in the foeman’s land.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s35"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_207">Watch and fast, march and fight—clutch your gun?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_208"> Day-fights and night-fights; sore is the strees;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_209">Look, through the pines what line comes on?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_210"> Longstreet slants through the hauntedness?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_211">’Tis charge for charge, and shout for yell:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_212"> Such battles on battles oppress—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_213">But Heaven lent strength, the Right strove well,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_214"> And emerged from the Wilderness.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s36"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_215"><i> Emerged, for the way was won;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_216"><i> But the Pillar of Smoke that led</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_217"><i> Was brand-like with ghosts that went up</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_218"><i> Ashy and red.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s37"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_219">None can narrate that strife in the pines,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_220"> A seal is on it—Sabaean lore!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_221">Obscure as the wood, the entangled rhyme</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_222"> But hints at the maze of war—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_223">Vivid glimpses or livid through peopled gloom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_224"> And fires which creep and char—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_225">A riddle of death, of which the slain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_226"> Sole solvers are.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s38"> +<div class="line" id="poem27_227"><i> Long they withhold the roll</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_228"><i> Of the shroudless dead. It is right;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_229"><i> Not yet can we bear the flare</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem27_230"><i> Of the funeral light.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem28"> +<h3>On the Photograph of a Corps Commander.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem28_1">Ay, man is manly. Here you see</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_2"> The warrior-carriage of the head,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_3">And brave dilation of the frame;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_4"> And lighting all, the soul that led</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_5">In Spottsylvania’s charge to victory,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_6"> Which justifies his fame.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem28_7">A cheering picture. It is good</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_8"> To look upon a Chief like this,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_9">In whom the spirit moulds the form.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_10"> Here favoring Nature, oft remiss,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_11">With eagle mien expressive has endued</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_12"> A man to kindle strains that warm.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem28_13">Trace back his lineage, and his sires,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_14"> Yeoman or noble, you shall find</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_15">Enrolled with men of Agincourt,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_16"> Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_17">Down to us come the knightly Norman fires,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_18"> And front the Templars bore.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem28_19">Nothing can lift the heart of man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_20"> Like manhood in a fellow-man.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_21">The thought of heaven’s great King afar</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_22"> But humbles us—too weak to scan;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_23">But manly greatness men can span,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem28_24"> And feel the bonds that draw.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem29"> +<h3>The Swamp Angel.<a id="fnt11" href="#fn11"><sup>[11]</sup></a></h3> + +<div class="note" id="fn11"> +<p><a href="#fnt11">[11]</a> The great Parrott gun, planted in the marshes of James Island, and +employed in the prolonged, though at times intermitted bombardment of +Charleston, was known among our soldiers as the Swamp Angel.</p> + +<p>St. Michael’s, characterized by its venerable tower, was the historic +and aristrocratic church of the town.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_1">There is a coal-black Angel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_2"> With a thick Afric lip,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_3">And he dwells (like the hunted and harried)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_4"> In a swamp where the green frogs dip.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_5">But his face is against a City</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_6"> Which is over a bay of the sea,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_7">And he breathes with a breath that is blastment,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_8"> And dooms by a far decree.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_9">By night there is fear in the City,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_10"> Through the darkness a star soareth on;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_11">There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_12"> Then the poise of a meteor lone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_13">Lighting far the pale fright of the faces,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_14"> And downward the coming is seen;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_15">Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_16"> And wails and shrieks between.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_17">It comes like the thief in the gloaming;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_18"> It comes, and none may foretell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_19">The place of the coming—the glaring;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_20"> They live in a sleepless spell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_21">That wizens, and withers, and whitens;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_22"> It ages the young, and the bloom</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_23">Of the maiden is ashes of roses—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_24"> The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_25">Swift is his messengers’ going,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_26"> But slowly he saps their halls,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_27">As if by delay deluding.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_28"> They move from their crumbling walls</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_29">Farther and farther away;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_30"> But the Angel sends after and after,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_31">By night with the flame of his ray—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_32"> By night with the voice of his screaming—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_33">Sends after them, stone by stone,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_34"> And farther walls fall, farther portals,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_35">And weed follows weed through the Town.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_36">Is this the proud City? the scorner</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_37"> Which never would yield the ground?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_38">Which mocked at the coal-black Angel?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_39"> The cup of despair goes round.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_40">Vainly she calls upon Michael</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_41"> (The white man’s seraph was he),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_42">For Michael has fled from his tower</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_43"> To the Angel over the sea.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem29_44">Who weeps for the woeful City</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_45"> Let him weep for our guilty kind;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_46">Who joys at her wild despairing—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem29_47"> Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem30"> +<h3>The Battle for the Bay.</h3> +<h5>(August, 1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_1">O mystery of noble hearts,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_2"> To whom mysterious seas have been</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_3">In midnight watches, lonely calm and storm,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_4"> A stern, sad disciple,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_5">And rooted out the false and vain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_6"> And chastened them to aptness for</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_7"> Devotion and the deeds of war,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_8">And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_9">Beyond the bar the land-wind dies,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_10"> The prows becharmed at anchor swim:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_11">A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_12"> Fair eve of battle grim.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_13">The sentries pace, bonetas glide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_14"> Below, the sleeping sailor swing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_15"> And if their dreams to quarters spring,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_16">Or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_17">But drums are beat: <i>Up anchor all!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_18"> The triple lines steam slowly on;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_19">Day breaks, and through the sweep of decks each man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_20"> Stands coldly by his gun—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_21">As cold as it. But he shall warm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_22"> Warm with the solemn metal there,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_23"> And all its ordered fury share,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_24">In attitude a gladiatorial form.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_25">The Admiral—yielding the love</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_26"> Which held his life and ship so dear—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_27">Sailed second in the long fleet’s midmost line;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_28"> Yet thwarted all their care:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_29">He lashed himself aloft, and shone</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_30"> Star of the fight, with influence sent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_31"> Throughout the dusk embattlement;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_32">And so they neared the strait and walls of stone.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_33">No sprintly fife as in the field,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_34"> The decks were hushed like fanes in prayer;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_35">Behind each man a holy angel stood—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_36"> He stood, though none was ’ware.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_37">Out spake the forts on either hand,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_38"> Back speak the ships when spoken to,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_39"> And set their flags in concert true,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_40">And <i>On and in!</i> is Farragut’s command.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_41">But what delays? ’mid wounds above</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_42"> Dim buoys give hint of death below—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_43">Sea-ambuscades, where evil art had aped</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_44"> Hecla that hides in snow.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_45">The centre-van, entangled, trips;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_46"> The starboard leader holds straight on:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_47"> A cheer for the Tecumseh!—nay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_48">Before their eyes the turreted ship goes down!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_49">The fire redoubles, While the fleet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_50"> Hangs dubious—ere the horror ran—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_51">The Admiral rushes to his rightful place—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_52"> Well met! apt hour and man!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_53">Closes with peril, takes the lead,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_54"> His action is a stirring call;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_55"> He strikes his great heart through them all,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_56">And is the genius of their daring deed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_57">The forts are daunted, slack their fire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_58"> Confounded by the deadlier aim</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_59">And rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_60"> And fierce denouncing flame.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_61">Yet shots from four dark hulls embayed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_62"> Come raking through the loyal crews,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_63"> Whom now each dying mate endues</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_64">With his last look, anguished yet undismayed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_65">A flowering time to guilt is given,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_66"> And traitors have their glorying hour;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_67">O late, but sure, the righteous Paramount comes—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_68"> Palsy is on their power!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_69">So proved it with the rebel keels,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_70"> The strong-holds past: assailed, they run;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_71"> The Selma strikes, and the work is done:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_72">The dropping anchor the achievement seals.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_73">But no, she turns—the Tennessee!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_74"> The solid Ram of iron and oak,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_75">Strong as Evil, and bold as Wrong, though lone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_76"> A pestilence in her smoke.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_77">The flag-ship is her singled mark,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_78"> The wooden Hartford. Let her come;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_79"> She challenges the planet of Doom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_80">And naught shall save her—not her iron bark.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_81"><i>Slip anchor, all! and at her, all!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_82"> <i>Bear down with rushing beaks—and</i> now!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_83">First the Monongahela struck—and reeled;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_84"> The Lackawana’s prow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_85">Next crashed—crashed, but not crashing; then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_86"> The Admiral rammed, and rasping nigh</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_87"> Sloped in a broadside, which glanced by:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_88">The Monitors battered at her adamant den.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_89">The Chickasaw plunged beneath the stern</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_90"> And pounded there; a huge wrought orb</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_91">From the Manhattan pierced one wall, but dropped;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_92"> Others the seas absorb.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_93">Yet stormed on all sides, narrowed in,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_94"> Hampered and cramped, the bad one fought—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_95"> Spat ribald curses from the port</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_96">Who shutters, jammed, locked up this Man-of-Sin.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_97">No pause or stay. They made a din</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_98"> Like hammers round a boiler forged;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_99">Now straining strength tangled itself with strength,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_100"> Till Hate her will disgorged.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_101">The white flag showed, the fight was won—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_102"> Mad shouts went up that shook the Bay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_103"> But pale on the scarred fleet’s decks there lay</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_104">A silent man for every silenced gun.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem30_105">And quiet far below the wave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_106"> Where never cheers shall move their sleep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_107">Some who did boldly, nobly earn them, lie—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_108"> Charmed children of the deep.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_109">But decks that now are in the seed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_110"> And cannon yet within the mine,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_111"> Shall thrill the deeper, gun and pine,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem30_112">Because of the Tecumseh’s glorious deed.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem31"> +<h3>Sheridan at Cedar Creek.</h3> +<h5>(October, 1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem31_1">Shoe the steed with silver</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_2"> That bore him to the fray,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_3">When he heard the guns at dawning—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_4"> Miles away;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_5">When he heard them calling, calling—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_6"> Mount! nor stay:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_7"> Quick, or all is lost;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_8"> They’ve surprised and stormed the post,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_9"> They push your routed host—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_10"> Gallop! retrieve the day.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem31_11">House the horse in ermine—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_12"> For the foam-flake blew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_13">White through the red October;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_14"> He thundered into view;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_15">They cheered him in the looming,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_16"> Horseman and horse they knew.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_17"> The turn of the tide began,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_18"> The rally of bugles ran,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_19"> He swung his hat in the van;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_20"> The electric hoof-spark flew.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem31_21">Wreathe the steed and lead him—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_22"> For the charge he led</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_23">Touched and turned the cypress</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_24"> Into amaranths for the head</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_25">Of Philip, king of riders,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_26"> Who raised them from the dead.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_27"> The camp (at dawning lost),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_28"> By eve, recovered—forced,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_29"> Rang with laughter of the host</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_30"> At belated Early fled.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem31_31">Shroud the horse in sable—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_32"> For the mounds they heap!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_33">There is firing in the Valley,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_34"> And yet no strife they keep;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_35">It is the parting volley,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_36"> It is the pathos deep.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_37"> There is glory for the brave</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_38"> Who lead, and noblys ave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_39"> But no knowledge in the grave</div> +<div class="line" id="poem31_40"> Where the nameless followers sleep.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem32"> +<h3>In the Prison Pen.</h3> +<h5>(1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_1">Listless he eyes the palisades</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_2"> And sentries in the glare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_3">’Tis barren as a pelican-beach—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_4"> But his world is ended there.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_5">Nothing to do; and vacant hands</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_6"> Bring on the idiot-pain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_7">He tries to think—to recollect,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_8"> But the blur is on his brain.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_9">Around him swarm the plaining ghosts</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_10"> Like those on Virgil’s shore—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_11">A wilderness of faces dim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_12"> And pale ones gashed and hoar.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_13">A smiting sun. No shed, no tree;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_14"> He totters to his lair—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_15">A den that sick hands dug in earth</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_16"> Ere famine wasted there,</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem32_17">Or, dropping in his place, he swoons,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_18"> Walled in by throngs that press,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_19">Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem32_20"> Dead in his meagreness.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem33"> +<h3>The College Colonel.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_1">He rides at their head;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_2"> A crutch by his saddle just slants in view,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_3">One slung arm is in splints, you see,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_4"> Yet he guides his strong steed—how coldly too.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_5">He brings his regiment home—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_6"> Not as they filed two years before,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_7">But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_8">Like castaway sailors, who—stunned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_9"> By the surf’s loud roar,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_10"> Their mates dragged back and seen no more—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_11">Again and again breast the surge,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_12"> And at last crawl, spent, to shore.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_13">A still rigidity and pale—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_14"> An Indian aloofness lones his brow;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_15">He has lived a thousand years</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_16">Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_17"> Marches and watches slow.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_18">There are welcoming shouts, and flags;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_19"> Old men off hat to the Boy,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_20">Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_21"> But to <i>him</i>—there comes alloy.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_22">It is not that a leg is lost,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_23"> It is not that an arm is maimed.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_24">It is not that the fever has racked—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_25"> Self he has long disclaimed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem33_26">But all through the Seven Day’s Fight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_27"> And deep in the wilderness grim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_28">And in the field-hospital tent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_29"> And Petersburg crater, and dim</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_30">Lean brooding in Libby, there came—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem33_31"> Ah heaven!—what <i>truth</i> to him.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem34"> +<h3>The Eagle of the Blue.<a id="fnt12" href="#fn12"><sup>[12]</sup></a></h3> + +<div class="note" id="fn12"> +<p><a href="#fnt12">[12]</a> Among the Northwestern regiments there would seem to have been more +than one which carried a living eagle as an added ensign. The bird +commemorated here was, according the the account, borne aloft on a perch +beside the standard; went through successive battles and campaigns; was +more than once under the surgeon’s hands; and at the close of the +contest found honorable repose in the capital of Wisconsin, from which +state he had gone to the wars.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_1">Aloft he guards the starry folds</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_2"> Who is the brother of the star;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_3">The bird whose joy is in the wind</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_4"> Exultleth in the war.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_5">No painted plume—a sober hue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_6"> His beauty is his power;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_7">That eager calm of gaze intent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_8"> Foresees the Sibyl’s hour.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_9">Austere, he crowns the swaying perch,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_10"> Flapped by the angry flag;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_11">The hurricane from the battery sings,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_12"> But his claw has known the crag.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_13">Amid the scream of shells, his scream</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_14"> Runs shrilling; and the glare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_15">Of eyes that brave the blinding sun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_16"> The vollied flame can bear.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_17">The pride of quenchless strength is his—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_18"> Strength which, though chained, avails;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_19">The very rebel looks and thrills—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_20"> The anchored Emblem hails.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem34_21">Though scarred in many a furious fray,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_22"> No deadly hurt he knew;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_23">Well may we think his years are charmed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem34_24"> The Eagle of the Blue.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem35"> +<h3>A Dirge for McPherson,<a id="fnt13" href="#fn13"><sup>[13]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>Killed in front of Atlanta.</h4> +<h5>(July, 1864.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn13"> +<p><a href="#fnt13">[13]</a> The late Major General McPherson, commanding the Army of the +Tennessee, a major of Ohio and a West Pointer, was one of the foremost +spirits of the war. Young, though a veteran; hardy, intrepid, sensitive +in honor, full of engaging qualities, with manly beauty; possessed of +genius, a favorite with the army, and with Grant and Sherman. Both +Generals have generously acknowledged their professional obligiations to +the able engineer and admirable soldier, their subordinate and junior.</p> + +<p>In an informal account written by the Achilles to this Sarpedon, he +says: “On that day we avenged his death. Near twenty-two hundred of the +enemy’s dead remained on the ground when night closed upon the scene of +action.”</p> + +<p>It is significant of the scale on which the war was waged, that the +engagement thus written of goes solely (so far as can be learned) under +the vague designation of one of the battles before Atlanta.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_1">Arms reversed and banners craped—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_2"> Muffled drums;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_3">Snowy horses sable-draped—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_4"> McPherson comes.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_5"><i> But, tell us, shall we know him more,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_6"><i> Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_7">Brave the sword upon the pall—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_8"> A gleam in gloom;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_9">So a bright name lighteth all</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_10"> McPherson’s doom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_11">Bear him through the chapel-door—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_12"> Let priest in stole</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_13">Pace before the warrior</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_14"> Who led. Bell—toll!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_15">Lay him down within the nave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_16"> The Lesson read—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_17">Man is noble, man is brave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_18"> But man’s—a weed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_19">Take him up again and wend</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_20"> Graveward, nor weep:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_21">There’s a trumpet that shall rend</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_22"> This Soldier’s sleep.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_23">Pass the ropes the coffin round,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_24"> And let descend;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_25">Prayer and volley—let it sound</div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_26"> McPherson’s end.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem35_27"><i> True fame is his, for life is o’er—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem35_28"><i> Sarpedon of the mighty war.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem36"> +<h3>At the Cannon’s Mouth.</h3> +<h4>Destruction of the Ram Albermarle by the Torpedo-Launch.</h4> +<h5>(October, 1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem36_1">Palely intent, he urged his keel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_2"> Full on the guns, and touched the spring;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_3">Himself involved in the bolt he drove</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_4">Timed with the armed hull’s shot that stove</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_5">His shallop—die or do!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_6">Into the flood his life he threw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_7"> Yet lives—unscathed—a breathing thing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_8">To marvel at.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem36_9"> He has his fame;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_10">But that mad dash at death, how name?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem36_11">Had Earth no charm to stay the Boy</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_12"> From the martyr-passion? Could he dare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_13">Disdain the Paradise of opening joy</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_14"> Which beckons the fresh heart every where?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_15">Life has more lures than any girl</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_16"> For youth and strength; puts forth a share</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_17">Of beauty, hinting of yet rarer store;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_18">And ever with unfathomable eyes,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_19"> Which baffingly entice,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_20">Still strangely does Adonis draw.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_21">And life once over, who shall tell the rest?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_22">Life is, of all we know, God’s best.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_23">What imps these eagles then, that they</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_24">Fling disrespect on life by that proud way</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_25">In which they soar above our lower clay.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem36_26">Pretense of wonderment and doubt unblest:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_27"> In Cushing’s eager deed was shown</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_28"> A spirit which brave poets own—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_29">That scorn of life which earns life’s crown;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_30"> Earns, but not always wins; but he—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem36_31"> The star ascended in his nativity.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem37"> +<h3>The March to the Sea.</h3> +<h5>(December, 1864.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_1">Not Kenesaw high-arching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_2"> Nor Allatoona’s glen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_3">Though there the graves lie parching—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_4"> Stayed Sherman’s miles of men;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_5">From charred Atlanta marching</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_6"> They launched the sword again.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_7"> The columns streamed like rivers</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_8"> Which in their course agree,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_9"> And they streamed until their flashing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_10"> Met the flashing of the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_11"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_12"> That marching to the sea.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_13">They brushed the foe before them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_14"> (Shall gnats impede the bull?);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_15">Their own good bridges bore them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_16"> Over swamps or torrents full,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_17">And the grand pines waving o’er them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_18"> Bowed to axes keen and cool.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_19"> The columns grooved their channels.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_20"> Enforced their own decree,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_21"> And their power met nothing larger</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_22"> Until it met the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_23"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_24"> A marching glad and free.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_25">Kilpatrick’s snare of riders</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_26"> In zigzags mazed the land,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_27">Perplexed the pale Southsiders</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_28"> With feints on every hand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_29">Vague menace awed the hiders</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_30"> In forts beyond command.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_31"> To Sherman’s shifting problem</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_32"> No foeman knew the key;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_33"> But onward went the marching</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_34"> Unpausing to the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_35"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_36"> The swinging step was free.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_37">The flankers ranged like pigeons</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_38"> In clouds through field or wood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_39">The flocks of all those regions,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_40"> The herds and horses good,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_41">Poured in and swelled the legions,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_42"> For they caught the marching mood.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_43"> A volley ahead! They hear it;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_44"> And they hear the repartee:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_45"> Fighting was but frolic</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_46"> In that marching to the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_47"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_48"> A marching bold and free.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_49">All nature felt their coming,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_50"> The birds like couriers flew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_51">And the banners brightly blooming</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_52"> The slaves by thousands drew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_53">And they marched beside the drumming,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_54"> And they joined the armies blue.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_55"> The cocks crowed from the cannon</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_56"> (Pets named from Grant and Lee),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_57"> Plumed fighters and campaigners</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_58"> In the marching to the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_59"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_60"> For every man was free.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_61">The foragers through calm lands</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_62"> Swept in tempest gay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_63">And they breathed the air of balm-lands</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_64"> Where rolled savannas lay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_65">And they helped themselves from farm-lands—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_66"> As who should say them nay?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_67"> The regiments uproarious</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_68"> Laughed in Plenty’s glee;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_69"> And they marched till their broad laughter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_70"> Met the laughter of the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_71"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_72"> That marching to the sea.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_73">The grain of endless acres</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_74"> Was threshed (as in the East)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_75">By the trampling of the Takers,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_76"> Strong march of man and beast;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_77">The flails of those earth-shakers</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_78"> Left a famine where they ceased.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_79"> The arsenals were yielded;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_80"> The sword (that was to be),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_81"> Arrested in the forging,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_82"> Rued that marching to the sea:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_83"> It was glorious glad marching,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_84"> But ah, the stern decree!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem37_85">For behind they left a wailing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_86"> A terror and a ban,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_87">And blazing cinders sailing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_88"> And houseless households wan,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_89">Wide zones of counties paling,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_90"> And towns where maniacs ran.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_91"> Was it Treason’s retribution—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_92"> Necessity the plea?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_93"> They will long remember Sherman</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_94"> And his streaming columns free—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_95"> They will long remember Sherman</div> +<div class="line" id="poem37_96"> Marching to the sea.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem38"> +<h3>The Frenzy in the Wake.<a id="fnt14" href="#fn14"><sup>[14]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>Sherman’s advance through the Carolinas.</h4> +<h5>(February, 1865.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn14"> +<p><a href="#fnt14">[14]</a> The piece was written while yet the reports were coming North of +Sherman’s homeward advance from Savannah. It is needless to point out +its purely dramatic character.</p> + +<p>Though the sentiment ascribed in the beginning of the second stanza +must, in the present reading, suggest the historic tragedy of the 14th +of April, nevertheless, as intimated, it was written prior to that +event, and without any distinct application in the writer’s mind. After +consideration, it is allowed to remain.</p> + +<p>Few need be reminded that, by the less intelligent classes of the South, +Abraham Lincoln, by nature the most kindly of men, was regarded as a +monster wantonly warring upon liberty. He stood for the personification +of tyrannic power. Each Union soldier was called a Lincolnite.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly Sherman, in the desolation he inflicted after leaving +Atlanta, acted not in contravention of orders; and all, in a military +point of view, if by military judged deemed to have been expedient, and +nothing can abate General Sherman’s shining renown; his claims to it +rest on no single campaign. Still, there are those who can not but +contrast some of the scenes enacted in Georgia and the Carolinas, and +also in the Shenandoah, with a circumstance in a great Civil War of +heathen antiquity. Plutarch relates that in a military council held by +Pompey and the chiefs of that party which stood for the Commonwealth, it +was decided that under no plea should any city be sacked that was +subject to the people of Rome. There was this difference, however, +between the Roman civil conflict and the American one. The war of Pompey +and Caesar divided the Roman people promiscuously; that of the North and +South ran a frontier line between what for the time were distinct +communities or nations. In this circumstance, possibly, and some others, +may be found both the cause and the justification of some of the +sweeping measures adopted.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem38_1">So strong to suffer, shall we be</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_2"> Weak to contend, and break</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_3">The sinews of the Oppressor’s knee</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_4"> That grinds upon the neck?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_5"> O, the garments rolled in blood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_6"> Scorch in cities wrapped in flame,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_7"> And the African—the imp!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_8"> He gibbers, imputing shame.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem38_9">Shall Time, avenging every woe,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_10"> To us that joy allot</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_11">Which Israel thrilled when Sisera’s brow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_12"> Showed gaunt and showed the clot?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_13"> Curse on their foreheads, cheeks, and eyes—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_14"> The Northern faces—true</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_15"> To the flag we hate, the flag whose stars</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_16"> Like planets strike us through.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem38_17">From frozen Maine they come,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_18"> Far Minnesota too;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_19">They come to a sun whose rays disown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_20"> May it wither them as the dew!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_21"> The ghosts of our slain appeal:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_22"> “Vain shall our victories be”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_23"> But back from its ebb the flood recoils—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_24"> Back in a whelming sea.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem38_25">With burning woods our skies are brass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_26"> The pillars of dust are seen;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_27">The live-long day their cavalry pass—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_28"> No crossing the road between.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_29"> We were sore deceived—an awful host!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_30"> They move like a roaring wind.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_31"> Have we gamed and lost? but even despair</div> +<div class="line" id="poem38_32"> Shall never our hate rescind.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem39"> +<h3>The Fall of Richmond.</h3> +<h4>The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis.</h4> +<h5>(April, 1865.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem39_1">What mean these peals from every tower,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_2"> And crowds like seas that sway?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_3">The cannon reply; they speak the heart</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_4"> Of the People impassioned, and say—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_5">A city in flags for a city in flames,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_6"> Richmond goes Babylon’s way—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_7"> <i>Sing and pray.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem39_8">O weary years and woeful wars,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_9"> And armies in the grave;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_10">But hearts unquelled at last deter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_11">The helmed dilated Lucifer—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_12"> Honor to Grant the brave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_13">Whose three stars now like Orion’s rise</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_14"> When wreck is on the wave—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_15"> <i>Bless his glaive.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem39_16">Well that the faith we firmly kept,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_17"> And never our aim forswore</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_18">For the Terrors that trooped from each recess</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_19">When fainting we fought in the Wilderness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_20"> And Hell made loud hurrah;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_21">But God is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_22"> And Right through might is Law—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem39_23"> <i>God’s way adore.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem40"> +<h3>The Surrender at Appomattox.</h3> +<h5>(April, 1865.)</h5> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem40_s"> +<div class="line" id="poem40_1">As billows upon billows roll,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_2"> On victory victory breaks;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_3">Ere yet seven days from Richmond’s fall</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_4"> And crowning triumph wakes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_5">The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_6"> By sea-shore, streams, and lakes.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_7"> The hope and great event agree</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_8"> In the sword that Grant received from Lee.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem40_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem40_9">The warring eagles fold the wing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_10"> But not in Cæsar’s sway;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_11">Not Rome o’ercome by Roman arms we sing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_12"> As on Pharsalia’s day,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_13">But Treason thrown, though a giant grown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_14"> And Freedom’s larger play.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_15"> All human tribes glad token see</div> +<div class="line" id="poem40_16"> In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem41"> +<h3>A Canticle:</h3> +<h4>Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at the close of the War.</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_1">O the precipice Titanic</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_2"> Of the congregated Fall,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_3">And the angle oceanic</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_4"> Where the deepening thunders call—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_5"> And the Gorge so grim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_6"> And the firmamental rim!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_7">Multitudinously thronging</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_8"> The waters all converge,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_9">Then they sweep adown in sloping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_10"> Solidity of surge.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_11"> The Nation, in her impulse</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_12"> Mysterious as the Tide,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_13"> In emotion like an ocean</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_14"> Moves in power, not in pride;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_15"> And is deep in her devotion</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_16"> As Humanity is wide.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_17"> Thou Lord of hosts victorious,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_18"> The confluence Thou hast twined;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_19"> By a wondrous way and glorious</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_20"> A passage Thou dost find—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_21"> A passage Thou dost find:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_22"> Hosanna to the Lord of hosts,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_23"> The hosts of human kind.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_24">Stable in its baselessness</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_25"> When calm is in the air,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_26">The Iris half in tracelessness</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_27"> Hovers faintly fair.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_28">Fitfully assailing it</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_29"> A wind from heaven blows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_30">Shivering and paling it</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_31"> To blankness of the snows;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_32">While, incessant in renewal,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_33"> The Arch rekindled grows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_34">Till again the gem and jewel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_35"> Whirl in blinding overthrows—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_36">Till, prevailing and transcending,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_37"> Lo, the Glory perfect there,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_38">And the contest finds an ending,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_39"> For repose is in the air.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_40">But the foamy Deep unsounded,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_41"> And the dim and dizzy ledge,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_42">And the booming roar rebounded,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_43"> And the gull that skims the edge!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_44"> The Giant of the Pool</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_45"> Heaves his forehead white as wool—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_46">Toward the Iris every climbing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_47"> From the Cataracts that call—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_48">Irremovable vast arras</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_49"> Draping all the Wall.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_50"> The Generations pouring</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_51"> From times of endless date,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_52"> In their going, in their flowing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_53"> Ever form the steadfast State;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_54"> And Humanity is growing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_55"> Toward the fullness of her fate.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem41_56"> Thou Lord of hosts victorious,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_57"> Fulfill the end designed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_58"> By a wondrous way and glorious</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_59"> A passage Thou dost find—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_60"> A passage Thou dost find:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_61"> Hosanna to the Lord of hosts,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem41_62"> The hosts of human kind.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem42"> +<h3>The Martyr.</h3> +<h4>Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of April, 1865.</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem42_1">Good Friday was the day</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_2"> Of the prodigy and crime,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_3">When they killed him in his pity,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_4"> When they killed him in his prime</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_5">Of clemency and calm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_6"> When with yearning he was filled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_7"> To redeem the evil-willed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_8">And, though conqueror, be kind;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_9"> But they killed him in his kindness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_10"> In their madness and their blindness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_11">And they killed him from behind.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem42_12"> There is sobbing of the strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_13"> And a pall upon the land;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_14"> But the People in their weeping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_15"> Bare the iron hand:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_16"> Beware the People weeping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_17"> When they bare the iron hand.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem42_18">He lieth in his blood—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_19"> The father in his face;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_20">They have killed him, the Forgiver—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_21"> The Avenger takes his place,<a id="fnt15" href="#fn15"><sup>[15]</sup></a></div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_22">The Avenger wisely stern,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_23"> Who in righteousness shall do</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_24"> What the heavens call him to,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_25">And the parricides remand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_26"> For they killed him in his kindness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_27"> In their madness and their blindness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_28">And his blood is on their hand.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn15"> +<p><a href="#fnt15">[15]</a> At this period of excitement the thought was by some passionately +welcomed that the Presidential successor had been raised up by heaven to +wreak vengeance on the South. The idea originated in the remembrance +that Andrew Johnson by birth belonged to that class of Southern whites +who never cherished love for the dominant: that he was a citizen of +Tennessee, where the contest at times and in places had been close and +bitter as a Middle-Age feud; the himself and family had been hardly +treated by the Secessionists.</p> + +<p>But the expectations build hereon (if, indeed, ever soberly +entertained), happily for the country, have not been verified.</p> + +<p>Likely the feeling which would have held the entire South chargeable +with the crime of one exceptional assassin, this too has died away with +the natural excitement of the hour.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem42_29"> There is sobbing of the strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_30"> And a pall upon the land;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_31"> But the People in their weeping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_32"> Bare the iron hand:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_33"> Beware the People weeping</div> +<div class="line" id="poem42_34"> When they bare the iron hand.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem43"> +<h3>“The Coming Storm:”</h3> +<h4>A Picture by S.R. Gifford, and owned by E.B. +Included in the N.A. Exhibition, April, 1865.</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem43_1">All feeling hearts must feel for him</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_2"> Who felt this picture. Presage dim—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_3">Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_4"> Fixed him and fascinated here.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem43_5">A demon-cloud like the mountain one</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_6"> Burst on a spirit as mild</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_7">As this urned lake, the home of shades.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_8"> But Shakspeare’s pensive child</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem43_9">Never the lines had lightly scanned,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_10"> Steeped in fable, steeped in fate;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_11">The Hamlet in his heart was ’ware,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_12"> Such hearts can antedate.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem43_13">No utter surprise can come to him</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_14"> Who reaches Shakspeare’s core;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_15">That which we seek and shun is there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem43_16"> Man’s final lore.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem44"> +<h3>Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh:<a id="fnt16" href="#fn16"><sup>[16]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly +after the surrender at Appomattox.</h4> + +<div class="note" id="fn16"> +<p><a href="#fnt16">[16]</a> The incident on which this piece is based is narrated in a newspaper +account of the battle to be found in the “Rebellion Record.” During the +disaster to the national forces on the first day, a brigade on the +extreme left found itself isolated. The perils it encountered are given +in detail. Among others, the following sentences occur:</p> + +<p>“Under cover of the fire from the bluffs, the rebels rushed down, +crossed the ford, and in a moment were seen forming this side the creek +in open fields, and within close musket-range. Their color-bearers +stepped defiantly to the front as the engagement opened furiously; the +rebels pouring in sharp, quick volleys of musketry, and their batteries +above continuing to support them with a destructive fire. Our +sharpshooters wanted to pick off the audacious rebel color-bearers, but +Colonel Stuart interposed: ‘No, no, they’re too brave fellows to be +killed.’”</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem44_1">The color-bearers facing death</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_2">White in the whirling sulphurous wreath,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_3"> Stand boldly out before the line</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_4">Right and left their glances go,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_5">Proud of each other, glorying in their show;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_6">Their battle-flags about them blow,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_7"> And fold them as in flame divine:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_8">Such living robes are only seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_9">Round martyrs burning on the green—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_10">And martyrs for the Wrong have been.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem44_11">Perish their Cause! but mark the men—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_12">Mark the planted statues, then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_13">Draw trigger on them if you can.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem44_14">The leader of a patriot-band</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_15">Even so could view rebels who so could stand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_16"> And this when peril pressed him sore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_17">Left aidless in the shivered front of war—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_18"> Skulkers behind, defiant foes before,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_19">And fighting with a broken brand.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_20">The challenge in that courage rare—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_21">Courage defenseless, proudly bare—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_22">Never could tempt him; he could dare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_23">Strike up the leveled rifle there.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem44_24">Sunday at Shiloh, and the day</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_25">When Stonewall charged—McClellan’s crimson May,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_26">And Chickamauga’s wave of death,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_27">And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_28"> All these have passed away.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_29">The life in the veins of Treason lags,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_30">Her daring color-bearers drop their flags,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_31"> And yield. <i>Now</i> shall we fire?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_32"> Can poor spite be?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_33">Shall nobleness in victory less aspire</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_34">Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem44_35"> And think how Grant met Lee.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem45"> +<h3>The Muster:<a id="fnt17" href="#fn17"><sup>[17]</sup></a></h3> +<h4>Suggested by the Two Days’ Review at Washington</h4> +<h5>(May, 1865.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn17"> +<p><a href="#fnt17">[17]</a> According to a report of the Secretary of War, there were on the +first day of March, 1865, 965,000 men on the army pay-rolls. Of these, +some 200,000—artillery, cavalry, and infantry—made up from the larger +portion of the veterans of Grant and Sherman, marched by the President. +The total number of Union troops enlisted during the war was 2,668,000.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_1">The Abrahamic river—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_2"> Patriarch of floods,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_3">Calls the roll of all his streams</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_4"> And watery mutitudes:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_5"> Torrent cries to torrent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_6"> The rapids hail the fall;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_7"> With shouts the inland freshets</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_8"> Gather to the call.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_9"> The quotas of the Nation,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_10"> Like the water-shed of waves,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_11"> Muster into union—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_12"> Eastern warriors, Western braves.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_13"> Martial strains are mingling,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_14"> Though distant far the bands,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_15"> And the wheeling of the squadrons</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_16"> Is like surf upon the sands.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_17"> The bladed guns are gleaming—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_18"> Drift in lengthened trim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_19"> Files on files for hazy miles—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_20"> Nebulously dim.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_21"> O Milky Way of armies—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_22"> Star rising after star,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_23"> New banners of the Commonwealths,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_24"> And eagles of the War.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem45_25">The Abrahamic river</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_26"> To sea-wide fullness fed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_27">Pouring from the thaw-lands</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_28"> By the God of floods is led:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_29"> His deep enforcing current</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_30"> The streams of ocean own,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_31"> And Europe’s marge is evened</div> +<div class="line" id="poem45_32"> By rills from Kansas lone.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem46"> +<h3>Aurora-Borealis.</h3> +<h4>Commemorative of the Dissolution of Armies at the Peace.</h4> +<h5>(May, 1865.)</h5> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem46_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem46_1">What power disbands the Northern Lights</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_2"> After their steely play?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_3">The lonely watcher feels an awe</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_4"> Of Nature’s sway,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_5"> As when appearing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_6"> He marked their flashed uprearing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_7">In the cold gloom—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_8"> Retreatings and advancings,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_9">(Like dallyings of doom),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_10"> Transitions and enhancings,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_11"> And bloody ray.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem46_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem46_12">The phantom-host has faded quite,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_13"> Splendor and Terror gone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_14">Portent or promise—and gives way</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_15"> To pale, meek Dawn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_16"> The coming, going,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_17"> Alike in wonder showing—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_18">Alike the God,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_19"> Decreeing and commanding</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_20">The million blades that glowed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_21"> The muster and disbanding—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem46_22"> Midnight and Morn.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem47"> +<h3>The Released Rebel Prisoner.<a id="fnt18" href="#fn18"><sup>[18]</sup></a></h3> +<h5>(June, 1865.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn18"> +<p><a href="#fnt18">[18]</a> For a month or two after the completion of peace, some thousands of +released captives from the military prisons of the North, natives of all +parts of the South, passed through the city of New York, sometimes +waiting farther transportation for days, during which interval they +wandered penniless about the streets, or lay in their worn and patched +gray uniforms under the trees of Battery, near the barracks where they +were lodged and fed. They were transported and provided for at the +charge of government.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_1">Armies he’s seen—the herds of war,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_2"> But never such swarms of men</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_3">As now in the Nineveh of the North—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_4"> How mad the Rebellion then!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_5">And yet but dimly he divines</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_6"> The depth of that deceit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_7">And superstition of vast pride</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_8"> Humbled to such defeat.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_9">Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_10"> His steel the nearest magnet drew;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_11">Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_12"> ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_13">His face is hidden in his beard,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_14"> But his heart peers out at eye—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_15">And such a heart! like mountain-pool</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_16"> Where no man passes by.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_17">He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_18"> And Ashby dead in pale disdain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_19">And Stuart with the Rupert-plume,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_20"> Whose blue eye never shall laugh again.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_21">He hears the drum; he sees our boys</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_22"> From his wasted fields return;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_23">Ladies feast them on strawberries,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_24"> And even to kiss them yearn.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_25">He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_26"> The rifle proudly borne;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_27">They bear it for an heir-loom home,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_28"> And he—disarmed—jail-worn.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_29">Home, home—his heart is full of it;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_30"> But home he never shall see,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_31">Even should he stand upon the spot;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_32"> ’Tis gone!—where his brothers be.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_33">The cypress-moss from tree to tree</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_34"> Hangs in his Southern land;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_35">As weird, from thought to thought of his</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_36"> Run memories hand in hand.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem47_37">And so he lingers—lingers on</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_38"> In the City of the Foe—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_39">His cousins and his countrymen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem47_40"> Who see him listless go.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem48"> +<h3>A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia.<a id="fnt19" href="#fn19"><sup>[19]</sup></a></h3> + +<div class="note" id="fn19"> +<p><a href="#fnt19">[19]</a> Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a +view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the +same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to +deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem48_1">Head-board and foot-board duly placed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_2"> Grassed in the mound between;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_3">Daniel Drouth is the slumberer’s name—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_4"> Long may his grave be green!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem48_5">Quick was his way—a flash and a blow,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_6"> Full of his fire was he—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_7">A fire of hell—’tis burnt out now—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_8"> Green may his grave long be!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem48_9">May his grave be green, though he</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_10"> Was a rebel of iron mould;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_11">Many a true heart—true to the Cause,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_12"> Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem48_13">May his grave be green—still green</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_14"> While happy years shall run;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_15">May none come nigh to disinter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem48_16"> The—<i>Buried Gun</i>.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem49"> +<h3>“Formerly a Slave.”</h3> +<h4>An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring +Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865.</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem49_1">The sufferance of her race is shown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_2"> And retrospect of life,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_3">Which now too late deliverance dawns upon;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_4"> Yet is she not at strife.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem49_5">Her children’s children they shall know</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_6"> The good withheld from her;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_7">And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_8"> In spirit she sees the stir</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem49_9">Far down the depth of thousand years,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_10"> And marks the revel shine;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_11">Her dusky face is lit with sober light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem49_12"> Sibylline, yet benign.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem50"> +<h3>The Apparition.</h3> +<h4>(A Retrospect.)</h4> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem50_1">Convulsions came; and, where the field</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_2"> Long slept in pastoral green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_3">A goblin-mountain was upheaved</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_4">(Sure the scared sense was all deceived),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_5"> Marl-glen and slag-ravine.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem50_6">The unreserve of Ill was there,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_7"> The clinkers in her last retreat;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_8">But, ere the eye could take it in,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_9">Or mind could comprehension win,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_10"> It sunk!—and at our feet.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem50_11">So, then, Solidity’s a crust—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_12"> The core of fire below;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_13">All may go well for many a year,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_14">But who can think without a fear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem50_15"> Of horrors that happen so?</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem51"> +<h3>Magnanimity Baffled.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem51_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem51_1">“Sharp words we had before the fight;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_2"> But—now the fight is done—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_3">Look, here’s my hand,” said the Victor bold,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_4"> “Take it—an honest one!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_5">What, holding back? I mean you well;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_6"> Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_7">The odds were great; I honor you;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_8"> Man honors man.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem51_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem51_9">“Still silent, friend? can grudges be?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_10"> Yet am I held a foe?—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_11">Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_12"> Never I’ll leave him so!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_13">Brave one! I here implore your hand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_14"> Dumb still? all fellowship fled?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_15">Nay, then, I’ll have this stubborn hand”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem51_16"> He snatched it—it was dead.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem52"> +<h3>On the Slain Collegians.<a id="fnt20" href="#fn20"><sup>[20]</sup></a></h3> + +<div class="note" id="fn20"> +<p><a href="#fnt20">[20]</a> The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest +youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same +classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern +seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched +who never returned except on the shield.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem52_1">Youth is the time when hearts are large,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_2"> And stirring wars</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_3">Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_4"> To the blade it draws.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_5">If woman incite, and duty show</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_6"> (Though made the mask of Cain),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_7">Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_8"> Who can aloof remain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_9">That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_10"> Of wisdom or sordid gain?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem52_11">The liberal arts and nurture sweet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_12">Which give his gentleness to man—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_13"> Train him to honor, lend him grace</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_14">Through bright examples meet—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_15">That culture which makes never wan</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_16">With underminings deep, but holds</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_17"> The surface still, its fitting place,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_18"> And so gives sunniness to the face</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_19">And bravery to the heart; what troops</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_20"> Of generous boys in happiness thus bred—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_21"> Saturnians through life’s Tempe led,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_22">Went from the North and came from the South,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_23">With golden mottoes in the mouth,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_24"> To lie down midway on a bloody bed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem52_25">Woe for the homes of the North,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_26">And woe for the seats of the South;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_27">All who felt life’s spring in prime,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_28">And were swept by the wind of their place and time—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_29"> All lavish hearts, on whichever side,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_30">Of birth urbane or courage high,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_31">Armed them for the stirring wars—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_32">Armed them—some to die.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_33"> Apollo-like in pride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_34">Each would slay his Python—caught</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_35">The maxims in his temple taught—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_36"> Aflame with sympathies whose blaze</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_37">Perforce enwrapped him—social laws,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_38"> Friendship and kin, and by-gone days—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_39">Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_40">And launches into the seas of wars.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_41">What could they else—North or South?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_42">Each went forth with blessings given</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_43">By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_44"> And honor in both was chief.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_45">Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_46">So be it; but they both were young—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_47">Each grape to his cluster clung,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_48">All their elegies are sung.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem52_49">The anguish of maternal hearts</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_50"> Must search for balm divine;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_51">But well the striplings bore their fated parts</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_52"> (The heavens all parts assign)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_53">Never felt life’s care or cloy.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_54">Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_55">Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_56">Sliding into some vernal sphere.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_57">They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_58">Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_59">Which storms lay low in kindly doom,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem52_60">And kill them in their flush of bloom.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem53"> +<h3>America.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s1"> +<h6>I.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem53_1">Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_2">I saw a Banner in gladsome air—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_3">Starry, like Berenice’s Hair—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_4">Afloat in broadened bravery there;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_5">With undulating long-drawn flow,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_6">As rolled Brazilian billows go</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_7">Voluminously o’er the Line.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_8">The Land reposed in peace below;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_9"> The children in their glee</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_10">Were folded to the exulting heart</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_11"> Of young Maternity.</div> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s2"> +<h6>II.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem53_12">Later, and it streamed in fight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_13"> When tempest mingled with the fray,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_14">And over the spear-point of the shaft</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_15"> I saw the ambiguous lightning play.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_16">Valor with Valor strove, and died:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_17">Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_18">And the lorn Mother speechless stood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_19">Pale at the fury of her brood.</div> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s3"> +<h6>III.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem53_20">Yet later, and the silk did wind</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_21"> Her fair cold form;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_22">Little availed the shining shroud,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_23"> Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_24">A watcher looked upon her low, and said—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_25">She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_26"> But in that sleep contortion showed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_27">The terror of the vision there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_28"> A silent vision unavowed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_29">Revealing earth’s foundation bare,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_30"> And Gorgon in her hidden place.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_31">It was a thing of fear to see</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_32"> So foul a dream upon so fair a face,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_33">And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.</div> +</div> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s4"> +<h6>IV.</h6> +<div class="line" id="poem53_34">But from the trance she sudden broke—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_35"> The trance, or death into promoted life;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_36">At her feet a shivered yoke,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_37">And in her aspect turned to heaven</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_38"> No trace of passion or of strife—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_39">A clear calm look. It spake of pain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_40">But such as purifies from stain—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_41">Sharp pangs that never come again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_42"> And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_43">Power dedicate, and hope grown wise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_44"> And youth matured for age’s seat—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_45">Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_46"> So she, with graver air and lifted flag;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_47">While the shadow, chased by light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_48">Fled along the far-drawn height,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem53_49"> And left her on the crag.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="part" id="inscriptive"> +<h2>Verses</h2> +<h3>Inscriptive and Memorial</h3> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem54"> +<h3>On the Home Guards</h3> +<h4>who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem54_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem54_1">The men who here in harness died</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_2"> Fell not in vain, though in defeat.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_3">They by their end well fortified</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_4"> The Cause, and built retreat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_5">(With memory of their valor tried)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_6">For emulous hearts in many an after fray—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem54_7">Hearts sore beset, which died at bay.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem55"> +<h3>Inscription</h3> +<h4>for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem55_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem55_1">Let none misgive we died amiss</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_2"> When here we strove in furious fight:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_3">Furious it was; nathless was this</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_4"> Better than tranquil plight,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_5">And tame surrender of the Cause</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_6">Hallowed by hearts and by the laws.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_7"> We here who warred for Man and Right,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_8">The choice of warring never laid with us.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_9"> There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_10"> Nor long we stood to trim and poise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem55_11">But marched, and fell—victorious!</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem56"> +<h3>The Fortitude of the North</h3> +<h4>under the Disaster of the Second Manassas.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem56_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem56_1">They take no shame for dark defeat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_2"> While prizing yet each victory won,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_3">Who fight for the Right through all retreat,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_4"> Nor pause until their work is done.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_5">The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_6"> Vainly against that foreland beat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_7">Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_8"> The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem56_9">When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem57"> +<h3>On the Men of Maine</h3> +<h4>killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem57_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem57_1">Afar they fell. It was the zone</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_2"> Of fig and orange, cane and lime</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_3">(A land how all unlike their own,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_4">With the cold pine-grove overgrown),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_5"> But still their Country’s clime.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_6">And there in youth they died for her—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_7"> The Volunteers,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_8">For her went up their dying prayers:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_9"> So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_10">What doubt shall come, then, to deter</div> +<div class="line" id="poem57_11"> The Republic’s earnest faith and courage high.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem58"> +<h3>An Epitaph.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem58_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem58_1">When Sunday tidings from the front</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_2"> Made pale the priest and people,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_3">And heavily the blessing went,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_4"> And bells were dumb in the steeple;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_5">The Soldier’s widow (summering sweerly here,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_6"> In shade by waving beeches lent)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_7"> Felt deep at heart her faith content,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem58_8">And priest and people borrowed of her cheer.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem59"> +<h3>Inscription</h3> +<h4>for Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem59_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem59_1">To them who crossed the flood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_2">And climbed the hill, with eyes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_3"> Upon the heavenly flag intent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_4"> And through the deathful tumult went</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_5">Even unto death: to them this Stone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_6">Erect, where they were overthrown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem59_7"> Of more than victory the monument.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem60"> +<h3>The Mound by the Lake.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem60_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem60_1">The grass shall never forget this grave.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_2">When homeward footing it in the sun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_3"> After the weary ride by rail,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_4">The stripling soldiers passed her door,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_5"> Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_6">She left her household work undone—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_7">Duly the wayside table spread,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_8"> With evergreens shaded, to regale</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_9">Each travel-spent and grateful one.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_10">So warm her heart—childless—unwed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem60_11">Who like a mother comforted.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem61"> +<h3>On the Slain at Chickamauga.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem61_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem61_1">Happy are they and charmed in life</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_2"> Who through long wars arrive unscarred</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_3">At peace. To such the wreath be given,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_4">If they unfalteringly have striven—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_5"> In honor, as in limb, unmarred.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_6">Let cheerful praise be rife,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_7"> And let them live their years at ease,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_8">Musing on brothers who victorious died—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_9"> Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem61_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem61_10">And yet mischance is honorable too—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_11"> Seeming defeat in conflict justified</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_12">Whose end to closing eyes is his from view.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_13">The will, that never can relent—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_14">The aim, survivor of the bafflement,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem61_15"> Make this memorial due.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem62"> +<h3>An uninscribed Monument</h3> +<h4>on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem62_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem62_1">Silence and Solitude may hint</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_2"> (Whose home is in yon piny wood)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_3">What I, though tableted, could never tell—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_4">The din which here befell,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_5"> And striving of the multitude.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_6">The iron cones and spheres of death</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_7"> Set round me in their rust,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_8"> These, too, if just,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_9">Shall speak with more than animated breath.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_10"> Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_11">Not narrowed down to personal cheer,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_12">Take in the import of the quiet here—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_13"> The after-quiet—the calm full fraught;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_14">Thou too wilt silent stand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem62_15">Silent as I, and lonesome as the land.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem63"> +<h3>On Sherman’s Men</h3> +<h4>who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem63_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem63_1">They said that Fame her clarion dropped</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_2"> Because great deeds were done no more—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_3">That even Duty knew no shining ends,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_4">And Glory—’twas a fallen star!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_5"> But battle can heroes and bards restore.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_6"> Nay, look at Kenesaw:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_7">Perils the mailed ones never knew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_8">Are lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem63_9">And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem64"> +<h3>On the Grave</h3> +<h4>of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem64_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem64_1">Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem64_2"> Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he</div> +<div class="line" id="poem64_3">Whom here low violets veil from eyes.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem64_4"> But all these gifts transcended be:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem64_5">His happier fortune in this mound you see.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem65"> +<h3>A Requiem</h3> +<h4>for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem65_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem65_1">When, after storms that woodlands rue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_2"> To valleys comes atoning dawn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_3">The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_4"> And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_5">Caroling fly in the languid blue;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_6">The while, from many a hid recess,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_7">Alert to partake the blessedness,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_8">The pouring mites their airy dance pursue.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_9"> So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_10">When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_11"> Every finny hider wakes—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_12"> From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_13"> Through the delightsome sea he sails,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_14">With shoals of shining tiny things</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_15">Frolic on every wave that flings</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_16"> Against the prow its showery spray;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_17">All creatures joying in the morn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_18">Save them forever from joyance torn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_19"> Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_20">Save them that by the fabled shore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_21"> Down the pale stream are washed away,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_22">Far to the reef of bones are borne;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_23"> And never revisits them the light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_24">Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_25"> Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem65_26">Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem66"> +<h3>On a natural Monument</h3> +<h4>in a field of Georgia.<a id="fnt21" href="#fn21"><sup>[21]</sup></a></h4> + +<div class="note" id="fn21"> +<p><a href="#fnt21">[21]</a> Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at +Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each +beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the +prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at +the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at +Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four +large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like +getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the +interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem66_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem66_1">No trophy this—a Stone unhewn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_2"> And stands where here the field immures</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_3">The nameless brave whose palms are won.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_4">Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_5"> Pure fame of deeds, not doers;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_6">Nor deeds of men who bleeding die</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_7"> In cheer of hymns that round them float:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_8">In happy dreams such close the eye.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_9">But withering famine slowly wore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_10"> And slowly fell disease did gloat.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_11">Even Nature’s self did aid deny;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_12">They choked in horror the pensive sigh.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_13"> Yea, off from home sad Memory bore</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_14">(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_15">Lest wreck of reason might befall.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_16"> As men in gales shun the lee shore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_17">Though there the homestead be, and call,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_18">And thitherward winds and waters sway—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_19">As such lorn mariners, so fared they.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_20">But naught shall now their peace molest.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_21"> Their fame is this: they did endure—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_22">Endure, when fortitude was vain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_23">To kindle any approving strain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_24">Which they might hear. To these who rest,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem66_25"> This healing sleep alone was sure.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem67"> +<h3>Commemorative of a Naval Victory.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem67_1">Sailors there are of gentlest breed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_2"> Yet strong, like every goodly thing;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_3">The discipline of arms refines,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_4"> And the wave gives tempering.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_5"> The damasked blade its beam can fling;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_6">It lends the last grave grace:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_7">The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_8"> In Titian’s picture for a king,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_9">Are of Hunter or warrior race.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem67_10">In social halls a favored guest</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_11"> In years that follow victory won,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_12">How sweet to feel your festal fame,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_13"> In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_14"> Repose is yours—your deed is known,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_15">It musks the amber wine;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_16">It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_17"> Rich as October sunsets brown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_18">Which make the barren place to shine.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem67_19">But seldom the laurel wreath is seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_20"> Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_21">There’s a light and a shadow on every man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_22"> Who at last attains his lifted mark—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_23"> Nursing through night the ethereal spark.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_24">Elate he never can be;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_25">He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_26"> Sleep in oblivion.—The shark</div> +<div class="line" id="poem67_27">Glides white through the prosphorus sea.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem68"> +<h3>Presentation to the Authorities,</h3> +<h4>by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the Surrender of Lee.</h4> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem68_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem68_1">These flags of armies overthrown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_2">Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_3">In end foredoomed which closes war;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_4">We here, the captors, lay before</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_5"> The altar which of right claims all—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_6">Our Country. And as freely we,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_7"> Revering ever her sacred call,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_8">Could lay our lives down—though life be</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_9">Thrice loved and precious to the sense</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_10">Of such as reap the recompense</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_11"> Of life imperiled for just cause—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_12">Imperiled, and yet preserved;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_13">While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_14">Whose wives were all as dear, lie low.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_15">But these flags given, glad we go</div> +<div class="line" id="poem68_16"> To waiting homes with vindicated laws.</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem" id="poem69"> +<h3>The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle.</h3> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem69_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem69_1">Over the hearth—my father’s seat—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_2"> Repose, to patriot-memory dear,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_3">Thou tried companion, whom at last I greet</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_4"> By steepy banks of Hudson here.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_5">How oft I told thee of this scene—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_6">The Highlands blue—the river’s narrowing sheen.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_7">Little at Gettysburg we thought</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_8">To find such haven; but God kept it green.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem69_9">Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="poem" id="poem70"> +<h3>The Scout toward Aldie.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_1">The cavalry-camp lies on the slope</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_2"> Of what was late a vernal hill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_3">But now like a pavement bare—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_4">An outpost in the perilous wilds</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_5"> Which ever are lone and still;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_6"> But Mosby’s men are there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_7"> Of Mosby best beware.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_8">Great trees the troopers felled, and leaned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_9"> In antlered walls about their tents;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_10">Strict watch they kept; ’twas <i>Hark!</i> and <i>Mark!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_11">Unarmed none cared to stir abroad</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_12"> For berries beyond their forest-fence:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_13"> As glides in seas the shark,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_14"> Rides Mosby through green dark.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_15">All spake of him, but few had seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_16"> Except the maimed ones or the low;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_17">Yet rumor made him every thing—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_18">A farmer—woodman—refugee—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_19"> The man who crossed the field but now;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_20"> A spell about his life did cling—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_21"> Who to the ground shall Mosby bring?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_22">The morning-bugles lonely play,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_23"> Lonely the evening-bugle calls—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_24">Unanswered voices in the wild;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_25">The settled hush of birds in nest</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_26"> Becharms, and all the wood enthralls:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_27"> Memory’s self is so beguiled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_28"> That Mosby seems a satyr’s child.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_29">They lived as in the Eerie Land—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_30"> The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_31">And yet from pine-tops one might ken</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_32">The Capitol dome—hazy—sublime—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_33"> A vision breaking on a dream:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_34"> So strange it was that Mosby’s men</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_35"> Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_36">A scout toward Aldie broke the spell.—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_37"> The Leader lies before his tent</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_38">Gazing at heaven’s all-cheering lamp</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_39">Through blandness of a morning rare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_40"> His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_41"> His sunny bride is in the camp—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_42"> But Mosby—graves are beds of damp!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_43">The trumpet calls; he goes within;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_44"> But none the prayer and sob may know:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_45">Her hero he, but bridegroom too.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_46">Ah, love in a tent is a queenly thing,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_47"> And fame, be sure, refines the vow;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_48"> But fame fond wives have lived to rue,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_49"> And Mosby’s men fell deeds can do.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_50"><i>Tan-tara! tan-tara! tan-tara!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_51"> Mounted and armed he sits a king;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_52">For pride she smiles if now she peep—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_53">Elate he rides at the head of his men;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_54"> He is young, and command is a boyish thing:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_55"> They file out into the forest deep—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_56"> Do Mosby and his rangers sleep?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_57">The sun is gold, and the world is green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_58"> Opal the vapors of morning roll;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_59">The champing horses lightly prance—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_60">Full of caprice, and the riders too</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_61"> Curving in many a caricole.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_62"> But marshaled soon, by fours advance—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_63"> Mosby had checked that airy dance.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_64">By the hospital-tent the cripples stand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_65"> Bandage, and crutch, and cane, and sling,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_66">And palely eye the brave array;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_67">The froth of the cup is gone for them</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_68"> (Caw! caw! the crows through the blueness wing);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_69"> Yet these were late as bold, as gay;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_70"> But Mosby—a clip, and grass is hay.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_71">How strong they feel on their horses free,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_72"> Tingles the tendoned thigh with life;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_73">Their cavalry-jackets make boys of all—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_74">With golden breasts like the oriole;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_75"> The chat, the jest, and laugh are rife.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_76"> But word is passed from the front—a call</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_77"> For order; the wood is Mosby’s hall.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s12"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_78">To which behest one rider sly</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_79"> (Spurred, but unarmed) gave little heed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_80">Of dexterous fun not slow or spare,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_81">He teased his neighbors of touchy mood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_82"> Into plungings he pricked his steed:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_83"> A black-eyed man on a coal-black mare,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_84"> Alive as Mosby in mountain air.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s13"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_85">His limbs were long, and large and round;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_86"> He whispered, winked—did all but shout:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_87">A healthy man for the sick to view;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_88">The taste in his mouth was sweet at morn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_89"> Little of care he cared about.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_90"> And yet of pains and pangs he knew—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_91"> In others, maimed by Mosby’s crew.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s14"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_92">The Hospital Steward—even he</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_93"> (Sacred in person as a priest),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_94">And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_95">Wore the caduceus, black and green.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_96"> No wonder he sat so light on his beast;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_97"> This cheery man in suit of price</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_98"> Not even Mosby dared to slice.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s15"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_99">They pass the picket by the pine</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_100"> And hollow log—a lonesome place;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_101">His horse adroop, and pistol clean;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_102">’Tis cocked—kept leveled toward the wood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_103"> Strained vigilance ages his childish face.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_104"> Since midnight has that stripling been</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_105"> Peering for Mosby through the green.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s16"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_106">Splashing they cross the freshet-flood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_107"> And up the muddy bank they strain;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_108">A horse at the spectral white-ash shies—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_109">One of the span of the ambulance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_110"> Black as a hearse. They give the rein:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_111"> Silent speed on a scout were wise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_112"> Could cunning baffle Mosby’s spies.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s17"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_113">Rumor had come that a band was lodged</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_114"> In green retreats of hills that peer</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_115">By Aldie (famed for the swordless charge<a id="fnt22" href="#fn22"><sup>[22]</sup></a>).</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_116">Much store they’d heaped of captured arms</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_117"> And, peradventure, pilfered cheer;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_118"> For Mosby’s lads oft hearts enlarge</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_119"> In revelry by some gorge’s marge.</div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn22"> +<p><a href="#fnt22">[22]</a> In one of Kilpatrick’s earlier cavalry fights near Aldie, a Colonel +who, being under arrest, had been temporarily deprived of his sword, +nevertheless, unarmed, insisted upon charging at the head of his men, +which he did, and the onset proved victorious.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s18"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_120">“Don’t let your sabres rattle and ring;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_121"> To his oat-bag let each man give heed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_122">There now, that fellow’s bag’s untied,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_123">Sowing the road with the precious grain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_124"> Your carbines swing at hand—you need!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_125"> Look to yourselves, and your nags beside,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_126"> Men who after Mosby ride.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s19"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_127">Picked lads and keen went sharp before—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_128"> A guard, though scarce against surprise;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_129">And rearmost rode an answering troop,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_130">But flankers none to right or left.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_131"> No bugle peals, no pennon flies:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_132"> Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_133"> On Mosby with an Indian whoop.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s20"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_134">On, right on through the forest land,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_135"> Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_136">Not even a dog. The air was still;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_137">The blackened hut they turned to see,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_138"> And spied charred benches on the green;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_139"> A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_140"> Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s21"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_141">By worn-out fields they cantered on—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_142"> Drear fields amid the woodlands wide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_143">By cross-roads of some olden time,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_144">In which grew groves; by gate-stones down—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_145"> Grassed ruins of secluded pride:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_146"> A strange lone land, long past the prime,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_147"> Fit land for Mosby or for crime.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s22"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_148">The brook in the dell they pass. One peers</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_149"> Between the leaves: “Ay, there’s the place—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_150">There, on the oozy ledge—’twas there</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_151">We found the body (Blake’s you know);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_152"> Such whirlings, gurglings round the face—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_153"> Shot drinking! Well, in war all’s fair—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_154"> So Mosby says. The bough—take care!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s23"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_155">Hard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_156"> Danked and decayed the shaded roof;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_157">The porch was punk; the clapboards spanned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_158">With ruffled lichens gray or green;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_159"> Red coral-moss was not aloof;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_160"> And mid dry leaves green dead-man’s-hand</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_161"> Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s24"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_162">They leave the road and take the wood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_163"> And mark the trace of ridges there—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_164">A wood where once had slept the farm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_165">A wood where once tobacco grew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_166"> Drowsily in the hazy air,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_167"> And wrought in all kind things a calm—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_168"> Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s25"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_169">To ease even yet the place did woo—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_170"> To ease which pines unstirring share,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_171">For ease the weary horses sighed:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_172">Halting, and slackening girths, they feed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_173"> Their pipes they light, they loiter there;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_174"> Then up, and urging still the Guide,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_175"> On, and after Mosby ride.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s26"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_176">This Guide in frowzy coat of brown,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_177"> And beard of ancient growth and mould,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_178">Bestrode a bony steed and strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_179">As suited well with bulk he bore—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_180"> A wheezy man with depth of hold</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_181"> Who jouncing went. A staff he swung—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_182"> A wight whom Mosby’s wasp had stung.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s27"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_183">Burnt out and homeless—hunted long!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_184"> That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_185">Crouching (a fat man) for his life,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_186">And spied his lean son ’mong the crew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_187"> That probed the covert. Ah! black blood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_188"> Was his ’gainst even child and wife—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_189"> Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s28"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_190">A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_191"> Strains hard to readjust his seat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_192">Ere the main body show the gap</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_193">’Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_194"> He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_195"> Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_196"> “Let Mosby fine!” nor heeds mishap.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s29"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_197">A gable time-stained peeps through trees:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_198"> “You mind the fight in the haunted house?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_199">That’s it; we clenched them in the room—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_200">An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_201"> But proved sly rebels on a bouse!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_202"> Luke lies in the yard.” The chimneys loom:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_203"> Some muse on Mosby—some on doom.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s30"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_204">Less nimbly now through brakes they wind,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_205"> And ford wild creeks where men have drowned;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_206">They skirt the pool, a void the fen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_207">And so till night, when down they lie,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_208"> They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_209"> Rein in hand they slumber then,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_210"> Dreaming of Mosby’s cedarn den.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s31"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_211">But Colonel and Major friendly sat</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_212"> Where boughs deformed low made a seat.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_213">The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_214">Of the partisan’s blade he longed to win,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_215"> And frays in which he meant to beat.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_216"> The grizzled Major smoked, and heard:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_217"> “But what’s that—Mosby?” “No, a bird.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s32"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_218">A contrast here like sire and son,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_219"> Hope and Experience sage did meet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_220">The Youth was brave, the Senior too;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_221">But through the Seven Days one had served,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_222"> And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_223"> So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_224"> “Any <i>sure</i> news of Mosby’s crew?”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s33"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_225">He smoked and smoked, eying the while</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_226"> A huge tree hydra-like in growth—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_227">Moon-tinged—with crook’d boughs rent or lopped—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_228">Itself a haggard forest. “Come”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_229"> The Colonel cried, “to talk you’re loath;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_230"> D’ye hear? I say he must be stopped,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_231"> This Mosby—caged, and hair close cropped.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s34"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_232">“Of course; but what’s that dangling there”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_233"> “Where?” “From the tree—that gallows-bough;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_234">“A bit of frayed bark, is it not”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_235">“Ay—or a rope; did <i>we</i> hang last?—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_236"> Don’t like my neckerchief any how”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_237"> He loosened it: “O ay, we’ll stop</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_238"> This Mosby—but that vile jerk and drop!”<a id="fnt23" href="#fn23"><sup>[23]</sup></a></div> +</div> + +<div class="note" id="fn23"> +<p><a href="#fnt23">[23]</a> Certain of Mosby’s followers, on the charge of being unlicensed +foragers or fighters, being hung by order of a Union cavalry commander, +the Partisan promptly retaliated in the woods. In turn, this also was +retaliated, it is said. To what extent such deplorable proceedings were +carried, it is not easy to learn.</p> + +<p>South of the Potamac in Virginia, and within a gallop of the Long Bridge +at Washington, is the confine of a country, in some places wild, which +throughout the war it was unsafe for a Union man to traverse except with +an armed escort. This was the chase of Mosby, the scene of many of his +exploits or those of his men. In the heart of this region at least one +fortified camp was maintained by our cavalry, and from time to time +expeditions ended disastrously. Such results were helped by the +exceeding cunning of the enemy, born of his wood-craft, and, in some +instances, by undue confidence on the part of our men. A body of +cavalry, starting from camp with the view of breaking up a nest of +rangers, and absent say three days, would return with a number of their +own forces killed and wounded (ambushed), without being able to +retaliate farther than by foraging on the country, destroying a house or +two reported to be haunts of the guerrillas, or capturing non-combatants +accused of being secretly active in their behalf.</p> + +<p>In the verse the name of Mosby is invested with some of those +associations with which the popular mind is familiar. But facts do not +warrant the belief that every clandestine attack of men who passed for +Mosby’s was made under his eye or even by his knowledge.</p> + +<p>In partisan warfare he proved himself shrewd, able, and enterprising, +and always a wary fighter. He stood well in the confidence of his +superior officers, and was empoyed by them at times in furtherance of +important movements. To our wounded on more than one occasion he showed +considerate kindness. Officers and civilians captured by forces under +his immediate command were, so long as remaining under his orders, +treated with civility. These things are well known to those personally +familiar with the irregular fighting in Virginia.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s35"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_239">By peep of light they feed and ride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_240"> Gaining a grove’s green edge at morn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_241">And mark the Aldie hills upread</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_242">And five gigantic horsemen carved</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_243"> Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_244"> Are more behind? an open snare?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_245"> Or Mosby’s men but watchmen there?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s36"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_246">The ravaged land was miles behind,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_247"> And Loudon spread her landscape rare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_248">Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_249">Cows were feeding, a cock loud crew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_250"> But not a friend at need was there;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_251"> The valley-folk were only good</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_252"> To Mosby and his wandering brood.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s37"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_253">What best to do? what mean yon men?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_254"> Colonel and Guide their minds compare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_255">Be sure some looked their Leader through;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_256">Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_257"> As one who feigns an easy air;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_258"> And yet perplexed he was they knew—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_259"> Perplexed by Mosby’s mountain-crew.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s38"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_260">The Major hemmed as he would speak,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_261"> But checked himself, and left the ring</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_262">Of cavalrymen about their Chief—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_263">Young courtiers mute who paid their court</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_264"> By looking with confidence on their king;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_265"> They knew him brave, foresaw no grief—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_266"> But Mosby—the time to think is brief.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s39"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_267">The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_268"> Was glad ’twas not for <i>him</i> to say</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_269">What next should be; if a trooper bleeds,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_270">Why he will do his best, as wont,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_271"> And his partner in black will aid and pray;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_272"> But judgment bides with him who leads,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_273"> And Mosby many a problem breeds.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s40"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_274">The Surgeon was the kindliest man</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_275"> That ever a callous trace professed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_276">He felt for him, that Leader young,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_277">And offered medicine from his flask:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_278"> The Colonel took it with marvelous zest.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_279"> For such fine medicine good and strong,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_280"> Oft Mosby and his foresters long.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s41"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_281">A charm of proof. “Ho, Major, come—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_282"> Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_283">Through the thickets wind—pray speedy be—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_284">And gain their read. And, Captain Morn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_285"> Picket these roads—all travelers stop;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_286"> The rest to the edge of this crest with me,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_287"> That Mosby and his scouts may see.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s42"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_288">Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_289"> Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_290">Ten riding double—luckless ten!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_291">Five horses gone, and looped hats lost,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_292"> And love-locks dancing in a maze—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_293"> Certes, but sophomores from the glen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_294"> Of Mosby—not his veteran men.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s43"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_295">“Colonel,” said the Major, touching his cap,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_296"> “We’ve had our ride, and here they are”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_297">“Well done! how many found you there”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_298">“As many as I bring you here”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_299"> “And no one hurt?” “There’ll be no scar—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_300"> One fool was battered.” “Find their lair”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_301"> “Why, Mosby’s brood camp every where.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s44"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_302">He sighed, and slid down from his horse,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_303"> And limping went to a spring-head nigh.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_304">“Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_305">“Battered my knee against a bar</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_306"> When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_307"> Halloa! they gave you too much rope—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_308"> Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s45"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_309">Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_310"> The guard, remiss, had given a chance</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_311">For a sudden sally into the cover—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_312">But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_313"> Though the issue was a deadly trance;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_314"> For, hurled ’gainst an oak that humped low over,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_315"> Mosby’s man fell, pale as a lover.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s46"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_316">They pulled some grass his head to ease</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_317"> (Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred).</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_318">The Surgeon came—“Here’s a to-do”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_319">“Ah!” cried the Major, darting a glance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_320"> “This fellow’s the one that fired and spurred</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_321"> Down hill, but met reserves below—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_322"> My boys, not Mosby’s—so we go!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s47"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_323">The Surgeon—bluff, red, goodly man—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_324"> Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_325">He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_326">(Who went to the wars for cure of souls,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_327"> And his own student-ailments)—he</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_328"> Bent over likewise; spite the two,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_329"> Mosby’s poor man more pallid grew.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s48"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_330">Meanwhile the mounted captives near</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_331"> Jested; and yet they anxious showed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_332">Virginians; some of family-pride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_333">And young, and full of fire, and fine</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_334"> In open feature and cheek that glowed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_335"> And here thralled vagabonds now they ride—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_336"> But list! one speaks for Mosby’s side.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s49"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_337">“Why, three to one—your horses strong—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_338"> Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_339">Surrender we account no shame!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_340">We live, are gay, and life is hope;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_341"> We’ll fight again when fight is wise.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_342"> There are plenty more from where we came;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_343"> But go find Mosby—start the game!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s50"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_344">Yet one there was who looked but glum;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_345"> In middle-age, a father he,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_346">And this his first experience too:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_347">“They shot at my heart when my hands were up—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_348"> This fighting’s crazy work, I see”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_349"> But noon is high; what next do?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_350"> The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s51"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_351">“Save what we’ve got,” the Major said;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_352"> “Bad plan to make a scout too long;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_353">The tide may turn, and drag them back,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_354">And more beside. These rides I’ve been,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_355"> And every time a mine was sprung.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_356"> To rescue, mind, they won’t be slack—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_357"> Look out for Mosby’s rifle-crack.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s52"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_358">“We’ll welcome it! give crack for crack!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_359"> Peril, old lad, is what I seek”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_360">“O then, there’s plenty to be had—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_361">By all means on, and have our fill”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_362"> With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_363"> Showing a scar by buck-shot made—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_364"> Kind Mosby’s Christmas gift, he said.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s53"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_365">“But, Colonel, my prisoners—let a guard</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_366"> Make sure of them, and lead to camp.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_367">That done, we’re free for a dark-room fight</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_368">If so you say.” The other laughed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_369"> “Trust me, Major, nor throw a damp.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_370"> But first to try a little sleight—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_371"> Sure news of Mosby would suit me quite.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s54"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_372">Herewith he turned—“Reb, have a dram”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_373"> Holding the Surgeon’s flask with a smile</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_374">To a young scapegrace from the glen.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_375">“O yes!” he eagerly replied,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_376"> “And thank you, Colonel, but—any guile?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_377"> For if you think we’ll blab—why, then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_378"> You don’t know Mosby or his men.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s55"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_379">The Leader’s genial air relaxed.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_380"> “Best give it up,” a whisperer said.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_381">“By heaven, I’ll range their rebel den”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_382">“They’ll treat you well,” the captive cried;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_383"> “They’re all like us—handsome—well bred:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_384"> In wood or town, with sword or pen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_385"> Polite is Mosby, bland his men.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s56"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_386">“Where were you, lads, last night?—come, tell”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_387"> “We?—at a wedding in the Vale—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_388">The bridegroom our comrade; by his side</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_389">Belisent, my cousin—O, so proud</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_390"> Of her young love with old wounds pale—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_391"> A Virginian girl! God bless her pride—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_392"> Of a crippled Mosby-man the bride!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s57"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_393">“Four wall shall mend that saucy mood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_394"> And moping prisons tame him down”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_395">Said Captain Cloud. “God help that day”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_396">Cried Captain Morn, “and he so young.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_397"> But hark, he sings—a madcap one”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_398"><i> “O we multiply merrily in the May,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_399"><i> The birds and Mosby’s men, they say!</i>“</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s58"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_400">While echoes ran, a wagon old,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_401"> Under stout guard of Corporal Chew</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_402">Came up; a lame horse, dingy white,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_403">With clouted harness; ropes in hand,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_404"> Cringed the humped driver, black in hue;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_405"> By him (for Mosby’s band a sight)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_406"> A sister-rebel sat, her veil held tight.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s59"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_407">“I picked them up,” the Corporal said,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_408"> “Crunching their way over stick and root,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_409">Through yonder wood. The man here—Cuff—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_410">Says they are going to Leesburg town”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_411"> The Colonel’s eye took in the group;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_412"> The veiled one’s hand he spied—enough!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_413"> Not Mosby’s. Spite the gown’s poor stuff,</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s60"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_414">Off went his hat: “Lady, fear not;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_415"> We soldiers do what we deplore—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_416">I must detain you till we march”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_417">The stranger nodded. Nettled now,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_418"> He grew politer than before:—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_419"> “’Tis Mosby’s fault, this halt and search”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_420"> The lady stiffened in her starch.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s61"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_421">“My duty, madam, bids me now</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_422"> Ask what may seem a little rude.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_423">Pardon—that veil—withdraw it, please</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_424">(Corporal! make every man fall back);</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_425"> Pray, now I do but what I should;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_426"> Bethink you, ’tis in masks like these</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_427"> That Mosby haunts the villages.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s62"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_428">Slowly the stranger drew her veil,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_429"> And looked the Soldier in the eye—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_430">A glance of mingled foul and fair;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_431">Sad patience in a proud disdain,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_432"> And more than quietude. A sigh</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_433"> She heaved, and if all unaware,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_434"> And far seemed Mosby from her care.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s63"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_435">She came from Yewton Place, her home,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_436"> So ravaged by the war’s wild play—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_437">Campings, and foragings, and fires—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_438">That now she sought an aunt’s abode.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_439"> Her Kinsmen? In Lee’s army, they.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_440"> The black? A servant, late her sire’s.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_441"> And Mosby? Vainly he inquires.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s64"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_442">He gazed, and sad she met his eye;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_443"> “In the wood yonder were you lost”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_444">No; at the forks they left the road</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_445">Because of hoof-prints (thick they were—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_446"> Thick as the words in notes thrice crossed),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_447"> And fearful, made that episode.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_448"> In fear of Mosby? None she showed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s65"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_449">Her poor attire again he scanned:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_450"> “Lady, once more; I grieve to jar</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_451">On all sweet usage, but must plead</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_452">To have what peeps there from your dress;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_453"> That letter—’tis justly prize of war”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_454"> She started—gave it—she must need.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_455"> “’Tis not from Mosby? May I read?”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s66"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_456">And straight such matter he perused</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_457"> That with the Guide he went apart.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_458">The Hospital Steward’s turn began:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_459">“Must squeeze this darkey; every tap</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_460"> Of knowledge we are bound to start”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_461"> “Garry,” she said, “tell all you can</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_462"> Of Colonel Mosby—that brave man.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s67"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_463">“Dun know much, sare; and missis here</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_464"> Know less dan me. But dis I know—”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_465">“Well, what?” “I dun know what I know”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_466">“A knowing answer!” The hump-back coughed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_467"> Rubbing his yellowish wool like tow.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_468"> “Come—Mosby—tell!” “O dun look so!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_469"> My gal nursed missis—let we go.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s68"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_470">“Go where?” demanded Captain Cloud;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_471"> “Back into bondage? Man, you’re free”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_472">“Well, <i>let</i> we free!” The Captain’s brow</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_473">Lowered; the Colonel came—had heard:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_474"> “Pooh! pooh! his simple heart I see—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_475"> A faithful servant.—Lady” (a bow),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_476"> “Mosby’s abroad—with us you’ll go.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s69"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_477">“Guard! look to your prisoners; back to camp!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_478"> The man in the grass—can he mount and away?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_479">Why, how he groans!” “Bad inward bruise—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_480">Might lug him along in the ambulance”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_481"> “Coals to Newcastle! let him stay.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_482"> Boots and saddles!—our pains we lose,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_483"> Nor care I if Mosby hear the news!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s70"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_484">But word was sent to a house at hand,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_485"> And a flask was left by the hurt one’s side.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_486">They seized in that same house a man,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_487">Neutral by day, by night a foe—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_488"> So charged his neighbor late, the Guide.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_489"> A grudge? Hate will do what it can;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_490"> Along he went for a Mosby-man.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s71"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_491">No secrets now; the bugle calls;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_492"> The open road they take, nor shun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_493">The hill; retrace the weary way.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_494">But one there was who whispered low,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_495"> “This is a feint—we’ll back anon;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_496"> Young Hair-Brains don’t retreat, they say;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_497"> A brush with Mosby is the play!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s72"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_498">They rode till eve. Then on a farm</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_499"> That lay along a hill-side green,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_500">Bivouacked. Fires were made, and then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_501">Coffee was boiled; a cow was coaxed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_502"> And killed, and savory roasts were seen;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_503"> And under the lee of a cattle-pen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_504"> The guard supped freely with Mosby’s men.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s73"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_505">The ball was bandied to and fro;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_506"> Hits were given and hits were met;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_507">“Chickamauga, Feds—take off your hat”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_508">“But the Fight in the Clouds repaid you, Rebs”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_509"> “Forgotten about Manassas yet”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_510"> Chatting and chaffing, and tit for tat,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_511"> Mosby’s clan with the troopers sat.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s74"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_512">“Here comes the moon!” a captive cried;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_513"> “A song! what say? Archy, my lad”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_514">Hailing are still one of the clan</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_515">(A boyish face with girlish hair),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_516"> “Give us that thing poor Pansy made</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_517"> Last Year.” He brightened, and began;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_518"> And this was the song of Mosby’s man:</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s75"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_519"><i> Spring is come; she shows her pass—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_520"><i> Wild violets cool!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_521"><i> South of woods a small close grass—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_522"><i> A vernal wool!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_523"><i> Leaves are a’bud on the sassafras—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_524"><i> They’ll soon be full;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_525"><i> Blessings on the friendly screen—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_526"><i> I’m for the South! says the leafage green.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s76"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_527"><i> Robins! fly, and take your fill</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_528"><i> Of out-of-doors—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_529"><i> Garden, orchard, meadow, hill,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_530"><i> Barns and bowers;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_531"><i> Take your fill, and have your will—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_532"><i> Virginia’s yours!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_533"><i> But, bluebirds! keep away, and fear</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_534"><i> The ambuscade in bushes here.</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s77"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_535">“A green song that,” a seargeant said;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_536"> “But where’s poor Pansy? gone, I fear”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_537">“Ay, mustered out at Ashby’s Gap”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_538">“I see; now for a live man’s song;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_539"> Ditty for ditty—prepare to cheer.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_540"> My bluebirds, you can fling a cap!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_541"> You barehead Mosby-boys—why—clap!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s78"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_542"><i> Nine Blue-coats went a-nutting</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_543"><i> Slyly in Tennessee—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_544"><i> Not for chestnuts—better than that—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_545"><i> Hugh, you bumble-bee!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_546"><i> Nutting, nutting—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_547"><i> All through the year there’s nutting!</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s79"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_548"><i> A tree they spied so yellow,</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_549"><i> Rustling in motion queer;</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_550"><i> In they fired, and down they dropped—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_551"><i> Butternuts, my dear!</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_552"><i> Nutting, nutting—</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_553"><i> Who’ll ’list to go a-nutting?</i></div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s80"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_554">Ah! why should good fellows foemen be?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_555"> And who would dream that foes they were—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_556">Larking and singing so friendly then—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_557">A family likeness in every face.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_558"> But Captain Cloud made sour demur:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_559"> “Guard! keep your prisoners <i>in</i> the pen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_560"> And let none talk with Mosby’s men.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s81"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_561">That captain was a valorous one</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_562"> (No irony, but honest truth),</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_563">Yet down from his brain cold drops distilled,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_564">Making stalactites in his heart—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_565"> A conscientious soul, forsooth;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_566"> And with a formal hate was filled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_567"> Of Mosby’s band; and some he’d killed.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s82"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_568">Meantime the lady rueful sat,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_569"> Watching the flicker of a fire</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_570">Were the Colonel played the outdoor host</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_571">In brave old hall of ancient Night.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_572"> But ever the dame grew shyer and shyer,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_573"> Seeming with private grief engrossed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_574"> Grief far from Mosby, housed or lost.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s83"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_575">The ruddy embers showed her pale.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_576"> The Soldier did his best devoir:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_577">“Some coffee?—no?—cracker?—one”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_578">Cared for her servant—sought to cheer:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_579"> “I know, I know—a cruel war!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_580"> But wait—even Mosby’ll eat his bun;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_581"> The Old Hearth—back to it anon!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s84"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_582">But cordial words no balm could bring;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_583"> She sighed, and kept her inward chafe,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_584">And seemed to hate the voice of glee—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_585">Joyless and tearless. Soon he called</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_586"> An escort: “See this lady safe</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_587"> In yonder house.—Madam, you’re free.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_588"> And now for Mosby.—Guide! with me.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s85"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_589">(“A night-ride, eh?”) “Tighten your girths!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_590"> But, buglers! not a note from you.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_591">Fling more rails on the fires—a blaze”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_592">(“Sergeant, a feint—I told you so—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_593"> Toward Aldie again. Bivouac, adieu!”)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_594"> After the cheery flames they gaze,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_595"> Then back for Mosby through the maze.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s86"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_596">The moon looked through the trees, and tipped</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_597"> The scabbards with her elfin beam;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_598">The Leader backward cast his glance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_599">Proud of the cavalcade that came—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_600"> A hundred horses, bay and cream:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_601"> “Major! look how the lads advance—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_602"> Mosby we’ll have in the ambulance!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s87"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_603">“No doubt, no doubt:—was that a hare?—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_604"> First catch, then cook; and cook him brown”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_605">“Trust me to catch,” the other cried—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_606">“The lady’s letter!—a dance, man, dance</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_607"> This night is given in Leesburg town”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_608"> “He’ll be there too!” wheezed out the Guide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_609"> “That Mosby loves a dance and ride!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s88"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_610">“The lady, ah!—the lady’s letter—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_611"> A <i>lady</i>, then, is in the case”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_612">Muttered the Major. “Ay, her aunt</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_613">Writes her to come by Friday eve</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_614"> (To-night), for people of the place,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_615"> At Mosby’s last fight jubilant,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_616"> A party give, though table-cheer be scant.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s89"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_617">The Major hemmed. “Then this night-ride</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_618"> We owe to her?—One lighted house</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_619">In a town else dark.—The moths, begar!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_620">Are not quite yet all dead!” “How? how”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_621"> “A mute, meek mournful little mouse!—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_622"> Mosby has wiles which subtle are—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_623"> But woman’s wiles in wiles of war!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s90"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_624">“Tut, Major! by what craft or guile—”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_625"> “Can’t tell! but he’ll be found in wait.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_626">Softly we enter, say, the town—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_627">Good! pickets post, and all so sure—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_628"> When—crack! the rifles from every gate,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_629"> The Gray-backs fire—dashes up and down—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_630"> Each alley unto Mosby known!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s91"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_631">“Now, Major, now—you take dark views</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_632"> Of a moonlight night.” “Well, well, we’ll see”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_633">And smoked as if each whiff were gain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_634">The other mused; then sudden asked,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_635"> “What would you do in grand decree”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_636"> I’d beat, if I could, Lee’s armies—then</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_637"> Send constables after Mosby’s men.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s92"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_638">“Ay! ay!—you’re odd.” The moon sailed up;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_639"> On through the shadowy land they went.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_640">“<i>Names must be made and printed be!</i>“</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_641">Hummed the blithe Colonel. “Doc, your flask!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_642"> Major, I drink to your good content.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_643"> My pipe is out—enough for me!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_644"> One’s buttons shine—does Mosby see?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s93"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_645">“But what comes here?” A man from the front</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_646"> Reported a tree athwart the road.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_647">“Go round it, then; no time to bide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_648">All right—go on! Were one to stay</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_649"> For each distrust of a nervous mood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_650"> Long miles we’d make in this our ride</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_651"> Through Mosby-land.—Oh! with the Guide!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s94"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_652">Then sportful to the Surgeon turned:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_653"> “Green sashes hardly serve by night”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_654">“Nor bullets nor bottles,” the Major sighed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_655">“Against these moccasin-snakes—such foes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_656"> As seldom come to solid fight:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_657"> They kill and vanish; through grass they glide;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_658"> Devil take Mosby!—” his horse here shied.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s95"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_659">“Hold! look—the tree, like a dragged balloon;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_660"> A globe of leaves—some trickery here;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_661">My nag is right—best now be shy”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_662">A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_663"> Little was plain—they blindly steer.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_664"> The Pleiads, as from ambush sly,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_665"> Peep out—Mosby’s men in the sky!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s96"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_666">As restive they turn, how sore they feel,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_667"> And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_668">And curse the war. “Fools, North and South”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_669">Said one right out. “O for a bed!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_670"> O now to drop in this woodland green”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_671"> He drops as the syllables leave his mouth—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_672"> Mosby speaks from the undergrowth—</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s97"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_673">Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_674"> Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_675">Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_676">“Steady—Dismount—form—and into the wood”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_677"> They go, but find what scarce can please:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_678"> Their steeds have been tied in the field behind,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_679"> And Mosby’s men are off like the wind.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s98"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_680">Sound the recall! vain to pursue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_681"> The enemy scatters in wilds he knows,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_682">To reunite in his own good time;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_683">And, to follow, they need divide—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_684"> To come lone and lost on crouching foes:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_685"> Maple and hemlock, beech and lime,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_686"> Are Mosby’s confederates, share the crime.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s99"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_687">“Major,” burst in a bugler small,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_688"> “The fellow we left in Loudon grass—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_689">Sir slyboots with the inward bruise,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_690">His voice I heard—the very same—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_691"> Some watchword in the ambush pass;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_692"> Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_693"> We caught him—Mosby—but to lose!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s100"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_694">“Go, go!—these saddle-dreamers! Well,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_695"> And here’s another.—Cool, sir, cool”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_696">“Major, I saw them mount and sweep,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_697">And one was humped, or I mistake,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_698"> And in the skurry dropped his wool”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_699"> “A wig! go fetch it:—the lads need sleep;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_700"> They’ll next see Mosby in a sheep!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s101"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_701">“Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_702"> All’s jackstraws here! Where’s Captain Morn?—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_703">We’ve parted like boats in a raging tide!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_704">But stay-the Colonel—did he charge?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_705"> And comes he there? ’Tis streak of dawn;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_706"> Mosby is off, the woods are wide—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_707"> Hist! there’s a groan—this crazy ride!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s102"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_708">As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_709"> They lay in the dew: “Ah! hurt much, Mink?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_710">And—yes—the Colonel!” Dead! but so calm</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_711">That death seemed nothing—even death,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_712"> The thing we deem every thing heart can think;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_713"> Amid wilding roses that shed their balm,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_714"> Careless of Mosby he lay—in a charm!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s103"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_715">The Major took him by the Hand—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_716"> Into the friendly clasp it bled</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_717">(A ball through heart and hand he rued):</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_718">“Good-by” and gazed with humid glance;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_719"> Then in a hollow revery said</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_720"> “The weakness thing is lustihood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_721"> But Mosby—” and he checked his mood.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s104"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_722">“Where’s the advance?—cut off, by heaven!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_723"> Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_724">“The ambulance will carry all”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_725">“Well, get them in; we go to camp.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_726"> Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_727"> Then to himself, “This grief is gall;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_728"> That Mosby!—I’ll cast a silver ball!”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s105"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_729">“Ho!” turning—“Captain Cloud, you mind</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_730"> The place where the escort went—so shady?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_731">Go search every closet low and high,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_732">And barn, and bin, and hidden bower—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_733"> Every covert—find that lady!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_734"> And yet I may misjudge her—ay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_735"> Women (like Mosby) mystify.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s106"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_736">“We’ll see. Ay, Captain, go—with speed!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_737"> Surround and search; each living thing</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_738">Secure; that done, await us where</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_739">We last turned off. Stay! fire the cage</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_740"> If the birds be flown.” By the cross-road spring</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_741"> The bands rejoined; no words; the glare</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_742"> Told all. Had Mosby plotted there?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s107"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_743">The weary troop that wended now—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_744"> Hardly it seemed the same that pricked</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_745">Forth to the forest from the camp:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_746">Foot-sore horses, jaded men;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_747"> Every backbone felt as nicked,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_748"> Each eye dim as a sick-room lamp,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_749"> All faces stamped with Mosby’s stamp.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s108"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_750">In order due the Major rode—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_751"> Chaplain and Surgeon on either hand;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_752">A riderless horse a negro led;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_753">In a wagon the blanketed sleeper went;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_754"> Then the ambulance with the bleeding band;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_755"> And, an emptied oat-bag on each head,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_756"> Went Mosby’s men, and marked the dead.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s109"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_757">What gloomed them? what so cast them down,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_758"> And changed the cheer that late they took,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_759">As double-guarded now they rode</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_760">Between the files of moody men?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_761"> Some sudden consciousness they brook,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_762"> Or dread the sequel. That night’s blood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_763"> Disturbed even Mosby’s brotherhood.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s110"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_764">The flagging horses stumbled at roots,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_765"> Floundered in mires, or clinked the stones;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_766">No rider spake except aside;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_767">But the wounded cramped in the ambulance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_768"> It was horror to hear their groans—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_769"> Jerked along in the woodland ride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_770"> While Mosby’s clan their revery hide.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s111"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_771">The Hospital Steward—even he—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_772"> Who on the sleeper kept his glance,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_773">Was changed; late bright-black beard and eye</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_774">Looked now hearse-black; his heavy heart,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_775"> Like his fagged mare, no more could dance;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_776"> His grape was now a raisin dry:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_777"> ’Tis Mosby’s homily—<i>Man must die</i>.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s112"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_778">The amber sunset flushed the camp</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_779"> As on the hill their eyes they fed;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_780">The pickets dumb looks at the wagon dart;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_781">A handkerchief waves from the bannered tent—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_782"> As white, alas! the face of the dead:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_783"> Who shall the withering news impart?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_784"> The bullet of Mosby goes through heart to heart!</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s113"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_785">They buried him where the lone ones lie</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_786"> (Lone sentries shot on midnight post)—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_787">A green-wood grave-yard hid from ken,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_788">Where sweet-fern flings an odor nigh—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_789"> Yet held in fear for the gleaming ghost!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_790"> Though the bride should see threescore and ten,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_791"> She will dream of Mosby and his men.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s114"> +<div class="line" id="poem70_792">Now halt the verse, and turn aside—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_793"> The cypress falls athwart the way;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_794">No joy remains for bard to sing;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_795">And heaviest dole of all is this,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_796"> That other hearts shall be as gay</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_797"> As hers that now no more shall spring:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem70_798"> To Mosby-land the dirges cling.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="part" id="lee"> +<h2>Lee in the Capitol.</h2> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem71"> +<h3>Lee in the Capitol.<a id="fnt24" href="#fn24"><sup>[24]</sup></a></h3> +<h5>(April, 1866.)</h5> + +<div class="note" id="fn24"> +<p><a href="#fnt24">[24]</a> Among those summoned during the spring just passed to appear before +the Reconstruction Committee of Congress was Robert E. Lee. His +testimony is deeply interesting, both in itself and as coming from him. +After various questions had been put and briefly answered, these words +were addressed to him:</p> + +<p>“If there be any other matter about which you wish to speak on this +occasions, do so freely.” Waiving this invitation, he responded by a +short personal explanation of some point in a previous answer, and after +a few more brief questions and replies, the interview closed.</p> + +<p>In the verse a poetical liberty has been ventured. Lee is not only +represented as responding to the invitation, but also as at last +renouncing his cold reserve, doubtless the cloak to feelings more or +less poignant. If for such freedom warrant be necessary the speeches in +ancient histories, not to speak of those in Shakespeare’s historic +plays, may not unfitly perhaps be cited.</p> + +<p>The character of the original measures proposed about time in the +National Legislature for the treatment of the (as yet) Congressionally +excluded South, and the spirit in which those measures were +advocated—these are circumstances which it is fairly supposable would +have deeply influenced the thoughts, whether spoken or withheld, of a +Southerner placed in the position of Lee before the Reconstruction +Committee.</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_1">Hard pressed by numbers in his strait,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_2"> Rebellion’s soldier-chief no more contends—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_3">Feels that the hour is come of Fate,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_4"> Lays down one sword, and widened warfare ends.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_5">The captain who fierce armies led</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_6">Becomes a quiet seminary’s head—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_7">Poor as his privates, earns his bread.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_8">In studious cares and aims engrossed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_9"> Strives to forget Stuart and Stonewall dead—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_10">Comrades and cause, station and riches lost,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_11"> And all the ills that flock when fortune’s fled.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_12">No word he breathes of vain lament,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_13"> Mute to reproach, nor hears applause—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_14">His doom accepts, perforce content,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_15"> And acquiesces in asserted laws;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_16">Secluded now would pass his life,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_17">And leave to time the sequel of the strife.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_18"> But missives from the Senators ran;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_19">Not that they now would gaze upon a swordless foe,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_20">And power made powerless and brought low:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_21"> Reasons of state, ’tis claimed, require the man.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_22">Demurring not, promptly he comes</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_23">By ways which show the blackened homes,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_24"> And—last—the seat no more his own,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_25">But Honor’s; patriot grave-yards fill</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_26">The forfeit slopes of that patrician hill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_27"> And fling a shroud on Arlington.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_28">The oaks ancestral all are low;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_29">No more from the porch his glance shall go</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_30">Ranging the varied landscape o’er,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_31">Far as the looming Dome—no more.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_32">One look he gives, then turns aside,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_33">Solace he summons from his pride:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_34">“So be it! They await me now</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_35">Who wrought this stinging overthrow;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_36">They wait me; not as on the day</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_37">Of Pope’s impelled retreat in disarray—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_38">By me impelled—when toward yon Dome</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_39">The clouds of war came rolling home”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_40">The burst, the bitterness was spent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_41">The heart-burst bitterly turbulent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_42">And on he fared.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_43"> In nearness now</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_44"> He marks the Capitol—a show</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_45">Lifted in amplitude, and set</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_46">With standards flushed with a glow of Richmond yet;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_47"> Trees and green terraces sleep below.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_48">Through the clear air, in sunny light,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_49">The marble dazes—a temple white.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_50">Intrepid soldier! had his blade been drawn</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_51">For yon stirred flag, never as now</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_52">Bid to the Senate-house had he gone,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_53">But freely, and in pageant borne,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_54">As when brave numbers without number, massed,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_55">Plumed the broad way, and pouring passed—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_56">Bannered, beflowered—between the shores</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_57">Of faces, and the dinn’d huzzas,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_58">And balconies kindling at the sabre-flash,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_59">’Mid roar of drums and guns, and cymbal-crash,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_60">While Grant and Sherman shone in blue—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_61">Close of the war and victory’s long review.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_62">Yet pride at hand still aidful swelled,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_63">And up the hard ascent he held.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_64">The meeting follows. In his mien</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_65">The victor and the vanquished both are seen—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_66">All that he is, and what he late had been.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_67">Awhile, with curious eyes they scan</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_68">The Chief who led invasion’s van—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_69">Allied by family to one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_70">Founder of the Arch the Invader warred upon:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_71">Who looks at Lee must think of Washington;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_72">In pain must think, and hide the thought,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_73">So deep with grievous meaning it is fraught.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_74">Secession in her soldier shows</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_75">Silent and patient; and they feel</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_76"> (Developed even in just success)</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_77">Dim inklings of a hazy future steal;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_78"> Their thoughts their questions well express:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_79">“Does the sad South still cherish hate?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_80">Freely will Southen men with Northern mate?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_81">The blacks—should we our arm withdraw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_82">Would that betray them? some distrust your law.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_83">And how if foreign fleets should come—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_84">Would the South then drive her wedges home”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_85">And more hereof. The Virginian sees—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_86">Replies to such anxieties.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_87">Discreet his answers run—appear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_88">Briefly straightforward, coldly clear.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_89">“If now,” the Senators, closing, say,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_90">“Aught else remain, speak out, we pray”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_91">Hereat he paused; his better heart</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_92">Strove strongly then; prompted a worthier part</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_93">Than coldly to endure his doom.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_94">Speak out? Ay, speak, and for the brave,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_95">Who else no voice or proxy have;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_96">Frankly their spokesman here become,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_97">And the flushed North from her own victory save.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_98">That inspiration overrode—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_99">Hardly it quelled the galling load</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_100">Of personal ill. The inner feud</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_101">He, self-contained, a while withstood;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_102">They waiting. In his troubled eye</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_103">Shadows from clouds unseen they spy;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_104">They could not mark within his breast</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_105">The pang which pleading thought oppressed:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_106">He spoke, nor felt the bitterness die.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_107">“My word is given—it ties my sword;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_108">Even were banners still abroad,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_109">Never could I strive in arms again</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_110">While you, as fit, that pledge retain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_111">Our cause I followed, stood in field and gate—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_112">All’s over now, and now I follow Fate.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_113">But this is naught. A People call—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_114">A desolted land, and all</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_115">The brood of ills that press so sore,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_116">The natural offspring of this civil war,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_117">Which ending not in fame, such as might rear</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_118">Fitly its sculptured trophy here,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_119">Yields harvest large of doubt and dread</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_120">To all who have the heart and head</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_121">To feel and know. How shall I speak?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_122">Thoughts knot with thoughts, and utterance check.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_123">Before my eyes there swims a haze,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_124">Through mists departed comrades gaze—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_125">First to encourage, last that shall upbraid!</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_126">How shall I speak? The South would fain</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_127">Feel peace, have quiet law again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_128">Replant the trees for homestead-shade.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_129"> You ask if she recants: she yields.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_130">Nay, and would more; would blend anew,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_131">As the bones of the slain in her forests do,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_132">Bewailed alike by us and you.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_133"> A voice comes out from these charnel-fields,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_134">A plaintive yet unheeded one:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_135"><i>‘Died all in vain? both sides undone’</i></div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_136">Push not your triumph; do not urge</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_137">Submissiveness beyond the verge.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_138">Intestine rancor would you bide,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_139">Nursing eleven sliding daggers in your side?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_140">Far from my thought to school or threat;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_141">I speak the things which hard beset.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_142">Where various hazards meet the eyes,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_143">To elect in magnanimity is wise.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_144">Reap victory’s fruit while sound the core;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_145">What sounder fruit than re-established law?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_146">I know your partial thoughts do press</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_147">Solely on us for war’s unhappy stress;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_148">But weigh—consider—look at all,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_149">And broad anathema you’ll recall.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_150">The censor’s charge I’ll not repeat,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_151">The meddlers kindled the war’s white heat—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_152">Vain intermeddlers and malign,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_153">Both of the palm and of the pine;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_154">I waive the thought—which never can be rife—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_155">Common’s the crime in every civil strife:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_156">But this I feel, that North and South were driven</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_157">By Fate to arms. For our unshriven,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_158">What thousands, truest souls, were tried—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_159"> As never may any be again—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_160">All those who stemmed Secession’s pride,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_161">But at last were swept by the urgent tide</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_162"> Into the chasm. I know their pain.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_163">A story here may be applied:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_164">‘In Moorish lands there lived a maid</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_165"> Brought to confess by vow the creed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_166"> Of Christians. Fain would priests persuade</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_167">That now she must approve by deed</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_168"> The faith she kept. “What dead?” she asked.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_169">“Your old sire leave, nor deem it sin,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_170"> And come with us.” Still more they tasked</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_171">The sad one: “If heaven you’d win—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_172"> Far from the burning pit withdraw,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_173">Then must you learn to hate your kin,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_174"> Yea, side against them—such the law,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_175">For Moor and Christian are at war”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_176">“Then will I never quit my sire,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_177">But here with him through every trial go,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_178">Nor leave him though in flames below—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_179">God help me in his fire!”</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_180">So in the South; vain every plea</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_181">’Gainst Nature’s strong fidelity;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_182"> True to the home and to the heart,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_183">Throngs cast their lot with kith and kin,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_184"> Foreboding, cleaved to the natural part—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_185">Was this the unforgivable sin?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_186">These noble spirits are yet yours to win.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_187">Shall the great North go Sylla’s way?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_188">Proscribe? prolong the evil day?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_189">Confirm the curse? infix the hate?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_190">In Unions name forever alienate?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_191">“From reason who can urge the plea—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_192">Freemen conquerors of the free?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_193">When blood returns to the shrunken vein,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_194">Shall the wound of the Nation bleed again?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_195">Well may the wars wan thought supply,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_196">And kill the kindling of the hopeful eye,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_197">Unless you do what even kings have done</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_198">In leniency—unless you shun</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_199">To copy Europe in her worst estate—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_200">Avoid the tyranny you reprobate.”</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_201">He ceased. His earnestness unforeseen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_202">Moved, but not swayed their former mien;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_203"> And they dismissed him. Forth he went</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_204">Through vaulted walks in lengthened line</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_205">Like porches erst upon the Palatine:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_206"> Historic reveries their lesson lent,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_207"> The Past her shadow through the Future sent.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s11"> +<div class="line" id="poem71_208">But no. Brave though the Soldier, grave his plea—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_209"> Catching the light in the future’s skies,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_210">Instinct disowns each darkening prophecy:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_211"> Faith in America never dies;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_212">Heaven shall the end ordained fulfill,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem71_213">We march with Providence cheery still.</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="part" id="meditation"> +<h2>A Meditation:</h2> + +<h3>Attributed to a northerner after attending the last of two funerals +from the same homestead—those of a national and a confederate +officer (brothers), his kinsmen, who had died from the effects of +wounds received in the closing battles.</h3> +</div> + + +<div class="poem" id="poem72"> +<h3>A Meditation.</h3> + + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s1"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_1">How often in the years that close,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_2"> When truce had stilled the sieging gun,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_3">The soldiers, mounting on their works,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_4"> With mutual curious glance have run</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_5">From face to face along the fronting show,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_6">And kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s2"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_7">What thoughts conflicting then were shared.</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_8"> While sacred tenderness perforce</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_9">Welled from the heart and wet the eye;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_10"> And something of a strange remorse</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_11">Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_12">And Christian wars of natural brotherhood.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s3"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_13">Then stirred the god within the breast—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_14"> The witness that is man’s at birth;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_15">A deep misgiving undermined</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_16"> Each plea and subterfuge of earth;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_17">The felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_18">Horror and anguish for the civil strife.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s4"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_19">Of North or South they recked not then,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_20"> Warm passion cursed the cause of war:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_21">Can Africa pay back this blood</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_22"> Spilt on Potomac’s shore?</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_23">Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_24">And hands that fain had clasped again could slay.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s5"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_25">How frequent in the camp was seen</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_26"> The herald from the hostile one,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_27">A guest and frank companion there</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_28"> When the proud formal talk was done;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_29">The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_30">And fields in Mexico again fought o’er.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s6"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_31">In Western battle long they lay</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_32"> So near opposed in trench or pit,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_33">That foeman unto foeman called</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_34"> As men who screened in tavern sit:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_35">“You bravely fight” each to the other said—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_36">“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s7"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_37">And pale on those same slopes, a boy—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_38"> A stormer, bled in noon-day glare;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_39">No aid the Blue-coats then could bring,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_40"> He cried to them who nearest were,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_41">And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_42">A daring foe who him befriended well.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s8"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_43">Mark the great Captains on both sides,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_44"> The soldiers with the broad renown—</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_45">They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_46"> Beneath one roof they laid them down;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_47">And free from hate in many an after pass,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_48">Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class.</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s9"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_49">A darker side there is; but doubt</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_50"> In Nature’s charity hovers there:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_51">If men for new agreement yearn,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_52"> Then old upbraiding best forbear:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_53">“<i>The South’s the sinner!</i>“ Well, so let it be;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_54">But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee?</div> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s10"> +<div class="line" id="poem72_55">O, now that brave men yield the sword,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_56"> Mine be the manful soldier-view;</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_57">By how much more they boldly warred,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_58"> By so much more is mercy due:</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_59">When Vickburg fell, and the moody files marched out,</div> +<div class="line" id="poem72_60">Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout.</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="section" id="supplement"> +<h3>Supplement.</h3> + + +<p>Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism—not free +from solicitude—urges a claim overriding all literary scruples.</p> + +<p>It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheavel affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion to +spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who shall +hymn the politicians?</p> + +<p>In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen.</p> + +<p>And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which +time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast.</p> + +<p>There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered by a cause not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much.</p> + +<p>Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all practical +purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of civil war to +feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; that both now lie +buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and that +together we comprise the Nation.</p> + +<p>The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it +was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people of +the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man.</p> + +<p>Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and +upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea—a +renown which we of the North could not suppress even if we would. In +personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the South +enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from +disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can respect. +Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from our +passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV. could out of the +graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the +great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty, +Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout at Preston +Pans—Upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign removed has set +a price—is it probable that the grandchildren of General Grant will +pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall +Jackson?</p> + +<p>But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies +which record the deeds of her chieftains—writings freely published at +the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though +saddened interest. By students of the war such works are hailed as +welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the record.</p> + +<p>Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers +of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd +felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through their +fidelity to the Stuarts—a feeling whose passion was tempered by the +poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to the +Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed excellent +things to literature. But, setting this view aside, dishonorable would +it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the memory of +brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her +behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray.</p> + +<p>Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast.</p> + +<p>Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of a poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied—an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry +or patriotism.</p> + +<p>There were excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities—exalted ones—courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be +held the characteristic traits, and not the former.</p> + +<p>In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumph, so far as it +may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity.</p> + +<p>Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men—few in number, we trust—who have resolved never +to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts every thing is thrown away +except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them +call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with +impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a +little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his own +heart at Richmond.</p> + +<p>Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos—a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity.</p> + +<p>How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though to +treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth—namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating strength +and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other side, on +ours might have lain those actions which now in our late opponents we +stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us own—what it +would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned—that our +triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior resources +and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a people for +years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we) were +the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with ourselves, +share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may possess. No one +can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat has now cast upon +Secession by withholding the recognition of these verities.</p> + +<p>Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which law-making, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy—Christianity and +Machiavelli—dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate +fellow-men late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be +wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those attested in the +War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them nationally +available at need.</p> + +<p>The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the +interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and +benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to exclude +kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For the +future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future of +the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a paramount +claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, is not +narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, it is +vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the +situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor +theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved. +And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length +attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we +still turn our eyes toward the South, as the Neapolitan, months after +the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may +be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has the crater but shifted? Let +us revere that sacred uncertainty which forever impends over men and +nations. Those of us who always abhorred slavery as an atheistical +iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of humanity over its +downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was accomplished not +by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence could so +mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the +benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of +dubious constitutional rightfulness toward our white +countrymen—measures of a nature to provoke, among other of the last +evils, exterminating hatred of race toward race. In imagination let us +place ourselves in the unprecedented position of the Southerners—their +position as regards the millions of ignorant manumitted slaves in their +midst, for whom some of us now claim the suffrage. Let us be Christians +toward our fellow-whites, as well as philanthropists toward the blacks +our fellow-men. In all things, and toward all, we are enjoined to do as +we would be done by. Nor should we forget that benevolent desires, after +passing a certain point, can not undertake their own fulfillment without +incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be remedied. +Something may well be left to the graduated care of future legislation, +and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two races in +the South—whether the negro be bond or free—seems (even as it did to +Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of +the reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present +transition period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble +may not unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too +swift to charge the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain +evils men must be more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent +digestion, and may in time convert and assimilate to good all elements +thrown in, however originally alien.</p> + +<p>But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent +Re-establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent.</p> + +<p>But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land—what then? Why the Congressman elected by the +people of the South will—represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itelf can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly with +the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than +the South, for the North is victor.</p> + +<p>But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath opertively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This +is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted +fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo alteration, +assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission into the +National Legislature of men who represent the populations lately in +revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the principles of +democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the political +existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be +ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the +Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in +democracy.</p> + +<p>In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is any thing here +thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem +natural—inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves +to many thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long +they must have that weight with the public which already they have had +with individuals.</p> + +<p>For that heroic band—those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials—we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet +passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic +in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to +discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side.</p> + +<p>Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity.</p> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BATTLE-PIECES AND ASPECTS OF THE WAR ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: May 19, 2004 [EBook #12384] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASPECTS OF WAR *** + + + + +Produced by David Maddock + + + + +Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War. + +By Herman Melville. + + + +1866. + + + + +The Battle-Pieces in this volume are dedicated to the memory of the +THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND who in the war for the maintenance of the Union +fell devotedly under the flag of their fathers. + + + +[With few exceptions, the Pieces in this volume originated in an impulse +imparted by the fall of Richmond. They were composed without reference +to collective arrangement, but being brought together in review, +naturally fall into the order assumed. + +The events and incidents of the conflict--making up a whole, in varied +amplitude, corresponding with the geographical area covered by the +war--from these but a few themes have been taken, such as for any cause +chanced to imprint themselves upon the mind. + +The aspects which the strife as a memory assumes are as manifold as are +the moods of involuntary meditation--moods variable, and at times widely +at variance. Yielding instinctively, one after another, to feelings not +inspired from any one source exclusively, and unmindful, without +purposing to be, of consistency, I seem, in most of these verses, to +have but placed a harp in a window, and noted the contrasted airs which +wayward wilds have played upon the strings.] + + + +The Portent. +(1859.) + + +Hanging from the beam, + Slowly swaying (such the law), +Gaunt the shadow on your green, + Shenandoah! +The cut is on the crown +(Lo, John Brown), +And the stabs shall heal no more. + +Hidden in the cap + Is the anguish none can draw; +So your future veils its face, + Shenandoah! +But the streaming beard is shown +(Weird John Brown), +The meteor of the the war. + + + +Misgivings. +(1860.) + + + When ocean-clouds over inland hills + Sweep storming in late autumn brown, + And horror the sodden valley fills, + And the spire falls crashing in the town, + I muse upon my country's ills-- + The tempest bursting from the waste of Time +On the world's fairest hope linked with man's foulest crime. + + Nature's dark side is heeded now-- + (Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown)-- + A child may read the moody brow + Of yon black mountain lone. + With shouts the torrents down the gorges go, + And storms are formed behind the storm we feel: +The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel. + + + +The Conflict of Convictions.[1] +(1860-1.) + + +On starry heights + A bugle wails the long recall; +Derision stirs the deep abyss, + Heaven's ominous silence over all. +Return, return, O eager Hope, + And face man's latter fall. +Events, they make the dreamers quail; +Satan's old age is strong and hale, +A disciplined captain, gray in skill, +And Raphael a white enthusiast still; +Dashed aims, at which Christ's martyrs pale, +Shall Mammon's slaves fulfill? + + (_Dismantle the fort, + Cut down the fleet-- + Battle no more shall be! + While the fields for fight in ons to come + Congeal beneath the sea._) + +The terrors of truth and dart of death + To faith alike are vain; +Though comets, gone a thousand years, + Return again, +Patient she stands--she can no more-- +And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar. + + (_At a stony gate, + A statue of stone, + Weed overgrown-- + Long 'twill wait!_) + +But God his former mind retains, + Confirms his old decree; +The generations are inured to pains, + And strong Necessity +Surges, and heaps Time's strand with wrecks. + The People spread like a weedy grass, + The thing they will they bring to pass, +And prosper to the apoplex. +The rout it herds around the heart, + The ghost is yielded in the gloom; +Kings wag their heads--Now save thyself + Who wouldst rebuild the world in bloom. + + (_Tide-mark + And top of the ages' strike, + Verge where they called the world to come, + The last advance of life-- + Ha ha, the rust on the Iron Dome!_) + +Nay, but revere the hid event; + In the cloud a sword is girded on, +I mark a twinkling in the tent + Of Michael the warrior one. +Senior wisdom suits not now, +The light is on the youthful brow. + + (_Ay, in caves the miner see: + His forehead bears a blinking light; + Darkness so he feebly braves-- + A meagre wight!_) + +But He who rules is old--is old; +Ah! faith is warm, but heaven with age is cold. + + (_Ho ho, ho ho, + The cloistered doubt + Of olden times + Is blurted out!_) + +The Ancient of Days forever is young, + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; +I know a wind in purpose strong-- + It spins _against_ the way it drives. +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare? +So deep must the stones be hurled +Whereon the throes of ages rear +The final empire and the happier world. + + (_The poor old Past, + The Future's slave, + She drudged through pain and crime + To bring about the blissful Prime, + Then--perished. There's a grave!_) + + Power unanointed may come-- +Dominion (unsought by the free) + And the Iron Dome, +Stronger for stress and strain, +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main; +But the Founders' dream shall flee. +Agee after age shall be +As age after age has been, +(From man's changeless heart their way they win); + +And death be busy with all who strive-- +Death, with silent negative. + + YEA, AND NAY-- + EACH HATH HIS SAY; + BUT GOD HE KEEPS THE MIDDLE WAY. + NONE WAS BY + WHEN HE SPREAD THE SKY; + WISDOM IS VAIN, AND PROPHESY. + + + +Apathy and Enthusiasm. +(1860-1.) + + +I + +O the clammy cold November, + And the winter white and dead, +And the terror dumb with stupor, + And the sky a sheet of lead; +And events that came resounding + With the cry that _All was lost_, +Like the thunder-cracks of massy ice + In intensity of frost-- +Bursting one upon another + Through the horror of the calm. + The paralysis of arm +In the anguish of the heart; +And the hollowness and dearth. + The appealings of the mother + To brother and to brother +Not in hatred so to part-- +And the fissure in the hearth + Growing momently more wide. +Then the glances 'tween the Fates, + And the doubt on every side, +And the patience under gloom +In the stoniness that waits +The finality of doom. + + +II + +So the winter died despairing, + And the weary weeks of Lent; +And the ice-bound rivers melted, + And the tomb of Faith was rent. +O, the rising of the People + Came with springing of the grass, +They rebounded from dejection + And Easter came to pass. +And the young were all elation + Hearing Sumter's cannon roar, +And they thought how tame the Nation + In the age that went before. +And Michael seemed gigantical, + The Arch-fiend but a dwarf; +And at the towers of Erebus + Our striplings flung the scoff. +But the elders with foreboding + Mourned the days forever o'er, +And re called the forest proverb, + The Iroquois' old saw: +_Grief to every graybeard + When young Indians lead the war._ + + + +The March into Virginia, +Ending in the First Manassas. +(July, 1861.) + + +Did all the lets and bars appear + To every just or larger end, +Whence should come the trust and cheer? + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend-- +Age finds place in the rear. + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys, +The champions and enthusiasts of the state: + Turbid ardors and vain joys + Not barrenly abate-- + Stimulants to the power mature, + Preparatives of fate. + +Who here forecasteth the event? +What heart but spurns at precedent +And warnings of the wise, +Contemned foreclosures of surprise? + +The banners play, the bugles call, +The air is blue and prodigal. + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed, +No picnic party in the May, +Ever went less loth than they + Into that leafy neighborhood. +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate, +Moloch's uninitiate; +Expectancy, and glad surmise +Of battle's unknown mysteries. +All they feel is this: 'tis glory, +A rapture sharp, though transitory, +Yet lasting in belaureled story. +So they gayly go to fight, +Chatting left and laughing right. + +But some who this blithe mood present, + As on in lightsome files they fare, +Shall die experienced ere three days are spent-- + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare; +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, + The throe of Second Manassas share. + + + +Lyon. +Battle of Springfield, Missouri. +(August, 1861.) + + +Some hearts there are of deeper sort, + Prophetic, sad, +Which yet for cause are trebly clad; + Known death they fly on: +This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon. + +"They are more than twenty thousand strong, + We less than five, +Too few with such a host to strive" + "Such counsel, fie on! +'Tis battle, or 'tis shame;" and firm stood Lyon. + +"For help at need in van we wait-- + Retreat or fight: +Retreat the foe would take for flight, + And each proud scion +Feel more elate; the end must come," said Lyon. + +By candlelight he wrote the will, + And left his all +To Her for whom 'twas not enough to fall; + Loud neighed Orion +Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon. + +The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale + With guard-fires lit; +Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it: + "A field to die on" +Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon. + +We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn-- + Fate seemed malign; +His horse the Leader led along the line-- + Star-browed Orion; +Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon. + +There came a sound like the slitting of air + By a swift sharp sword-- +A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad + Of black Orion +Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon. + +"General, you're hurt--this sleet of balls!" + He seemed half spent; +With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent: + "The field to die on; +But not--not yet; the day is long," breathed Lyon. + +For a time becharmed there fell a lull + In the heart of the fight; +The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light; + Warm noon-winds sigh on, +And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon. + +Texans and Indians trim for a charge: + "Stand ready, men! +Let them come close, right up, and then + After the lead, the iron; +Fire, and charge back!" So strength returned to Lyon. + +The Iowa men who held the van, + Half drilled, were new +To battle: "Some one lead us, then we'll do" + Said Corporal Tryon: +"Men! _I_ will lead," and a light glared in Lyon. + +On they came: they yelped, and fired; + His spirit sped; +We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled, + Nor stayed the iron, +Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon. + +This seer foresaw his soldier-doom, + Yet willed the fight. +He never turned; his only flight + Was up to Zion, +Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon. + + + +Ball's Bluff. +A Reverie. +(October, 1861.) + + +One noonday, at my window in the town, + I saw a sight--saddest that eyes can see-- + Young soldiers marching lustily + Unto the wars, +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; + While all the porches, walks, and doors +Were rich with ladies cheering royally. + +They moved like Juny morning on the wave, + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime + (It was the breezy summer time), + Life throbbed so strong, +How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime + Would come to thin their shining throng? +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. + +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed, + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, + On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); + Some marching feet +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; + Wakeful I mused, while in the street +Far footfalls died away till none were left. + + + +Dupont's Round Fight. +(November, 1861.) + + +In time and measure perfect moves + All Art whose aim is sure; +Evolving ryhme and stars divine + Have rules, and they endure. + +Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right, + And, warring so, prevailed, +In geometric beauty curved, + And in an orbit sailed. + +The rebel at Port Royal felt + The Unity overawe, +And rued the spell. A type was here, + And victory of Law. + + + +The Stone Fleet.[2] +An Old Sailor's Lament. +(December, 1861.) + + +I have a feeling for those ships, + Each worn and ancient one, +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam; + Ay, it was unkindly done. + But so they serve the Obsolete-- + Even so, Stone Fleet! + +You'll say I'm doting; do but think + I scudded round the Horn in one-- +The Tenedos, a glorious + Good old craft as ever run-- + Sunk (how all unmeet!) + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +An India ship of fame was she, + Spices and shawls and fans she bore; +A whaler when her wrinkles came-- + Turned off! till, spent and poor, + Her bones were sold (escheat)! + Ah! Stone Fleet. + +Four were erst patrician keels + (Names attest what families be), +The Kensington, and Richmond too, + Leonidas, and Lee: + But now they have their seat + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- + Sack them, and dismast; +They sunk so slow, they died so hard, + But gurgling dropped at last. + Their ghosts in gales repeat + _Woe's us, Stone Fleet!_ + +And all for naught. The waters pass-- + Currents will have their way; +Nature is nobody's ally; 'tis well; + The harbor is bettered--will stay. + A failure, and complete, + Was your Old Stone Fleet. + + + +Donelson. +(February, 1862.) + + +The bitter cup + Of that hard countermand +Which gave the Envoys up, +Still was wormwood in the mouth, + And clouds involved the land, +When, pelted by sleet in the icy street, + About the bulletin-board a band +Of eager, anxious people met, +And every wakeful heart was set +On latest news from West or South. +"No seeing here," cries one--"don't crowd--" +"You tall man, pray you, read aloud." + +IMPORTANT. + _We learn that General Grant, + Marching from Henry overland, +And joined by a force up the Cumberland sent + (Some thirty thousand the command), +On Wednesday a good position won-- +Began the siege of Donelson. + +The stronghold crowns a river-bluff, + A good broad mile of leveled top; +Inland the ground rolls off + Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up-- +A wilderness of trees and brush. + The spaded summit shows the roods +Of fixed intrenchments in their hush; + Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods +Perplex the base.-- + The welcome weather + Is clear and mild; 'tis much like May. +The ancient boughs that lace together +Along the stream, and hang far forth, + Strange with green mistletoe, betray +A dreamy contrast to the North. + +Our troops are full of spirits--say + The siege won't prove a creeping one. +They purpose not the lingering stay +Of old beleaguerers; not that way; + But, full of _vim_ from Western prairies won, + They'll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson._ + +Washed by the storm till the paper grew +Every shade of a streaky blue, +That bulletin stood. The next day brought +A second. + + +LATER FROM THE FORT. +_Grant's investment is complete-- + A semicircular one. +Both wings the Cumberland's margin meet, +Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat. + On Wednesday this good work was done; + But of the doers some lie prone. +Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for; +The bold inclosing line we wrought for +Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost +A limb or life. But back we forced +Reserves and all; made good our hold; +And so we rest. + + Events unfold. +On Thursday added ground was won, + A long bold steep: we near the Den. +Later the foe came shouting down + In sortie, which was quelled; and then +We stormed them on their left. +A chilly change in the afternoon; +The sky, late clear, is now bereft +Of sun. Last night the ground froze hard-- +Rings to the enemy as they run +Within their works. A ramrod bites +The lip it meets. The cold incites +To swinging of arms with brisk rebound. +Smart blows 'gainst lusty chests resound. + +Along the outer line we ward + A crackle of skirmishing goes on. +Our lads creep round on hand and knee, + They fight from behind each trunk and stone; + And sometimes, flying for refuge, one +Finds 'tis an enemy shares the tree. +Some scores are maimed by boughs shot off + In the glades by the Fort's big gun. + We mourn the loss of colonel Morrison, + Killed while cheering his regiment on. +Their far sharpshooters try our stuff; +And ours return them puff for puff: +'Tis diamond-cutting-diamond work. + Woe on the rebel cannoneer +Who shows his head. Our fellows lurk + Like Indians that waylay the deer +By the wild salt-spring.--The sky is dun, +Fordooming the fall of Donelson. + +Stern weather is all unwonted here. + The people of the country own +We brought it. Yea, the earnest North +Has elementally issued forth + To storm this Donelson._ + +FURTHER. + A yelling rout +Of ragamuffins broke profuse + To-day from out the Fort. + Sole uniform they wore, a sort +Of patch, or white badge (as you choose) + Upon the arm. But leading these, +Or mingling, were men of face +And bearing of patrician race, +Splendid in courage and gold lace-- + The officers. Before the breeze +Made by their charge, down went our line; +But, rallying, charged back in force, +And broke the sally; yet with loss. +This on the left; upon the right +Meanwhile there was an answering fight; + Assailants and assailed reversed. +The charge too upward, and not down-- +Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown, + A strong redoubt. But they who first +Gained the fort's base, and marked the trees +Felled, heaped in horned perplexities, + And shagged with brush; and swarming there +Fierce wasps whose sting was present death-- +They faltered, drawing bated breath, + And felt it was in vain to dare; +Yet still, perforce, returned the ball, +Firing into the tangled wall +Till ordered to come down. They came; +But left some comrades in their fame, +Red on the ridge in icy wreath +And hanging gardens of cold Death. + But not quite unavenged these fell; +Our ranks once out of range, a blast + Of shrapnel and quick shell +Burst on the rebel horde, still massed, + Scattering them pell-mell. + (This fighting--judging what we read-- + Both charge and countercharge, + Would seem but Thursday's told at large, + Before in brief reported.--Ed.) +Night closed in about the Den + Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains. +A night not soon to be forgot, + Reviving old rheumatic pains +And longings for a cot. + + No blankets, overcoats, or tents. +Coats thrown aside on the warm march here-- +We looked not then for changeful cheer; +Tents, coats, and blankets too much care. + No fires; a fire a mark presents; + Near by, the trees show bullet-dents. +Rations were eaten cold and raw. + The men well soaked, come snow; and more-- +A midnight sally. Small sleeping done-- + But such is war; +No matter, we'll have Fort Donelson._ + + "Ugh! ugh! +'Twill drag along--drag along" +Growled a cross patriot in the throng, +His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover +Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over. +"Hurrah for Grant!" cried a stripling shrill; +Three urchins joined him with a will, +And some of taller stature cheered. +Meantime a Copperhead passed; he sneered. + "Win or lose," he pausing said, +"Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys; +Any thing to make a noise. + Like to see the list of the dead; +These '_craven Southerners_' hold out; +Ay, ay, they'll give you many a bout" + "We'll beat in the end, sir" +Firmly said one in staid rebuke, +A solid merchant, square and stout. + "And do you think it? that way tend, sir" +Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look +Of splenetic pity. "Yes, I do" +His yellow death's head the croaker shook: +"The country's ruined, that I know" +A shower of broken ice and snow, + In lieu of words, confuted him; +They saw him hustled round the corner go, + And each by-stander said--Well suited him. + +Next day another crowd was seen +In the dark weather's sleety spleen. +Bald-headed to the storm came out +A man, who, 'mid a joyous shout, +Silently posted this brief sheet: + +GLORIOUS VICTORY OF THE FLEET! + +FRIDAY'S GREAT EVENT! + +THE ENEMY'S WATER-BATTERIES BEAT! + +WE SILENCED EVERY GUN! + +THE OLD COMMODORE'S COMPLIMENTS SENT +PLUMP INTO DONELSON! + +"Well, well, go on!" exclaimed the crowd +To him who thus much read aloud. +"That's all," he said. "What! nothing more" +"Enough for a cheer, though--hip, hurrah!" +"But here's old Baldy come again--" +"More news!"--And now a different strain. + +(Our own reporter a dispatch compiles, + As best he may, from varied sources.) + +Large re-enforcements have arrived-- + Munitions, men, and horses-- +For Grant, and all debarked, with stores. + + The enemy's field-works extend six miles-- +The gate still hid; so well contrived. + +Yesterday stung us; frozen shores + Snow-clad, and through the drear defiles + +And over the desolate ridges blew +A Lapland wind. + The main affair + Was a good two hours' steady fight +Between our gun-boats and the Fort. + The Louisville's wheel was smashed outright. +A hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound ball +Came planet-like through a starboard port, +Killing three men, and wounding all +The rest of that gun's crew, +(The captain of the gun was cut in two); +Then splintering and ripping went-- +Nothing could be its continent. + In the narrow stream the Louisville, +Unhelmed, grew lawless; swung around, + And would have thumped and drifted, till +All the fleet was driven aground, +But for the timely order to retire. + +Some damage from our fire, 'tis thought, +Was done the water-batteries of the Fort. + +Little else took place that day, + Except the field artillery in line +Would now and then--for love, they say-- + Exchange a valentine. +The old sharpshooting going on. +Some plan afoot as yet unknown; +So Friday closed round Donelson. + +LATER. + Great suffering through the night-- +A stinging one. Our heedless boys + Were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen + Hapless wounded men were frozen. +During day being struck down out of sight, +And help-cries drowned in roaring noise, +They were left just where the skirmish shifted-- +Left in dense underbrush now-drifted. +Some, seeking to crawl in crippled plight, +So stiffened--perished. + Yet in spite +Of pangs for these, no heart is lost. +Hungry, and clothing stiff with frost, +Our men declare a nearing sun +Shall see the fall of Donelson. + And this they say, yet not disown +The dark redoubts round Donelson, + And ice-glazed corpses, each a stone-- + A sacrifice to Donelson; +They swear it, and swerve not, gazing on +A flag, deemed black, flying from Donelson. +Some of the wounded in the wood + Were cared for by the foe last night, +Though he could do them little needed good, + Himself being all in shivering plight. +The rebel is wrong, but human yet; +He's got a heart, and thrusts a bayonet. +He gives us battle with wondrous will-- +The bluff's a perverted Bunker Hill._ + +The stillness stealing through the throng +The silent thought and dismal fear revealed; + They turned and went, + Musing on right and wrong + And mysteries dimly sealed-- +Breasting the storm in daring discontent; +The storm, whose black flag showed in heaven, +As if to say no quarter there was given + To wounded men in wood, + Or true hearts yearning for the good-- +All fatherless seemed the human soul. +But next day brought a bitterer bowl-- + On the bulletin-board this stood; + + _Saturday morning at 3 A.M. + A stir within the Fort betrayed + That the rebels were getting under arms; + Some plot these early birds had laid. + But a lancing sleet cut him who stared + Into the storm. After some vague alarms, + Which left our lads unscared, + Out sallied the enemy at dim of dawn, + With cavalry and artillery, and went + In fury at our environment. + Under cover of shot and shell + Three columns of infantry rolled on, + Vomited out of Donelson-- + Rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell, + Surged at our line, and swelled and poured + Like breaking surf. But unsubmerged + Our men stood up, except where roared + The enemy through one gap. We urged + Our all of manhood to the stress, + But still showed shattered in our desperateness. + Back set the tide, + But soon afresh rolled in; + And so it swayed from side to side-- + Far batteries joining in the din, + Though sharing in another fray-- + Till all became an Indian fight, + Intricate, dusky, stretching far away, + Yet not without spontaneous plan + However tangled showed the plight; + Duels all over 'tween man and man, + Duels on cliff-side, and down in ravine, + Duels at long range, and bone to bone; + Duels every where flitting and half unseen. + Only by courage good as their own, + And strength outlasting theirs, + Did our boys at last drive the rebels off. + Yet they went not back to their distant lairs + In strong-hold, but loud in scoff + Maintained themselves on conquered ground-- + Uplands; built works, or stalked around. + Our right wing bore this onset. Noon + Brought calm to Donelson. + +The reader ceased; the storm beat hard; + 'Twas day, but the office-gas was lit; + Nature retained her sulking-fit, + In her hand the shard. +Flitting faces took the hue +Of that washed bulletin-board in view, +And seemed to bear the public grief +As private, and uncertain of relief; +Yea, many an earnest heart was won, + As broodingly he plodded on, +To find in himself some bitter thing, +Some hardness in his lot as harrowing + As Donelson. + +That night the board stood barren there, + Oft eyes by wistful people passing, + Who nothing saw but the rain-beads chasing +Each other down the wafered square, +As down some storm-beat grave-yard stone. +But next day showed-- + + MORE NEWS LAST NIGHT. + + +STORY OF SATURDAY AFTERNOON. + +VICISSITUDES OF THE WAR. + + _The damaged gun-boats can't wage fight +For days; so says the Commodore. +Thus no diversion can be had. +Under a sunless sky of lead + Our grim-faced boys in blacked plight +Gaze toward the ground they held before, +And then on Grant. He marks their mood, +And hails it, and will turn the same to good. +Spite all that they have undergone, +Their desperate hearts are set upon +This winter fort, this stubborn fort, +This castle of the last resort, + This Donelson. + +1 P.M. + + An order given + Requires withdrawal from the front + Of regiments that bore the brunt +Of morning's fray. Their ranks all riven +Are being replaced by fresh, strong men. +Great vigilance in the foeman's Den; +He snuffs the stormers. Need it is +That for that fell assault of his, +That rout inflicted, and self-scorn-- +Immoderate in noble natures, torn +By sense of being through slackness overborne-- +The rebel be given a quick return: +The kindest face looks now half stern. +Balked of their prey in airs that freeze, +Some fierce ones glare like savages. +And yet, and yet, strange moments are-- +Well--blood, and tears, and anguished War! +The morning's battle-ground is seen + In lifted glades, like meadows rare; + The blood-drops on the snow-crust there +Like clover in the white-week show-- + Flushed fields of death, that call again-- + Call to our men, and not in vain, +For that way must the stormers go. + +3 P.M. + + The work begins. +Light drifts of men thrown forward, fade + In skirmish-line along the slope, +Where some dislodgments must be made + Ere the stormer with the strong-hold cope. + +Lew Wallace, moving to retake +The heights late lost-- + (Herewith a break. + Storms at the West derange the wires. +Doubtless, ere morning, we shall hear +The end; we look for news to cheer-- + Let Hope fan all her fires.)_ + + +Next day in large bold hand was seen +The closing bulletin: + +VICTORY! + _Our troops have retrieved the day +By one grand surge along the line; +The spirit that urged them was divine. + The first works flooded, naught could stay +The stormers: on! still on! +Bayonets for Donelson! + +Over the ground that morning lost +Rolled the blue billows, tempest-tossed, + Following a hat on the point of a sword. +Spite shell and round-shot, grape and canister, +Up they climbed without rail or banister-- + Up the steep hill-sides long and broad, +Driving the rebel deep within his works. +'Tis nightfall; not an enemy lurks + In sight. The chafing men + Fret for more fight: + "To-night, to-night let us take the Den" +But night is treacherous, Grant is wary; +Of brave blood be a little chary. +Patience! the Fort is good as won; +To-morrow, and into Donelson._ + +LATER AND LAST. + + THE FORT IS OURS. + + _A flag came out at early morn +Bringing surrender. From their towers + Floats out the banner late their scorn. +In Dover, hut and house are full + Of rebels dead or dying. + The national flag is flying +From the crammed court-house pinnacle. +Great boat-loads of our wounded go +To-day to Nashville. The sleet-winds blow; +But all is right: the fight is won, +The winter-fight for Donelson. + Hurrah! +The spell of old defeat is broke, + The Habit of victory begun; +Grant strikes the war's first sounding stroke + At Donelson. + +For lists of killed and wounded, see +The morrow's dispatch: to-day 'tis victory._ + +The man who read this to the crowd + Shouted as the end he gained; + And though the unflagging tempest rained, + They answered him aloud. +And hand grasped hand, and glances met +In happy triumph; eyes grew wet. +O, to the punches brewed that night +Went little water. Windows bright +Beamed rosy on the sleet without, +And from the deep street came the frequent shout; +While some in prayer, as these in glee, +Blessed heaven for the winter-victory. + +But others were who wakeful laid + In midnight beds, and early rose, + And, feverish in the foggy snows, +Snatched the damp paper--wife and maid. + The death-list like a river flows + Down the pale sheet, +And there the whelming waters meet. + + Ah God! may Time with happy haste + Bring wail and triumph to a waste, + And war be done; + The battle flag-staff fall athwart + The curs'd ravine, and wither; naught + Be left of trench or gun; + The bastion, let it ebb away, + Washed with the river bed; and Day + In vain seek Donelson. + + + +The Cumberland. +(March, 1862.) + + +Some names there are of telling sound, + Whose voweled syllables free +Are pledge that they shall ever live renowned; + Such seem to be +A Frigate's name (by present glory spanned)-- + The Cumberland. + + Sounding name as ere was sung, + Flowing, rolling on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +She warred and sunk. There's no denying + That she was ended--quelled; +And yet her flag above her fate is flying, + As when it swelled +Unswallowed by the swallowing sea: so grand-- + The Cumberland. + + Goodly name as ere was sung, + Roundly rolling on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +What need to tell how she was fought-- + The sinking flaming gun-- +The gunner leaping out the port-- + Washed back, undone! +Her dead unconquerably manned + The Cumberland. + + Noble name as ere was sung, + Slowly roll it on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +Long as hearts shall share the flame + Which burned in that brave crew, +Her fame shall live--outlive the victor's name; + For this is due. +Your flag and flag-staff shall in story stand-- + Cumberland! + + Sounding name as ere was sung, + Long they'll roll it on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + + + +In the Turret. +(March, 1862.) + + +Your honest heart of duty, Worden, + So helped you that in fame you dwell; +You bore the first iron battle's burden + Sealed as in a diving-bell. +Alcides, groping into haunted hell +To bring forth King Admetus' bride, +Braved naught more vaguely direful and untried. + What poet shall uplift his charm, +Bold Sailor, to your height of daring, + And interblend therewith the calm, +And build a goodly style upon your bearing. + +Escaped the gale of outer ocean-- + Cribbed in a craft which like a log +Was washed by every billow's motion-- + By night you heard of Og +The huge; nor felt your courage clog +At tokens of his onset grim: +You marked the sunk ship's flag-staff slim, + Lit by her burning sister's heart; +You marked, and mused: "Day brings the trial: + Then be it proved if I have part +With men whose manhood never took denial." + +A prayer went up--a champion's. Morning + Beheld you in the Turret walled +by adamant, where a spirit forewarning + And all-deriding called: +"Man, darest thou--desperate, unappalled-- +Be first to lock thee in the armored tower? +I have thee now; and what the battle-hour + To me shall bring--heed well--thou'lt share; +This plot-work, planned to be the foeman's terror, + To thee may prove a goblin-snare; +Its very strength and cunning--monstrous error!" + +"Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter + If here thou seest thy welded tomb? +And let huge Og with thunders batter-- + Duty be still my doom, +Though drowning come in liquid gloom; +First duty, duty next, and duty last; +Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!--" + So nerved, you fought wisely and well; +And live, twice live in life and story; + But over your Monitor dirges swell, +In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory. + + + +The Temeraire.[3] + +_(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by +the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)_ + + +The gloomy hulls, in armor grim, + Like clouds o'er moors have met, +And prove that oak, and iron, and man + Are tough in fibre yet. + +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields + No front of old display; +The garniture, emblazonment, + And heraldry all decay. + +Towering afar in parting light, + The fleets like Albion's forelands shine-- +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show + Of Ships-of-the-Line. + +The fighting Temeraire, + Built of a thousand trees, +Lunging out her lightnings, + And beetling o'er the seas-- +O Ship, how brave and fair, + That fought so oft and well, +On open decks you manned the gun + Armorial.[4] +What cheering did you share, + Impulsive in the van, +When down upon leagued France and Spain + We English ran-- +The freshet at your bowsprit + Like the foam upon the can. +Bickering, your colors + Licked up the Spanish air, +You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- + Your challenge, Temeraire! +The rear ones of our fleet + They yearned to share your place, +Still vying with the Victory + Throughout that earnest race-- +The Victory, whose Admiral, + With orders nobly won, +Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- + The angel in that sun. +Parallel in story, + Lo, the stately pair, +As late in grapple ranging, + The foe between them there-- +When four great hulls lay tiered, + And the fiery tempest cleared, +And your prizes twain appeared, + Temeraire! + +But Trafalgar' is over now, + The quarter-deck undone; +The carved and castled navies fire + Their evening-gun. +O, Tital Temeraire, + Your stern-lights fade away; +Your bulwarks to the years must yield, + And heart-of-oak decay. +A pigmy steam-tug tows you, + Gigantic, to the shore-- +Dismantled of your guns and spars, + And sweeping wings of war. +The rivets clinch the iron-clads, + Men learn a deadlier lore; +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- + Your ghost it sails before: +O, the navies old and oaken, + O, the Temeraire no more! + + + +A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight. + + +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, + More ponderous than nimble; +For since grimed War here laid aside +His Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit + Overmuch to ply +The Rhyme's barbaric cymbal. + +Hail to victory without the gaud + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans +Of banners; plain mechanic power +Plied cogently in War now placed-- + Where War belongs-- +Among the trades and artisans. + +Yet this was battle, and intense-- + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; +Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm; +No passion; all went on by crank, + Pivot, and screw, +And calculations of caloric. + +Needless to dwell; the story's known. + the ringing of those plates on plates +Still ringeth round the world-- +The clangor of that blacksmith's fray. + The anvil-din +Resounds this message from the Fates: + +War shall yet be, and to the end; + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; +War yet shall be, but warriors +Are now but operatives; War's made + Less grand than Peace, +And a singe runs through lace and feather. + + + +Shiloh. +A Requiem. +(April, 1862.) + + +Skimming lightly, wheeling still, + The swallows fly low +Over the field in clouded days, + The forest-field of Shiloh-- +Over the field where April rain +Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain +Through the pause of night +That followed the Sunday fight + Around the church of Shiloh-- +The church so lone, the log-built one, +That echoed to many a parting groan + And natural prayer +Of dying foemen mingled there-- +Foemen at morn, but friends at eve-- + Fame or country least their care: +(What like a bullet can undeceive!) + But now they lie low, +While over them the swallows skim, + And all is hushed at Shiloh. + + + +The Battle for the Mississipppi. +(April, 1862.) + + +When Israel camped by Migdol hoar, + Down at her feet her shawm she threw, +But Moses sung and timbrels rung + For Pharaoh's standed crew. +So God appears in apt events-- + The Lord is a man of war! +So the strong wind to the muse is given + In victory's roar. + +Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet-- + The fight by night--the fray +Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream, + And led it up to day. +Dully through din of larger strife + Shall bay that warring gun; +But none the less to us who live + It peals--an echoing one. + +The shock of ships, the jar of walls, + The rush through thick and thin-- +The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom-- + Eddies, and shells that spin-- +The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged, + The jam of gun-boats driven, +Or fired, or sunk--made up a war + Like Michael's waged with leven. + +The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled + The odds which hard beset; +The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze, + Passed on and thundered yet; +While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame, + The Ram Manassas--hark the yell!-- +Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright, + The River gave a startled swell. + +They fought through lurid dark till dawn; + The war-smoke rolled away +With clouds of night, and showed the fleet + In scarred yet firm array, +Above the forts, above the drift + Of wrecks which strife had made; +And Farragut sailed up to the town + And anchored--sheathed the blade. + +The moody broadsides, brooding deep, + Hold the lewd mob at bay, +While o'er the armed decks' solemn aisles + The meek church-pennons play; +By shotted guns the sailors stand, + With foreheads bound or bare; +The captains and the conquering crews + Humble their pride in prayer. + +They pray; and after victory, prayer + Is meet for men who mourn their slain; +The living shall unmoor and sail, + But Death's dark anchor secret deeps detain. +Yet glory slants her shaft of rays + Far through the undisturbed abyss; +There must be other, nobler worlds for them + Who nobly yield their lives in this. + + + +Malvern Hill. +(July, 1862.) + + +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill + In prime of morn and May, +Recall ye how McClellan's men + Here stood at bay? +While deep within yon forest dim + Our rigid comrades lay-- +Some with the cartridge in their mouth, +Others with fixed arms lifted South-- + Invoking so +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! + +The spires of Richmond, late beheld + Through rifts in musket-haze, +Were closed from view in clouds of dust + On leaf-walled ways, +Where streamed our wagons in caravan; + And the Seven Nights and Days +Of march and fast, retreat and fight, +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- + Does the elm wood +Recall the haggard beards of blood? + +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, + We followed (it never fell!)-- +In silence husbanded our strength-- + Received their yell; +Till on this slope we patient turned + With cannon ordered well; +Reverse we proved was not defeat; +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!-- + Does Malvern Wood +Bethink itself, and muse and brood? + + _We elms of Malvern Hill + Remember every thing; + But sap the twig will fill: + Wag the world how it will, + Leaves must be green in Spring._ + + + + +The Victor of Antietam.[5] +(1862.) + + +When tempest winnowed grain from bran; +And men were looking for a man, +Authority called you to the van, + McClellan: +Along the line the plaudit ran, +As later when Antietam's cheers began. + +Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move +Each Cause and Man, dear to the stars and Jove; +Nor always can the wisest tell +Deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell-- +The struggler from the floundering ne'er-do-well. +A pall-cloth on the Seven Days fell, + Mcclellan-- +Unprosperously heroical! +Who could Antietam's wreath foretell? + +Authority called you; then, in mist +And loom of jeopardy--dismissed. +But staring peril soon appalled; +You, the Discarded, she recalled-- +Recalled you, nor endured delay; +And forth you rode upon a blasted way, +Arrayed Pope's rout, and routed Lee's array, + McClellan: +Your tent was choked with captured flags that day, + McClellan. +Antietam was a telling fray. + +Recalled you; and she heard your drum +Advancing through the glastly gloom. +You manned the wall, you propped the Dome, +You stormed the powerful stormer home, + McClellan: +Antietam's cannon long shall boom. + +At Alexandria, left alone, + McClellan-- +Your veterans sent from you, and thrown +To fields and fortunes all unknown-- +What thoughts were yours, revealed to none, +While faithful still you labored on-- +Hearing the far Manassas gun! + McClellan, +Only Antietam could atone. + +You fought in the front (an evil day, + McClellan)-- +The fore-front of the first assay; +The Cause went sounding, groped its way; +The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay; +Quills thwarted swords; divided sway; +The rebel flushed in his lusty May: +You did your best, as in you lay, + McClellan. +Antietam's sun-burst sheds a ray. + +Your medalled soldiers love you well, + McClellan: +Name your name, their true hearts swell; +With you they shook dread Stonewall's spell,[6] +With you they braved the blended yell +Of rebel and maligner fell; +With you in shame or fame they dwell, + McClellan: +Antietam-braves a brave can tell. + +And when your comrades (now so few, + McClellan-- +Such ravage in deep files they rue) +Meet round the board, and sadly view +The empty places; tribute due +They render to the dead--and you! +Absent and silent o'er the blue; +The one-armed lift the wine to _you_, + McClellan, +And great Antietam's cheers renew. + + + +Battle of Stone River, Tennessee. +A View from Oxford Cloisters. +(January, 1863.) + + +With Tewksbury and Barnet heath + In days to come the field shall blend, +The story dim and date obscure; + In legend all shall end. +Even now, involved in forest shade + A Druid-dream the strife appears, +The fray of yesterday assumes + The haziness of years. + In North and South still beats the vein + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian. + +Our rival Roses warred for Sway-- + For Sway, but named the name of Right; +And Passion, scorning pain and death, + Lent sacred fervor to the fight. +Each lifted up a broidered cross, + While crossing blades profaned the sign; +Monks blessed the fraticidal lance, + And sisters scarfs could twine. + Do North and South the sin retain + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian? + +But Rosecrans in the cedarn glade, + And, deep in denser cypress gloom, +Dark Breckenridge, shall fade away + Or thinly loom. +The pale throngs who in forest cowed + Before the spell of battle's pause, +Forefelt the stillness that shall dwell + On them and on their wars. + North and South shall join the train + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian. + +But where the sword has plunged so deep, + And then been turned within the wound +By deadly Hate; where Climes contend + On vasty ground-- +No warning Alps or seas between, + And small the curb of creed or law, +And blood is quick, and quick the brain; + Shall North and South their rage deplore, + And reunited thrive amain + Like Yorkist and Lancastrian? + + + +Running the Batteries, +As observed from the Anchorage above Vicksburgh. +(April, 1863.) + + +A moonless night--a friendly one; + A haze dimmed the shadowy shore +As the first lampless boat slid silent on; + Hist! and we spake no more; +We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw. + +We felt the dew, and seemed to feel + The secret like a burden laid. +The first boat melts; and a second keel + Is blent with the foliaged shade-- +Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made? + +Unspied as yet. A third--a fourth-- + Gun-boat and transport in Indian file +Upon the war-path, smooth from the North; + But the watch may they hope to beguile? +The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile. + +A flame leaps out; they are seen; + Another and another gun roars; +We tell the course of the boats through the screen + By each further fort that pours, +And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores. + +Converging fires. We speak, though low: + "That blastful furnace can they thread" +"Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego + Came out all right, we read; +The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned." + +How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun + A golden growing flame appears-- +Confirms to a silvery steadfast one: + "The town is afire!" crows Hugh: "three cheers" +Lot stops his mouth: "Nay, lad, better three tears." + +A purposed light; it shows our fleet; + Yet a little late in its searching ray, +So far and strong, that in phantom cheat + Lank on the deck our shadows lay; +The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play. + +How dread to mark her near the glare + And glade of death the beacon throws +Athwart the racing waters there; + One by one each plainer grows, +Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes. + +The impartial cresset lights as well + The fixed forts to the boats that run; +And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell + Back to each fortress dun: +Ponderous words speaks every monster gun. + +Fearless they flash through gates of flame, + The salamanders hard to hit, +Though vivid shows each bulky frame; + And never the batteries intermit, +Nor the boats huge guns; they fire and flit. + +Anon a lull. The beacon dies: + "Are they out of that strait accurst" +But other flames now dawning rise, + Not mellowly brilliant like the first, +But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst. + +A baleful brand, a hurrying torch + Whereby anew the boats are seen-- +A burning transport all alurch! + Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean +Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean. + +The effulgence takes an amber glow + Which bathes the hill-side villas far; +Affrighted ladies mark the show + Painting the pale magnolia-- +The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War. + +The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one. + Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly. +But the gauntlet now is nearly run, + The spleenful forts by fits reply, +And the burning boat dies down in morning's sky. + +All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs! + Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun. +So burst we through their barriers + And menaces every one: +So Porter proves himself a brave man's son.[7] + + + +Stonewall Jackson. +Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville. +(May, 1863.) + + +The Man who fiercest charged in fight, + Whose sword and prayer were long-- + Stonewall! + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, +How can we praise? Yet coming days + Shall not forget him with this song. + +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, + Vainly he died and set his seal-- + Stonewall! + Earnest in error, as we feel; +True to the thing he deemed was due, + True as John Brown or steel. + +Relentlessly he routed us; + But _we_ relent, for he is low-- + Stonewall! + Justly his fame we outlaw; so +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian's bier, + Because no wreath we owe. + + + +Stonewall Jackson. +(Ascribed to a Virginian.) + + +One man we claim of wrought renown + Which not the North shall care to slur; +A Modern lived who sleeps in death, + Calm as the marble Ancients are: + 'Tis he whose life, though a vapor's wreath, + Was charged with the lightning's burning breath-- + Stonewall, stormer of the war. + +But who shall hymn the roman heart? + A stoic he, but even more: +The iron will and lion thew + Were strong to inflict as to endure: + Who like him could stand, or pursue? + His fate the fatalist followed through; + In all his great soul found to do + Stonewall followed his star. + +He followed his star on the Romney march + Through the sleet to the wintry war; +And he followed it on when he bowed the grain-- + The Wind of the Shenandoah; + At Gaines's Mill in the giant's strain-- + On the fierce forced stride to Manassas-plain, + Where his sword with thunder was clothed again, + Stonewall followed his star. + +His star he followed athwart the flood + To Potomac's Northern shore, +When midway wading, his host of braves + "_My Maryland!_" loud did roar-- + To red Antietam's field of graves, + Through mountain-passes, woods and waves, + They followed their pagod with hymns and glaives, + For Stonewall followed a star. + +Back it led him to Marye's slope, + Where the shock and the fame he bore; +And to green Moss-Neck it guided him-- + Brief respite from throes of war: + To the laurel glade by the Wilderness grim, + Through climaxed victory naught shall dim, + Even unto death it piloted him-- + Stonewall followed his star. + +Its lead he followed in gentle ways + Which never the valiant mar; +A cap we sent him, bestarred, to replace + The sun-scorched helm of war: + A fillet he made of the shining lace + Childhood's laughing brow to grace-- + Not his was a goldsmith's star. + +O, much of doubt in after days + Shall cling, as now, to the war; +Of the right and the wrong they'll still debate, + Puzzled by Stonewall's star: + "Fortune went with the North elate" + "Ay, but the south had Stonewall's weight, + And he fell in the South's vain war." + + + +Gettysburg. +The Check. +(July, 1863.) + + +O pride of the days in prime of the months + Now trebled in great renown, +When before the ark of our holy cause + Fell Dagon down-- +Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed, +Never his impious heart enlarged +Beyond that hour; god walled his power, +And there the last invader charged. + +He charged, and in that charge condensed + His all of hate and all of fire; +He sought to blast us in his scorn, + And wither us in his ire. +Before him went the shriek of shells-- +Aerial screamings, taunts and yells; +Then the three waves in flashed advance + Surged, but were met, and back they set: +Pride was repelled by sterner pride, + And Right is a strong-hold yet. + +Before our lines it seemed a beach + Which wild September gales have strown +With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith + Pale crews unknown-- +Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun +Died on the face of each lifeless one, +And died along the winding marge of fight + And searching-parties lone. + +Sloped on the hill the mounds were green, + Our center held that place of graves, +And some still hold it in their swoon, + And over these a glory waves. +The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,[8] +Shall soar transfigured in loftier light, + A meaning ampler bear; +Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer +Have laid the stone, and every bone + Shall rest in honor there. + + + +The House-top. +A Night Piece. +(July, 1863.) + + +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air +And binds the brain--a dense oppression, such +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, +Balefully glares red Arson--there-and there. +The Town is taken by its rats--ship-rats. +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms +And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe-- +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve, +And man rebounds whole ons back in nature.[9] +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall. +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll +Of black artillery; he comes, though late; +In code corroborating Calvin's creed +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings; +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town redeemed, +Give thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds +The grimy slur on the Republic's faith implied, +Which holds that Man is naturally good, +And--more--is Nature's Roman, never to be scourged. + + + +Look-out Mountain. +The Night Fight. +(November, 1863.) + + +Who inhabiteth the Mountain + That it shines in lurid light, +And is rolled about with thunders, + And terrors, and a blight, +Like Kaf the peak of Eblis-- + Kaf, the evil height? +Who has gone up with a shouting + And a trumpet in the night? + +There is battle in the Mountain-- + Might assaulteth Might; +'Tis the fastness of the Anarch, + Torrent-torn, an ancient height; +The crags resound the clangor + Of the war of Wrong and Right; +And the armies in the valley + Watch and pray for dawning light. + +Joy, Joy, the day is breaking, + And the cloud is rolled from sight; +There is triumph in the Morning + For the Anarch's plunging flight; +God has glorified the Mountain + Where a Banner burneth bright, +And the armies in the valley + They are fortified in right. + + + +Chattanooga. +(November, 1863.) + + +A kindling impulse seized the host + Inspired by heaven's elastic air;[9] +Their hearts outran their General's plan, + Though Grant commanded there-- + Grant, who without reserve can dare; +And, "Well, go on and do your will" + He said, and measured the mountain then: +So master-riders fling the rein-- + But you must know your men. + +On yester-morn in grayish mist, + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought, +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud + The Cumberlands far had caught: + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, + And smoked as one who feels no cares; +But mastered nervousness intense + Alone such calmness wears. + +The summit-cannon plunge their flame + Sheer down the primal wall, +But up and up each linking troop + In stretching festoons crawl-- + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink, + Looks far along the breadth of slope, +And sees two miles of dark dots creep, + And knows they mean the cope. + +He sees them creep. Yet here and there + Half hid 'mid leafless groves they go; +As men who ply through traceries high + Of turreted marbles show-- + So dwindle these to eyes below. +But fronting shot and flanking shell + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways; +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, + But never the climbing stays. + +From right to left, from left to right + They roll the rallying cheer-- +Vie with each other, brother with brother, + Who shall the first appear-- + What color-bearer with colors clear +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, + Whose cigar must now be near the stump-- +While in solicitude his back + Heap slowly to a hump. + +Near and more near; till now the flags + Run like a catching flame; +And one flares highest, to peril nighest-- + _He_ means to make a name: + Salvos! they give him his fame. +The staff is caught, and next the rush, + And then the leap where death has led; +Flag answered flag along the crest, + And swarms of rebels fled. + +But some who gained the envied Alp, + And--eager, ardent, earnest there-- +Dropped into Death's wide-open arms, + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air-- + Forever they slumber young and fair, +The smile upon them as they died; + Their end attained, that end a height: +Life was to these a dream fulfilled, + And death a starry night. + + + +The Armies of the Wilderness. +(1683-64.) + + +I + +Like snows the camps on southern hills + Lay all the winter long, +Our levies there in patience stood-- + They stood in patience strong. +On fronting slopes gleamed other camps + Where faith as firmly clung: +Ah, froward king! so brave miss-- + The zealots of the Wrong. + + _In this strife of brothers + (God, hear their country call), + However it be, whatever betide, + Let not the just one fall._ + +Through the pointed glass our soldiers saw + The base-ball bounding sent; +They could have joined them in their sport + But for the vale's deep rent. +And others turned the reddish soil, + Like diggers of graves they bent: +The reddish soil and tranching toil + Begat presentiment. + + _Did the Fathers feel mistrust? + Can no final good be wrought? + Over and over, again and again + Must the fight for the Right be fought?_ + +They lead a Gray-back to the crag: + "Your earth-works yonder--tell us, man" +"A prisoner--no deserter, I, + Nor one of the tell-tale clan" +His rags they mark: "True-blue like you + Should wear the color--your Country's, man" +He grinds his teeth: "However that be, + Yon earth-works have their plan." + + _Such brave ones, foully snared + By Belial's wily plea, + Were faithful unto the evil end-- + Feudal fidelity._ + +"Well, then, your camps--come, tell the names" + Freely he leveled his finger then: +"Yonder--see--are our Georgians; on the crest, + The Carolinians; lower, past the glen, +Virginians--Alabamians--Mississippians--Kentuckians + (Follow my finger)--Tennesseeans; and the ten +Camps _there_--ask your grave-pits; they'll tell. + Halloa! I see the picket-hut, the den +Where I last night lay." "Where's Lee" + "In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men!" + + _The tribes swarm up to war + As in ages long ago, + Ere the palm of promise leaved + And the lily of Christ did blow._ + +Their mounted pickets for miles are spied + Dotting the lowland plain, +The nearer ones in their veteran-rags-- + Loutish they loll in lazy disdain. +But ours in perilous places bide + With rifles ready and eyes that strain +Deep through the dim suspected wood + Where the Rapidan rolls amain. + + _The Indian has passed away, + But creeping comes another-- + Deadlier far. Picket, + Take heed--take heed of thy brother!_ + +From a wood-hung height, an outpost lone, + Crowned with a woodman's fort, +The sentinel looks on a land of dole, + Like Paran, all amort. +Black chimneys, gigantic in moor-like wastes, + The scowl of the clouded sky retort; +The hearth is a houseless stone again-- + Ah! where shall the people be sought? + + _Since the venom such blastment deals, + The south should have paused, and thrice, + Ere with heat of her hate she hatched + The egg with the cockatrice._ + +A path down the mountain winds to the glade + Where the dead of the Moonlight Fight lie low; +A hand reaches out of the thin-laid mould + As begging help which none can bestow. +But the field-mouse small and busy ant + Heap their hillocks, to hide if they may the woe: +By the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen, + And the drum which the drummer-boy dying let go. + + _Dust to dust, and blood for blood-- + Passion and pangs! Has Time + Gone back? or is this the Age + Of the world's great Prime?_ + +The wagon mired and cannon dragged + Have trenched their scar; the plain +Tramped like the cindery beach of the damned-- + A site for the city of Cain. +And stumps of forests for dreary leagues + Like a massacre show. The armies have lain +By fires where gums and balms did burn, + And the seeds of Summer's reign. + + _Where are the birds and boys? + Who shall go chestnutting when + October returns? The nuts-- + O, long ere they grow again._ + +They snug their huts with the chapel-pews, + In court-houses stable their steeds-- +Kindle their fires with indentures and bonds, + And old Lord Fairfax's parchment deeds; +And Virginian gentlemen's libraries old-- + Books which only the scholar heeds-- +Are flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range, + And gardens are left to weeds. + + _Turned adrift into war + Man runs wild on the plain, + Like the jennets let loose + On the Pampas--zebras again._ + +Like the Pleiads dim, see the tents through the storm-- + Aloft by the hill-side hamlet's graves, +On a head-stone used for a hearth-stone there + The water is bubbling for punch for our braves. +What if the night be drear, and the blast + Ghostly shrieks? their rollicking staves +Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords, + What care they if Winter raves? + + _Is life but a dream? and so, + In the dream do men laugh aloud? + So strange seems mirth in a camp, + So like a white tent to a shroud._ + + +II + +The May-weed springs; and comes a Man + And mounts our Signal Hill; +A quiet Man, and plain in garb-- + Briefly he looks his fill, +Then drops his gray eye on the ground, + Like a loaded mortar he is still: +Meekness and grimness meet in him-- + The silent General. + + _Were men but strong and wise, + Honest as Grant, and calm, + War would be left to the red and black ants, + And the happy world disarm._ + +That eve a stir was in the camps, + Forerunning quiet soon to come +Among the streets of beechen huts + No more to know the drum. +The weed shall choke the lowly door, + And foxes peer within the gloom, +Till scared perchange by Mosby's prowling men, + Who ride in the rear of doom. + + _Far West, and farther South, + Wherever the sword has been, + Deserted camps are met, + And desert graves are seen._ + +The livelong night they ford the flood; + With guns held high they silent press, +Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets' sheen-- + On Morning's banks their ranks they dress; +Then by the forests lightly wind, + Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless, +Borne by the cavalry scouting on-- + Sounding the Wilderness. + + _Like shoals of fish in spring + That visit Crusoe's isle, + The host in the lonesome place-- + The hundred thousand file._ + +The foe that held his guarded hills + Must speed to woods afar; +For the scheme that was nursed by the Culpepper hearth + With the slowly-smoked cigar-- +The scheme that smouldered through winter long + Now bursts into act--into war-- +The resolute scheme of a heart as calm + As the Cyclone's core. + + _The fight for the city is fought + In Nature's old domain; + Man goes out to the wilds, + And Orpheus' charm is vain._ + +In glades they meet skull after skull + Where pine-cones lay--the rusted gun, +Green shoes full of bones, the mouldering coat + And cuddled-up skeleton; +And scores of such. Some start as in dreams, + And comrades lost bemoan: +By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged-- + But the Year and the Man were gone. + + _At the height of their madness + The night winds pause, + Recollecting themselves; + But no lull in these wars._ + +A gleam!--a volley! And who shall go + Storming the swarmers in jungles dread? +No cannon-ball answers, no proxies are sent-- + They rush in the shrapnel's stead. +Plume and sash are vanities now-- + Let them deck the pall of the dead; +They go where the shade is, perhaps into Hades, + Where the brave of all times have led. + + _There's a dust of hurrying feet, + Bitten lips and bated breath, + And drums that challenge to the grave, + And faces fixed, forefeeling death._ + +What husky huzzahs in the hazy groves-- + What flying encounters fell; +Pursuer and pursued like ghosts disappear + In gloomed shade--their end who shall tell? +The crippled, a ragged-barked stick for a crutch, + Limp to some elfin dell-- +Hobble from the sight of dead faces--white + As pebbles in a well. + + _Few burial rites shall be; + No priest with book and band + Shall come to the secret place + Of the corpse in the foeman's land._ + +Watch and fast, march and fight--clutch your gun? + Day-fights and night-fights; sore is the strees; +Look, through the pines what line comes on? + Longstreet slants through the hauntedness? +'Tis charge for charge, and shout for yell: + Such battles on battles oppress-- +But Heaven lent strength, the Right strove well, + And emerged from the Wilderness. + + _Emerged, for the way was won; + But the Pillar of Smoke that led + Was brand-like with ghosts that went up + Ashy and red._ + +None can narrate that strife in the pines, + A seal is on it--Sabaean lore! +Obscure as the wood, the entangled rhyme + But hints at the maze of war-- +Vivid glimpses or livid through peopled gloom, + And fires which creep and char-- +A riddle of death, of which the slain + Sole solvers are. + + _Long they withhold the roll + Of the shroudless dead. It is right; + Not yet can we bear the flare + Of the funeral light._ + + + +On the Photograph of a Corps Commander. + + +Ay, man is manly. Here you see + The warrior-carriage of the head, +And brave dilation of the frame; + And lighting all, the soul that led +In Spottsylvania's charge to victory, + Which justifies his fame. + +A cheering picture. It is good + To look upon a Chief like this, +In whom the spirit moulds the form. + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss, +With eagle mien expressive has endued + A man to kindle strains that warm. + +Trace back his lineage, and his sires, + Yeoman or noble, you shall find +Enrolled with men of Agincourt, + Heroes who shared great Harry's mind. +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, + And front the Templars bore. + +Nothing can lift the heart of man + Like manhood in a fellow-man. +The thought of heaven's great King afar + But humbles us--too weak to scan; +But manly greatness men can span, + And feel the bonds that draw. + + + +The Swamp Angel.[10] + + +There is a coal-black Angel + With a thick Afric lip, +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) + In a swamp where the green frogs dip. +But his face is against a City + Which is over a bay of the sea, +And he breathes with a breath that is blastment, + And dooms by a far decree. + +By night there is fear in the City, + Through the darkness a star soareth on; +There's a scream that screams up to the zenith, + Then the poise of a meteor lone-- +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, + And downward the coming is seen; +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, + And wails and shrieks between. + +It comes like the thief in the gloaming; + It comes, and none may foretell +The place of the coming--the glaring; + They live in a sleepless spell +That wizens, and withers, and whitens; + It ages the young, and the bloom +Of the maiden is ashes of roses-- + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom. + +Swift is his messengers' going, + But slowly he saps their halls, +As if by delay deluding. + They move from their crumbling walls +Farther and farther away; + But the Angel sends after and after, +By night with the flame of his ray-- + By night with the voice of his screaming-- +Sends after them, stone by stone, + And farther walls fall, farther portals, +And weed follows weed through the Town. + +Is this the proud City? the scorner + Which never would yield the ground? +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? + The cup of despair goes round. +Vainly she calls upon Michael + (The white man's seraph was he), +For Michael has fled from his tower + To the Angel over the sea. + +Who weeps for the woeful City + Let him weep for our guilty kind; +Who joys at her wild despairing-- + Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. + + + +The Battle for the Bay. +(August, 1864.) + + +O mystery of noble hearts, + To whom mysterious seas have been +In midnight watches, lonely calm and storm, + A stern, sad disciple, +And rooted out the false and vain, + And chastened them to aptness for + Devotion and the deeds of war, +And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain. + +Beyond the bar the land-wind dies, + The prows becharmed at anchor swim: +A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down-- + Fair eve of battle grim. +The sentries pace, bonetas glide; + Below, the sleeping sailor swing, + And if their dreams to quarters spring, +Or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide. + +But drums are beat: _Up anchor all!_ + The triple lines steam slowly on; +Day breaks, and through the sweep of decks each man + Stands coldly by his gun-- +As cold as it. But he shall warm-- + Warm with the solemn metal there, + And all its ordered fury share, +In attitude a gladiatorial form. + +The Admiral--yielding the love + Which held his life and ship so dear-- +Sailed second in the long fleet's midmost line; + Yet thwarted all their care: +He lashed himself aloft, and shone + Star of the fight, with influence sent + Throughout the dusk embattlement; +And so they neared the strait and walls of stone. + +No sprintly fife as in the field, + The decks were hushed like fanes in prayer; +Behind each man a holy angel stood-- + He stood, though none was 'ware. +Out spake the forts on either hand, + Back speak the ships when spoken to, + And set their flags in concert true, +And _On and in!_ is Farragut's command. + +But what delays? 'mid wounds above + Dim buoys give hint of death below-- +Sea-ambuscades, where evil art had aped + Hecla that hides in snow. +The centre-van, entangled, trips; + The starboard leader holds straight on: + A cheer for the Tecumseh!--nay, +Before their eyes the turreted ship goes down! + +The fire redoubles, While the fleet + Hangs dubious--ere the horror ran-- +The Admiral rushes to his rightful place-- + Well met! apt hour and man!-- +Closes with peril, takes the lead, + His action is a stirring call; + He strikes his great heart through them all, +And is the genius of their daring deed. + +The forts are daunted, slack their fire, + Confounded by the deadlier aim +And rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet, + And fierce denouncing flame. +Yet shots from four dark hulls embayed + Come raking through the loyal crews, + Whom now each dying mate endues +With his last look, anguished yet undismayed. + +A flowering time to guilt is given, + And traitors have their glorying hour; +O late, but sure, the righteous Paramount comes-- + Palsy is on their power! +So proved it with the rebel keels, + The strong-holds past: assailed, they run; + The Selma strikes, and the work is done: +The dropping anchor the achievement seals. + +But no, she turns--the Tennessee! + The solid Ram of iron and oak, +Strong as Evil, and bold as Wrong, though lone-- + A pestilence in her smoke. +The flag-ship is her singled mark, + The wooden Hartford. Let her come; + She challenges the planet of Doom, +And naught shall save her--not her iron bark. + +_Slip anchor, all! and at her, all!_ + _Bear down with rushing beaks--and_ now! +First the Monongahela struck--and reeled; + The Lackawana's prow +Next crashed--crashed, but not crashing; then + The Admiral rammed, and rasping nigh + Sloped in a broadside, which glanced by: +The Monitors battered at her adamant den. + +The Chickasaw plunged beneath the stern + And pounded there; a huge wrought orb +From the Manhattan pierced one wall, but dropped; + Others the seas absorb. +Yet stormed on all sides, narrowed in, + Hampered and cramped, the bad one fought-- + Spat ribald curses from the port +Who shutters, jammed, locked up this Man-of-Sin. + +No pause or stay. They made a din + Like hammers round a boiler forged; +Now straining strength tangled itself with strength, + Till Hate her will disgorged. +The white flag showed, the fight was won-- + Mad shouts went up that shook the Bay; + But pale on the scarred fleet's decks there lay +A silent man for every silenced gun. + +And quiet far below the wave, + Where never cheers shall move their sleep, +Some who did boldly, nobly earn them, lie-- + Charmed children of the deep. +But decks that now are in the seed, + And cannon yet within the mine, + Shall thrill the deeper, gun and pine, +Because of the Tecumseh's glorious deed. + + + +Sheridan at Cedar Creek. +(October, 1864.) + + +Shoe the steed with silver + That bore him to the fray, +When he heard the guns at dawning-- + Miles away; +When he heard them calling, calling-- + Mount! nor stay: + Quick, or all is lost; + They've surprised and stormed the post, + They push your routed host-- + Gallop! retrieve the day. + +House the horse in ermine-- + For the foam-flake blew +White through the red October; + He thundered into view; +They cheered him in the looming, + Horseman and horse they knew. + The turn of the tide began, + The rally of bugles ran, + He swung his hat in the van; + The electric hoof-spark flew. + +Wreathe the steed and lead him-- + For the charge he led +Touched and turned the cypress + Into amaranths for the head +Of Philip, king of riders, + Who raised them from the dead. + The camp (at dawning lost), + By eve, recovered--forced, + Rang with laughter of the host + At belated Early fled. + +Shroud the horse in sable-- + For the mounds they heap! +There is firing in the Valley, + And yet no strife they keep; +It is the parting volley, + It is the pathos deep. + There is glory for the brave + Who lead, and noblys ave, + But no knowledge in the grave + Where the nameless followers sleep. + + + +In the Prison Pen. +(1864.) + + +Listless he eyes the palisades + And sentries in the glare; +'Tis barren as a pelican-beach-- + But his world is ended there. + +Nothing to do; and vacant hands + Bring on the idiot-pain; +He tries to think--to recollect, + But the blur is on his brain. + +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts + Like those on Virgil's shore-- +A wilderness of faces dim, + And pale ones gashed and hoar. + +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; + He totters to his lair-- +A den that sick hands dug in earth + Ere famine wasted there, + +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, + Walled in by throngs that press, +Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead-- + Dead in his meagreness. + + + +The College Colonel. + + +He rides at their head; + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view, +One slung arm is in splints, you see, + Yet he guides his strong steed--how coldly too. + +He brings his regiment home-- + Not as they filed two years before, +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn, +Like castaway sailors, who--stunned + By the surf's loud roar, + Their mates dragged back and seen no more-- +Again and again breast the surge, + And at last crawl, spent, to shore. + +A still rigidity and pale-- + An Indian aloofness lones his brow; +He has lived a thousand years +Compressed in battle's pains and prayers, + Marches and watches slow. + +There are welcoming shouts, and flags; + Old men off hat to the Boy, +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet, + But to _him_--there comes alloy. + +It is not that a leg is lost, + It is not that an arm is maimed. +It is not that the fever has racked-- + Self he has long disclaimed. + +But all through the Seven Day's Fight, + And deep in the wilderness grim, +And in the field-hospital tent, + And Petersburg crater, and dim +Lean brooding in Libby, there came-- + Ah heaven!--what _truth_ to him. + + + +The Eagle of the Blue.[12] + + +Aloft he guards the starry folds + Who is the brother of the star; +The bird whose joy is in the wind + Exultleth in the war. + +No painted plume--a sober hue, + His beauty is his power; +That eager calm of gaze intent + Foresees the Sibyl's hour. + +Austere, he crowns the swaying perch, + Flapped by the angry flag; +The hurricane from the battery sings, + But his claw has known the crag. + +Amid the scream of shells, his scream + Runs shrilling; and the glare +Of eyes that brave the blinding sun + The vollied flame can bear. + +The pride of quenchless strength is his-- + Strength which, though chained, avails; +The very rebel looks and thrills-- + The anchored Emblem hails. + +Though scarred in many a furious fray, + No deadly hurt he knew; +Well may we think his years are charmed-- + The Eagle of the Blue. + + + +A Dirge for McPherson,[13] +Killed in front of Atlanta. +(July, 1864.) + + +Arms reversed and banners craped-- + Muffled drums; +Snowy horses sable-draped-- + McPherson comes. + + _But, tell us, shall we know him more, + Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?_ + +Brave the sword upon the pall-- + A gleam in gloom; +So a bright name lighteth all + McPherson's doom. + +Bear him through the chapel-door-- + Let priest in stole +Pace before the warrior + Who led. Bell--toll! + +Lay him down within the nave, + The Lesson read-- +Man is noble, man is brave, + But man's--a weed. + +Take him up again and wend + Graveward, nor weep: +There's a trumpet that shall rend + This Soldier's sleep. + +Pass the ropes the coffin round, + And let descend; +Prayer and volley--let it sound + McPherson's end. + + _True fame is his, for life is o'er-- + Sarpedon of the mighty war._ + + + +At the Cannon's Mouth. +Destruction of the Ram Albermarle by the Torpedo-Launch. +(October, 1864.) + + +Palely intent, he urged his keel + Full on the guns, and touched the spring; +Himself involved in the bolt he drove +Timed with the armed hull's shot that stove +His shallop--die or do! +Into the flood his life he threw, + Yet lives--unscathed--a breathing thing +To marvel at. + + He has his fame; +But that mad dash at death, how name? + +Had Earth no charm to stay the Boy + From the martyr-passion? Could he dare +Disdain the Paradise of opening joy + Which beckons the fresh heart every where? +Life has more lures than any girl + For youth and strength; puts forth a share +Of beauty, hinting of yet rarer store; +And ever with unfathomable eyes, + Which baffingly entice, +Still strangely does Adonis draw. +And life once over, who shall tell the rest? +Life is, of all we know, God's best. +What imps these eagles then, that they +Fling disrespect on life by that proud way +In which they soar above our lower clay. + +Pretense of wonderment and doubt unblest: + In Cushing's eager deed was shown + A spirit which brave poets own-- +That scorn of life which earns life's crown; + Earns, but not always wins; but he-- + The star ascended in his nativity. + + + +The March to the Sea. +(December, 1864.) + + +Not Kenesaw high-arching, + Nor Allatoona's glen-- +Though there the graves lie parching-- + Stayed Sherman's miles of men; +From charred Atlanta marching + They launched the sword again. + The columns streamed like rivers + Which in their course agree, + And they streamed until their flashing + Met the flashing of the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + That marching to the sea. + +They brushed the foe before them + (Shall gnats impede the bull?); +Their own good bridges bore them + Over swamps or torrents full, +And the grand pines waving o'er them + Bowed to axes keen and cool. + The columns grooved their channels. + Enforced their own decree, + And their power met nothing larger + Until it met the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + A marching glad and free. + +Kilpatrick's snare of riders + In zigzags mazed the land, +Perplexed the pale Southsiders + With feints on every hand; +Vague menace awed the hiders + In forts beyond command. + To Sherman's shifting problem + No foeman knew the key; + But onward went the marching + Unpausing to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + The swinging step was free. + +The flankers ranged like pigeons + In clouds through field or wood; +The flocks of all those regions, + The herds and horses good, +Poured in and swelled the legions, + For they caught the marching mood. + A volley ahead! They hear it; + And they hear the repartee: + Fighting was but frolic + In that marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + A marching bold and free. + +All nature felt their coming, + The birds like couriers flew, +And the banners brightly blooming + The slaves by thousands drew, +And they marched beside the drumming, + And they joined the armies blue. + The cocks crowed from the cannon + (Pets named from Grant and Lee), + Plumed fighters and campaigners + In the marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + For every man was free. + +The foragers through calm lands + Swept in tempest gay, +And they breathed the air of balm-lands + Where rolled savannas lay, +And they helped themselves from farm-lands-- + As who should say them nay? + The regiments uproarious + Laughed in Plenty's glee; + And they marched till their broad laughter + Met the laughter of the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + That marching to the sea. + +The grain of endless acres + Was threshed (as in the East) +By the trampling of the Takers, + Strong march of man and beast; +The flails of those earth-shakers + Left a famine where they ceased. + The arsenals were yielded; + The sword (that was to be), + Arrested in the forging, + Rued that marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + But ah, the stern decree! + +For behind they left a wailing, + A terror and a ban, +And blazing cinders sailing, + And houseless households wan, +Wide zones of counties paling, + And towns where maniacs ran. + Was it Treason's retribution-- + Necessity the plea? + They will long remember Sherman + And his streaming columns free-- + They will long remember Sherman + Marching to the sea. + + + +The Frenzy in the Wake.[14] +Sherman's advance through the Carolinas. +(February, 1865.) + + +So strong to suffer, shall we be + Weak to contend, and break +The sinews of the Oppressor's knee + That grinds upon the neck? + O, the garments rolled in blood + Scorch in cities wrapped in flame, + And the African--the imp! + He gibbers, imputing shame. + +Shall Time, avenging every woe, + To us that joy allot +Which Israel thrilled when Sisera's brow + Showed gaunt and showed the clot? + Curse on their foreheads, cheeks, and eyes-- + The Northern faces--true + To the flag we hate, the flag whose stars + Like planets strike us through. + +From frozen Maine they come, + Far Minnesota too; +They come to a sun whose rays disown-- + May it wither them as the dew! + The ghosts of our slain appeal: + "Vain shall our victories be" + But back from its ebb the flood recoils-- + Back in a whelming sea. + +With burning woods our skies are brass, + The pillars of dust are seen; +The live-long day their cavalry pass-- + No crossing the road between. + We were sore deceived--an awful host! + They move like a roaring wind. + Have we gamed and lost? but even despair + Shall never our hate rescind. + + + +The Fall of Richmond. +The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis. +(April, 1865.) + + +What mean these peals from every tower, + And crowds like seas that sway? +The cannon reply; they speak the heart + Of the People impassioned, and say-- +A city in flags for a city in flames, + Richmond goes Babylon's way-- + _Sing and pray._ + +O weary years and woeful wars, + And armies in the grave; +But hearts unquelled at last deter +The helmed dilated Lucifer-- + Honor to Grant the brave, +Whose three stars now like Orion's rise + When wreck is on the wave-- + _Bless his glaive._ + +Well that the faith we firmly kept, + And never our aim forswore +For the Terrors that trooped from each recess +When fainting we fought in the Wilderness, + And Hell made loud hurrah; +But God is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town, + And Right through might is Law-- + _God's way adore._ + + + +The Surrender at Appomattox. +(April, 1865.) + + +As billows upon billows roll, + On victory victory breaks; +Ere yet seven days from Richmond's fall + And crowning triumph wakes +The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run + By sea-shore, streams, and lakes. + The hope and great event agree + In the sword that Grant received from Lee. + +The warring eagles fold the wing, + But not in Csar's sway; +Not Rome o'ercome by Roman arms we sing, + As on Pharsalia's day, +But Treason thrown, though a giant grown, + And Freedom's larger play. + All human tribes glad token see + In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee. + + + +A Canticle: +Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at +the close of the War. + + +O the precipice Titanic + Of the congregated Fall, +And the angle oceanic + Where the deepening thunders call-- + And the Gorge so grim, + And the firmamental rim! +Multitudinously thronging + The waters all converge, +Then they sweep adown in sloping + Solidity of surge. + + The Nation, in her impulse + Mysterious as the Tide, + In emotion like an ocean + Moves in power, not in pride; + And is deep in her devotion + As Humanity is wide. + + Thou Lord of hosts victorious, + The confluence Thou hast twined; + By a wondrous way and glorious + A passage Thou dost find-- + A passage Thou dost find: + Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, + The hosts of human kind. + +Stable in its baselessness + When calm is in the air, +The Iris half in tracelessness + Hovers faintly fair. +Fitfully assailing it + A wind from heaven blows, +Shivering and paling it + To blankness of the snows; +While, incessant in renewal, + The Arch rekindled grows, +Till again the gem and jewel + Whirl in blinding overthrows-- +Till, prevailing and transcending, + Lo, the Glory perfect there, +And the contest finds an ending, + For repose is in the air. + +But the foamy Deep unsounded, + And the dim and dizzy ledge, +And the booming roar rebounded, + And the gull that skims the edge! + The Giant of the Pool + Heaves his forehead white as wool-- +Toward the Iris every climbing + From the Cataracts that call-- +Irremovable vast arras + Draping all the Wall. + + The Generations pouring + From times of endless date, + In their going, in their flowing + Ever form the steadfast State; + And Humanity is growing + Toward the fullness of her fate. + + Thou Lord of hosts victorious, + Fulfill the end designed; + By a wondrous way and glorious + A passage Thou dost find-- + A passage Thou dost find: + Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, + The hosts of human kind. + + + +The Martyr. +Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of +April, 1865. + + +Good Friday was the day + Of the prodigy and crime, +When they killed him in his pity, + When they killed him in his prime +Of clemency and calm-- + When with yearning he was filled + To redeem the evil-willed, +And, though conqueror, be kind; + But they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And they killed him from behind. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + +He lieth in his blood-- + The father in his face; +They have killed him, the Forgiver-- + The Avenger takes his place, [15] +The Avenger wisely stern, + Who in righteousness shall do + What the heavens call him to, +And the parricides remand; + For they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And his blood is on their hand. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + + + +"The Coming Storm:" +A Picture by S.R. Gifford, and owned by E.B. +Included in the N.A. Exhibition, April, 1865. + + +All feeling hearts must feel for him + Who felt this picture. Presage dim-- +Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere + Fixed him and fascinated here. + +A demon-cloud like the mountain one + Burst on a spirit as mild +As this urned lake, the home of shades. + But Shakspeare's pensive child + +Never the lines had lightly scanned, + Steeped in fable, steeped in fate; +The Hamlet in his heart was 'ware, + Such hearts can antedate. + +No utter surprise can come to him + Who reaches Shakspeare's core; +That which we seek and shun is there-- + Man's final lore. + + + +Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh:[16] +A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly +after the surrender at Appomattox. + + +The color-bearers facing death +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, + Stand boldly out before the line +Right and left their glances go, +Proud of each other, glorying in their show; +Their battle-flags about them blow, + And fold them as in flame divine: +Such living robes are only seen +Round martyrs burning on the green-- +And martyrs for the Wrong have been. + +Perish their Cause! but mark the men-- +Mark the planted statues, then +Draw trigger on them if you can. + +The leader of a patriot-band +Even so could view rebels who so could stand; + And this when peril pressed him sore, +Left aidless in the shivered front of war-- + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, +And fighting with a broken brand. +The challenge in that courage rare-- +Courage defenseless, proudly bare-- +Never could tempt him; he could dare +Strike up the leveled rifle there. + +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day +When Stonewall charged--McClellan's crimson May, +And Chickamauga's wave of death, +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath-- + All these have passed away. +The life in the veins of Treason lags, +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, + And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? + Can poor spite be? +Shall nobleness in victory less aspire +Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, + And think how Grant met Lee. + + + +The Muster:[17] +Suggested by the Two Days' Review at Washington +(May, 1865.) + + +The Abrahamic river-- + Patriarch of floods, +Calls the roll of all his streams + And watery mutitudes: + Torrent cries to torrent, + The rapids hail the fall; + With shouts the inland freshets + Gather to the call. + + The quotas of the Nation, + Like the water-shed of waves, + Muster into union-- + Eastern warriors, Western braves. + + Martial strains are mingling, + Though distant far the bands, + And the wheeling of the squadrons + Is like surf upon the sands. + + The bladed guns are gleaming-- + Drift in lengthened trim, + Files on files for hazy miles-- + Nebulously dim. + + O Milky Way of armies-- + Star rising after star, + New banners of the Commonwealths, + And eagles of the War. + +The Abrahamic river + To sea-wide fullness fed, +Pouring from the thaw-lands + By the God of floods is led: + His deep enforcing current + The streams of ocean own, + And Europe's marge is evened + By rills from Kansas lone. + + + +Aurora-Borealis. +Commemorative of the Dissolution of Armies at the Peace. +(May, 1865.) + + +What power disbands the Northern Lights + After their steely play? +The lonely watcher feels an awe + Of Nature's sway, + As when appearing, + He marked their flashed uprearing +In the cold gloom-- + Retreatings and advancings, +(Like dallyings of doom), + Transitions and enhancings, + And bloody ray. + +The phantom-host has faded quite, + Splendor and Terror gone-- +Portent or promise--and gives way + To pale, meek Dawn; + The coming, going, + Alike in wonder showing-- +Alike the God, + Decreeing and commanding +The million blades that glowed, + The muster and disbanding-- + Midnight and Morn. + + + +The Released Rebel Prisoner.[18] +(June, 1865.) + + +Armies he's seen--the herds of war, + But never such swarms of men +As now in the Nineveh of the North-- + How mad the Rebellion then! + +And yet but dimly he divines + The depth of that deceit, +And superstition of vast pride + Humbled to such defeat. + +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms-- + His steel the nearest magnet drew; +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives-- + 'Tis Nature's wrong they rue. + +His face is hidden in his beard, + But his heart peers out at eye-- +And such a heart! like mountain-pool + Where no man passes by. + +He thinks of Hill--a brave soul gone; + And Ashby dead in pale disdain; +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume, + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again. + +He hears the drum; he sees our boys + From his wasted fields return; +Ladies feast them on strawberries, + And even to kiss them yearn. + +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, + The rifle proudly borne; +They bear it for an heir-loom home, + And he--disarmed--jail-worn. + +Home, home--his heart is full of it; + But home he never shall see, +Even should he stand upon the spot; + 'Tis gone!--where his brothers be. + +The cypress-moss from tree to tree + Hangs in his Southern land; +As weird, from thought to thought of his + Run memories hand in hand. + +And so he lingers--lingers on + In the City of the Foe-- +His cousins and his countrymen + Who see him listless go. + + + +A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia.[19] + + +Head-board and foot-board duly placed-- + Grassed in the mound between; +Daniel Drouth is the slumberer's name-- + Long may his grave be green! + +Quick was his way--a flash and a blow, + Full of his fire was he-- +A fire of hell--'tis burnt out now-- + Green may his grave long be! + +May his grave be green, though he + Was a rebel of iron mould; +Many a true heart--true to the Cause, + Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold. + +May his grave be green--still green + While happy years shall run; +May none come nigh to disinter + The--_Buried Gun_. + + + +"Formerly a Slave." +An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring +Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865. + + +The sufferance of her race is shown, + And retrospect of life, +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; + Yet is she not at strife. + +Her children's children they shall know + The good withheld from her; +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer-- + In spirit she sees the stir + +Far down the depth of thousand years, + And marks the revel shine; +Her dusky face is lit with sober light, + Sibylline, yet benign. + + + +The Apparition. +(A Retrospect.) + + +Convulsions came; and, where the field + Long slept in pastoral green, +A goblin-mountain was upheaved +(Sure the scared sense was all deceived), + Marl-glen and slag-ravine. + +The unreserve of Ill was there, + The clinkers in her last retreat; +But, ere the eye could take it in, +Or mind could comprehension win, + It sunk!--and at our feet. + +So, then, Solidity's a crust-- + The core of fire below; +All may go well for many a year, +But who can think without a fear + Of horrors that happen so? + + + +Magnanimity Baffled. + + +"Sharp words we had before the fight; + But--now the fight is done-- +Look, here's my hand," said the Victor bold, + "Take it--an honest one! +What, holding back? I mean you well; + Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man; +The odds were great; I honor you; + Man honors man. + +"Still silent, friend? can grudges be? + Yet am I held a foe?-- +Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies-- + Never I'll leave him so! +Brave one! I here implore your hand; + Dumb still? all fellowship fled? +Nay, then, I'll have this stubborn hand" + He snatched it--it was dead. + + + +On the Slain Collegians.[20] + + +Youth is the time when hearts are large, + And stirring wars +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn + To the blade it draws. +If woman incite, and duty show + (Though made the mask of Cain), +Or whether it be Truth's sacred cause, + Who can aloof remain +That shares youth's ardor, uncooled by the snow + Of wisdom or sordid gain? + +The liberal arts and nurture sweet +Which give his gentleness to man-- + Train him to honor, lend him grace +Through bright examples meet-- +That culture which makes never wan +With underminings deep, but holds + The surface still, its fitting place, + And so gives sunniness to the face +And bravery to the heart; what troops + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred-- + Saturnians through life's Tempe led, +Went from the North and came from the South, +With golden mottoes in the mouth, + To lie down midway on a bloody bed. + +Woe for the homes of the North, +And woe for the seats of the South; +All who felt life's spring in prime, +And were swept by the wind of their place and time-- + All lavish hearts, on whichever side, +Of birth urbane or courage high, +Armed them for the stirring wars-- +Armed them--some to die. + Apollo-like in pride, +Each would slay his Python--caught +The maxims in his temple taught-- + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze +Perforce enwrapped him--social laws, + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days-- +Vows, kisses--every heart unmoors, +And launches into the seas of wars. +What could they else--North or South? +Each went forth with blessings given +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; + And honor in both was chief. +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? +So be it; but they both were young-- +Each grape to his cluster clung, +All their elegies are sung. + +The anguish of maternal hearts + Must search for balm divine; +But well the striplings bore their fated parts + (The heavens all parts assign)-- +Never felt life's care or cloy. +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; +Nor dreamed what death was--thought it mere +Sliding into some vernal sphere. +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf-- +Which storms lay low in kindly doom, +And kill them in their flush of bloom. + + + +America. + + +I. + +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand +I saw a Banner in gladsome air-- +Starry, like Berenice's Hair-- +Afloat in broadened bravery there; +With undulating long-drawn flow, +As rolled Brazilian billows go +Voluminously o'er the Line. +The Land reposed in peace below; + The children in their glee +Were folded to the exulting heart + Of young Maternity. + + +II. + +Later, and it streamed in fight + When tempest mingled with the fray, +And over the spear-point of the shaft + I saw the ambiguous lightning play. +Valor with Valor strove, and died: +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; +And the lorn Mother speechless stood, +Pale at the fury of her brood. + + +III. + +Yet later, and the silk did wind + Her fair cold form; +Little availed the shining shroud, + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. +A watcher looked upon her low, and said-- +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. + But in that sleep contortion showed +The terror of the vision there-- + A silent vision unavowed, +Revealing earth's foundation bare, + And Gorgon in her hidden place. +It was a thing of fear to see + So foul a dream upon so fair a face, +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. + + +IV. + +But from the trance she sudden broke-- + The trance, or death into promoted life; +At her feet a shivered yoke, +And in her aspect turned to heaven + No trace of passion or of strife-- +A clear calm look. It spake of pain, +But such as purifies from stain-- +Sharp pangs that never come again-- + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, + And youth matured for age's seat-- +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. + So she, with graver air and lifted flag; +While the shadow, chased by light, +Fled along the far-drawn height, + And left her on the crag. + + + + +Verses +Inscriptive and Memorial + + + +On the Home Guards +who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri. + + +The men who here in harness died + Fell not in vain, though in defeat. +They by their end well fortified + The Cause, and built retreat +(With memory of their valor tried) +For emulous hearts in many an after fray-- +Hearts sore beset, which died at bay. + + + +Inscription +for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas. + + +Let none misgive we died amiss + When here we strove in furious fight: +Furious it was; nathless was this + Better than tranquil plight, +And tame surrender of the Cause +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. + We here who warred for Man and Right, +The choice of warring never laid with us. + There we were ruled by the traitor's choice. + Nor long we stood to trim and poise, +But marched, and fell--victorious! + + + +The Fortitude of the North +under the Disaster of the Second Manassas. + + +They take no shame for dark defeat + While prizing yet each victory won, +Who fight for the Right through all retreat, + Nor pause until their work is done. +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; + Vainly against that foreland beat +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: + The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. + + + +On the Men of Maine +killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. + + +Afar they fell. It was the zone + Of fig and orange, cane and lime +(A land how all unlike their own, +With the cold pine-grove overgrown), + But still their Country's clime. +And there in youth they died for her-- + The Volunteers, +For her went up their dying prayers: + So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie. +What doubt shall come, then, to deter + The Republic's earnest faith and courage high. + + + +An Epitaph. + + +When Sunday tidings from the front + Made pale the priest and people, +And heavily the blessing went, + And bells were dumb in the steeple; +The Soldier's widow (summering sweerly here, + In shade by waving beeches lent) + Felt deep at heart her faith content, +And priest and people borrowed of her cheer. + + + +Inscription +for Marye's Heights, Fredericksburg. + + +To them who crossed the flood +And climbed the hill, with eyes + Upon the heavenly flag intent, + And through the deathful tumult went +Even unto death: to them this Stone-- +Erect, where they were overthrown-- + Of more than victory the monument. + + + +The Mound by the Lake. + + +The grass shall never forget this grave. +When homeward footing it in the sun + After the weary ride by rail, +The stripling soldiers passed her door, + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, +She left her household work undone-- +Duly the wayside table spread, + With evergreens shaded, to regale +Each travel-spent and grateful one. +So warm her heart--childless--unwed, +Who like a mother comforted. + + + +On the Slain at Chickamauga. + + +Happy are they and charmed in life + Who through long wars arrive unscarred +At peace. To such the wreath be given, +If they unfalteringly have striven-- + In honor, as in limb, unmarred. +Let cheerful praise be rife, + And let them live their years at ease, +Musing on brothers who victorious died-- + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please. + +And yet mischance is honorable too-- + Seeming defeat in conflict justified +Whose end to closing eyes is his from view. +The will, that never can relent-- +The aim, survivor of the bafflement, + Make this memorial due. + + + +An uninscribed Monument +on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness. + + +Silence and Solitude may hint + (Whose home is in yon piny wood) +What I, though tableted, could never tell-- +The din which here befell, + And striving of the multitude. +The iron cones and spheres of death + Set round me in their rust, + These, too, if just, +Shall speak with more than animated breath. + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, +Not narrowed down to personal cheer, +Take in the import of the quiet here-- + The after-quiet--the calm full fraught; +Thou too wilt silent stand-- +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. + + + +On Sherman's Men +who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia. + + +They said that Fame her clarion dropped + Because great deeds were done no more-- +That even Duty knew no shining ends, +And Glory--'twas a fallen star! + But battle can heroes and bards restore. + Nay, look at Kenesaw: +Perils the mailed ones never knew +Are lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue, +And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war. + + + +On the Grave +of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia. + + +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends-- + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he +Whom here low violets veil from eyes. + But all these gifts transcended be: +His happier fortune in this mound you see. + + + +A Requiem +for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports. + + +When, after storms that woodlands rue, + To valleys comes atoning dawn, +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn, +Caroling fly in the languid blue; +The while, from many a hid recess, +Alert to partake the blessedness, +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. + So, after ocean's ghastly gales, +When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks, + Every finny hider wakes-- + From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales; + Through the delightsome sea he sails, +With shoals of shining tiny things +Frolic on every wave that flings + Against the prow its showery spray; +All creatures joying in the morn, +Save them forever from joyance torn, + Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play; +Save them that by the fabled shore, + Down the pale stream are washed away, +Far to the reef of bones are borne; + And never revisits them the light, +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; + Nor heed they now the lone bird's flight +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour. + + + +On a natural Monument +in a field of Georgia.[21] + + +No trophy this--a Stone unhewn, + And stands where here the field immures +The nameless brave whose palms are won. +Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh-- + Pure fame of deeds, not doers; +Nor deeds of men who bleeding die + In cheer of hymns that round them float: +In happy dreams such close the eye. +But withering famine slowly wore, + And slowly fell disease did gloat. +Even Nature's self did aid deny; +They choked in horror the pensive sigh. + Yea, off from home sad Memory bore +(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way), +Lest wreck of reason might befall. + As men in gales shun the lee shore, +Though there the homestead be, and call, +And thitherward winds and waters sway-- +As such lorn mariners, so fared they. +But naught shall now their peace molest. + Their fame is this: they did endure-- +Endure, when fortitude was vain +To kindle any approving strain +Which they might hear. To these who rest, + This healing sleep alone was sure. + + + +Commemorative of a Naval Victory. + + +Sailors there are of gentlest breed, + Yet strong, like every goodly thing; +The discipline of arms refines, + And the wave gives tempering. + The damasked blade its beam can fling; +It lends the last grave grace: +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman + In Titian's picture for a king, +Are of Hunter or warrior race. + +In social halls a favored guest + In years that follow victory won, +How sweet to feel your festal fame, + In woman's glance instinctive thrown: + Repose is yours--your deed is known, +It musks the amber wine; +It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days + Rich as October sunsets brown, +Which make the barren place to shine. + +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; +There's a light and a shadow on every man + Who at last attains his lifted mark-- + Nursing through night the ethereal spark. +Elate he never can be; +He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth, + Sleep in oblivion.--The shark +Glides white through the prosphorus sea. + + + +Presentation to the Authorities, +by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the +Surrender of Lee. + + +These flags of armies overthrown-- +Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one +In end foredoomed which closes war; +We here, the captors, lay before + The altar which of right claims all-- +Our Country. And as freely we, + Revering ever her sacred call, +Could lay our lives down--though life be +Thrice loved and precious to the sense +Of such as reap the recompense + Of life imperiled for just cause-- +Imperiled, and yet preserved; +While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved, +Whose wives were all as dear, lie low. +But these flags given, glad we go + To waiting homes with vindicated laws. + + + +The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle. + + +Over the hearth--my father's seat-- + Repose, to patriot-memory dear, +Thou tried companion, whom at last I greet + By steepy banks of Hudson here. +How oft I told thee of this scene-- +The Highlands blue--the river's narrowing sheen. +Little at Gettysburg we thought +To find such haven; but God kept it green. +Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen. + + + + +The Scout toward Aldie. + + +The cavalry-camp lies on the slope + Of what was late a vernal hill, +But now like a pavement bare-- +An outpost in the perilous wilds + Which ever are lone and still; + But Mosby's men are there-- + Of Mosby best beware. + +Great trees the troopers felled, and leaned + In antlered walls about their tents; +Strict watch they kept; 'twas _Hark!_ and _Mark!_ +Unarmed none cared to stir abroad + For berries beyond their forest-fence: + As glides in seas the shark, + Rides Mosby through green dark. + +All spake of him, but few had seen + Except the maimed ones or the low; +Yet rumor made him every thing-- +A farmer--woodman--refugee-- + The man who crossed the field but now; + A spell about his life did cling-- + Who to the ground shall Mosby bring? + +The morning-bugles lonely play, + Lonely the evening-bugle calls-- +Unanswered voices in the wild; +The settled hush of birds in nest + Becharms, and all the wood enthralls: + Memory's self is so beguiled + That Mosby seems a satyr's child. + +They lived as in the Eerie Land-- + The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam; +And yet from pine-tops one might ken +The Capitol dome--hazy--sublime-- + A vision breaking on a dream: + So strange it was that Mosby's men + Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen. + +A scout toward Aldie broke the spell.-- + The Leader lies before his tent +Gazing at heaven's all-cheering lamp +Through blandness of a morning rare; + His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent: + His sunny bride is in the camp-- + But Mosby--graves are beds of damp! + +The trumpet calls; he goes within; + But none the prayer and sob may know: +Her hero he, but bridegroom too. +Ah, love in a tent is a queenly thing, + And fame, be sure, refines the vow; + But fame fond wives have lived to rue, + And Mosby's men fell deeds can do. + +_Tan-tara! tan-tara! tan-tara!_ + Mounted and armed he sits a king; +For pride she smiles if now she peep-- +Elate he rides at the head of his men; + He is young, and command is a boyish thing: + They file out into the forest deep-- + Do Mosby and his rangers sleep? + +The sun is gold, and the world is green, + Opal the vapors of morning roll; +The champing horses lightly prance-- +Full of caprice, and the riders too + Curving in many a caricole. + But marshaled soon, by fours advance-- + Mosby had checked that airy dance. + +By the hospital-tent the cripples stand-- + Bandage, and crutch, and cane, and sling, +And palely eye the brave array; +The froth of the cup is gone for them + (Caw! caw! the crows through the blueness wing); + Yet these were late as bold, as gay; + But Mosby--a clip, and grass is hay. + +How strong they feel on their horses free, + Tingles the tendoned thigh with life; +Their cavalry-jackets make boys of all-- +With golden breasts like the oriole; + The chat, the jest, and laugh are rife. + But word is passed from the front--a call + For order; the wood is Mosby's hall. + +To which behest one rider sly + (Spurred, but unarmed) gave little heed-- +Of dexterous fun not slow or spare, +He teased his neighbors of touchy mood, + Into plungings he pricked his steed: + A black-eyed man on a coal-black mare, + Alive as Mosby in mountain air. + +His limbs were long, and large and round; + He whispered, winked--did all but shout: +A healthy man for the sick to view; +The taste in his mouth was sweet at morn; + Little of care he cared about. + And yet of pains and pangs he knew-- + In others, maimed by Mosby's crew. + +The Hospital Steward--even he + (Sacred in person as a priest), +And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice +Wore the caduceus, black and green. + No wonder he sat so light on his beast; + This cheery man in suit of price + Not even Mosby dared to slice. + +They pass the picket by the pine + And hollow log--a lonesome place; +His horse adroop, and pistol clean; +'Tis cocked--kept leveled toward the wood; + Strained vigilance ages his childish face. + Since midnight has that stripling been + Peering for Mosby through the green. + +Splashing they cross the freshet-flood, + And up the muddy bank they strain; +A horse at the spectral white-ash shies-- +One of the span of the ambulance, + Black as a hearse. They give the rein: + Silent speed on a scout were wise, + Could cunning baffle Mosby's spies. + +Rumor had come that a band was lodged + In green retreats of hills that peer +By Aldie (famed for the swordless charge[22]). +Much store they'd heaped of captured arms + And, peradventure, pilfered cheer; + For Mosby's lads oft hearts enlarge + In revelry by some gorge's marge. + +"Don't let your sabres rattle and ring; + To his oat-bag let each man give heed-- +There now, that fellow's bag's untied, +Sowing the road with the precious grain. + Your carbines swing at hand--you need! + Look to yourselves, and your nags beside, + Men who after Mosby ride." + +Picked lads and keen went sharp before-- + A guard, though scarce against surprise; +And rearmost rode an answering troop, +But flankers none to right or left. + No bugle peals, no pennon flies: + Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop + On Mosby with an Indian whoop. + +On, right on through the forest land, + Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen-- +Not even a dog. The air was still; +The blackened hut they turned to see, + And spied charred benches on the green; + A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill + Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill. + +By worn-out fields they cantered on-- + Drear fields amid the woodlands wide; +By cross-roads of some olden time, +In which grew groves; by gate-stones down-- + Grassed ruins of secluded pride: + A strange lone land, long past the prime, + Fit land for Mosby or for crime. + +The brook in the dell they pass. One peers + Between the leaves: "Ay, there's the place-- +There, on the oozy ledge--'twas there +We found the body (Blake's you know); + Such whirlings, gurglings round the face-- + Shot drinking! Well, in war all's fair-- + So Mosby says. The bough--take care!" + +Hard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould + Danked and decayed the shaded roof; +The porch was punk; the clapboards spanned +With ruffled lichens gray or green; + Red coral-moss was not aloof; + And mid dry leaves green dead-man's-hand + Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land. + +They leave the road and take the wood, + And mark the trace of ridges there-- +A wood where once had slept the farm-- +A wood where once tobacco grew + Drowsily in the hazy air, + And wrought in all kind things a calm-- + Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm. + +To ease even yet the place did woo-- + To ease which pines unstirring share, +For ease the weary horses sighed: +Halting, and slackening girths, they feed, + Their pipes they light, they loiter there; + Then up, and urging still the Guide, + On, and after Mosby ride. + +This Guide in frowzy coat of brown, + And beard of ancient growth and mould, +Bestrode a bony steed and strong, +As suited well with bulk he bore-- + A wheezy man with depth of hold + Who jouncing went. A staff he swung-- + A wight whom Mosby's wasp had stung. + +Burnt out and homeless--hunted long! + That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood +Crouching (a fat man) for his life, +And spied his lean son 'mong the crew + That probed the covert. Ah! black blood + Was his 'gainst even child and wife-- + Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife. + +A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths, + Strains hard to readjust his seat +Ere the main body show the gap +'Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near + He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet; + Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap-- + "Let Mosby fine!" nor heeds mishap. + +A gable time-stained peeps through trees: + "You mind the fight in the haunted house? +That's it; we clenched them in the room-- +An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought, + But proved sly rebels on a house! + Luke lies in the yard." The chimneys loom: + Some muse on Mosby--some on doom. + +Less nimbly now through brakes they wind, + And ford wild creeks where men have drowned; +They skirt the pool, a void the fen, +And so till night, when down they lie, + They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground: + Rein in hand they slumber then, + Dreaming of Mosby's cedarn den. + +But Colonel and Major friendly sat + Where boughs deformed low made a seat. +The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred) +Of the partisan's blade he longed to win, + And frays in which he meant to beat. + The grizzled Major smoked, and heard: + "But what's that--Mosby?" "No, a bird." + +A contrast here like sire and son, + Hope and Experience sage did meet; +The Youth was brave, the Senior too; +But through the Seven Days one had served, + And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat: + So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew-- + "Any _sure_ news of Mosby's crew?" + +He smoked and smoked, eying the while + A huge tree hydra-like in growth-- +Moon-tinged--with crook'd boughs rent or lopped-- +Itself a haggard forest. "Come" + The Colonel cried, "to talk you're loath; + D've hear? I say he must be stopped, + This Mosby--caged, and hair close cropped." + +"Of course; but what's that dangling there" + "Where?" "From the tree--that gallows-bough; + A bit of frayed bark, is it not" +"Ay--or a rope; did _we_ hang last?-- + Don't like my neckerchief any how" + He loosened it: "O ay, we'll stop + This Mosby--but that vile jerk and drop!"[23] + +By peep of light they feed and ride, + Gaining a grove's green edge at morn, +And mark the Aldie hills upread +And five gigantic horsemen carved + Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn; + Are more behind? an open snare? + Or Mosby's men but watchmen there? + +The ravaged land was miles behind, + And Loudon spread her landscape rare; +Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood, +Cows were feeding, a cock loud crew, + But not a friend at need was there; + The valley-folk were only good + To Mosby and his wandering brood. + +What best to do? what mean yon men? + Colonel and Guide their minds compare; +Be sure some looked their Leader through; +Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned + As one who feigns an easy air; + And yet perplexed he was they knew-- + Perplexed by Mosby's mountain-crew. + +The Major hemmed as he would speak, + But checked himself, and left the ring +Of cavalrymen about their Chief-- +Young courtiers mute who paid their court + By looking with confidence on their king; + They knew him brave, foresaw no grief-- + But Mosby--the time to think is brief. + +The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green) + Was glad 'twas not for _him_ to say +What next should be; if a trooper bleeds, +Why he will do his best, as wont, + And his partner in black will aid and pray; + But judgment bides with him who leads, + And Mosby many a problem breeds. + +The Surgeon was the kindliest man + That ever a callous trace professed; +He felt for him, that Leader young, +And offered medicine from his flask: + The Colonel took it with marvelous zest. + For such fine medicine good and strong, + Oft Mosby and his foresters long. + +A charm of proof. "Ho, Major, come-- + Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop, +Through the thickets wind--pray speedy be-- +And gain their read. And, Captain Morn, + Picket these roads--all travelers stop; + The rest to the edge of this crest with me, + That Mosby and his scouts may see." + +Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep, + Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays, +Ten riding double--luckless ten!-- +Five horses gone, and looped hats lost, + And love-locks dancing in a maze-- + Certes, but sophomores from the glen + Of Mosby--not his veteran men. + +"Colonel," said the Major, touching his cap, + "We've had our ride, and here they are" +"Well done! how many found you there" +"As many as I bring you here" + "And no one hurt?" "There'll be no scar-- + One fool was battered." "Find their lair" + "Why, Mosby's brood camp every where." + +He sighed, and slid down from his horse, + And limping went to a spring-head nigh. +"Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope" +"Battered my knee against a bar + When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.-- + Halloa! they gave you too much rope-- + Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?" + +Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood + The guard, remiss, had given a chance +For a sudden sally into the cover-- +But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot, + Though the issue was a deadly trance; + For, hurled 'gainst an oak that humped low over, + Mosby's man fell, pale as a lover. + +They pulled some grass his head to ease + (Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred). +The Surgeon came--"Here's a to-do" +"Ah!" cried the Major, darting a glance, + "This fellow's the one that fired and spurred + Down hill, but met reserves below-- + My boys, not Mosby's--so we go!" + +The Surgeon--bluff, red, goodly man-- + Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee +He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too-- +(Who went to the wars for cure of souls, + And his own student-ailments)--he + Bent over likewise; spite the two, + Mosby's poor man more pallid grew. + +Meanwhile the mounted captives near + Jested; and yet they anxious showed; +Virginians; some of family-pride, +And young, and full of fire, and fine + In open feature and cheek that glowed; + And here thralled vagabonds now they ride-- + But list! one speaks for Mosby's side. + +"Why, three to one--your horses strong-- + Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise-- +Surrender we account no shame! +We live, are gay, and life is hope; + We'll fight again when fight is wise. + There are plenty more from where we came; + But go find Mosby--start the game!" + +Yet one there was who looked but glum; + In middle-age, a father he, +And this his first experience too: +"They shot at my heart when my hands were up-- + This fighting's crazy work, I see" + But noon is high; what next do? + The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe. + +"Save what we've got," the Major said; + "Bad plan to make a scout too long; +The tide may turn, and drag them back, +And more beside. These rides I've been, + And every time a mine was sprung. + To rescue, mind, they won't be slack-- + Look out for Mosby's rifle-crack." + +"We'll welcome it! give crack for crack! + Peril, old lad, is what I seek" +"O then, there's plenty to be had-- +By all means on, and have our fill" + With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck, + Showing a scar by buck-shot made-- + Kind Mosby's Christmas gift, he said. + +"But, Colonel, my prisoners--let a guard + Make sure of them, and lead to camp. +That done, we're free for a dark-room fight +If so you say." The other laughed; + "Trust me, Major, nor throw a damp. + But first to try a little sleight-- + Sure news of Mosby would suit me quite." + +Herewith he turned--"Reb, have a dram" + Holding the Surgeon's flask with a smile +To a young scapegrace from the glen. +"O yes!" he eagerly replied, + "And thank you, Colonel, but--any guile? + For if you think we'll blab--why, then + You don't know Mosby or his men." + +The Leader's genial air relaxed. + "Best give it up," a whisperer said. +"By heaven, I'll range their rebel den" +"They'll treat you well," the captive cried; + "They're all like us--handsome--well bred: + In wood or town, with sword or pen, + Polite is Mosby, bland his men." + +"Where were you, lads, last night?--come, tell" + "We?--at a wedding in the Vale-- +The bridegroom our comrade; by his side +Belisent, my cousin--O, so proud + Of her young love with old wounds pale-- + A Virginian girl! God bless her pride-- + Of a crippled Mosby-man the bride!" + +"Four wall shall mend that saucy mood, + And moping prisons tame him down" +Said Captain Cloud. "God help that day" +Cried Captain Morn, "and he so young. + But hark, he sings--a madcap one" + "_O we multiply merrily in the May, + The birds and Mosby's men, they say!_" + +While echoes ran, a wagon old, + Under stout guard of Corporal Chew +Came up; a lame horse, dingy white, +With clouted harness; ropes in hand, + Cringed the humped driver, black in hue; + By him (for Mosby's band a sight) + A sister-rebel sat, her veil held tight. + +"I picked them up," the Corporal said, + "Crunching their way over stick and root, +Through yonder wood. The man here--Cuff-- +Says they are going to Leesburg town" + The Colonel's eye took in the group; + The veiled one's hand he spied--enough! + Not Mosby's. Spite the gown's poor stuff, + +Off went his hat: "Lady, fear not; + We soldiers do what we deplore-- +I must detain you till we march" +The stranger nodded. Nettled now, + He grew politer than before:-- + "'Tis Mosby's fault, this halt and search" + The lady stiffened in her starch. + +"My duty, madam, bids me now + Ask what may seem a little rude. +Pardon--that veil--withdraw it, please +(Corporal! make every man fall back); + Pray, now I do but what I should; + Bethink you, 'tis in masks like these + That Mosby haunts the villages." + +Slowly the stranger drew her veil, + And looked the Soldier in the eye-- +A glance of mingled foul and fair; +Sad patience in a proud disdain, + And more than quietude. A sigh + She heaved, and if all unaware, + And far seemed Mosby from her care. + +She came from Yewton Place, her home, + So ravaged by the war's wild play-- +Campings, and foragings, and fires-- +That now she sought an aunt's abode. + Her Kinsmen? In Lee's army, they. + The black? A servant, late her sire's. + And Mosby? Vainly he inquires. + +He gazed, and sad she met his eye; + "In the wood yonder were you lost" +No; at the forks they left the road +Because of hoof-prints (thick they were-- + Thick as the words in notes thrice crossed), + And fearful, made that episode. + In fear of Mosby? None she showed. + +Her poor attire again he scanned: + "Lady, once more; I grieve to jar +On all sweet usage, but must plead +To have what peeps there from your dress; + That letter--'tis justly prize of war" + She started--gave it--she must need. + "'Tis not from Mosby? May I read?" + +And straight such matter he perused + That with the Guide he went apart. +The Hospital Steward's turn began: +"Must squeeze this darkey; every tap + Of knowledge we are bound to start" + "Garry," she said, "tell all you can + Of Colonel Mosby--that brave man." + +"Dun know much, sare; and missis here + Know less dan me. But dis I know--" +"Well, what?" "I dun know what I know" +"A knowing answer!" The hump-back coughed, + Rubbing his yellowish wool like tow. + "Come--Mosby--tell!" "O dun look so! + My gal nursed missis--let we go." + +"Go where?" demanded Captain Cloud; + "Back into bondage? Man, you're free" +"Well, _let_ we free!" The Captain's brow +Lowered; the Colonel came--had heard: + "Pooh! pooh! his simple heart I see-- + A faithful servant.--Lady" (a bow), + "Mosby's abroad--with us you'll go. + +"Guard! look to your prisoners; back to camp! + The man in the grass--can he mount and away? +Why, how he groans!" "Bad inward bruise-- +Might lug him along in the ambulance" + "Coals to Newcastle! let him stay. + Boots and saddles!--our pains we lose, + Nor care I if Mosby hear the news!" + +But word was sent to a house at hand, + And a flask was left by the hurt one's side. +They seized in that same house a man, +Neutral by day, by night a foe-- + So charged his neighbor late, the Guide. + A grudge? Hate will do what it can; + Along he went for a Mosby-man. + +No secrets now; the bugle calls; + The open road they take, nor shun +The hill; retrace the weary way. +But one there was who whispered low, + "This is a feint--we'll back anon; + Young Hair-Brains don't retreat, they say; + A brush with Mosby is the play!" + +They rode till eve. Then on a farm + That lay along a hill-side green, +Bivouacked. Fires were made, and then +Coffee was boiled; a cow was coaxed + And killed, and savory roasts were seen; + And under the lee of a cattle-pen + The guard supped freely with Mosby's men. + +The ball was bandied to and fro; + Hits were given and hits were met; +"Chickamauga, Feds--take off your hat" +"But the Fight in the Clouds repaid you, Rebs" + "Forgotten about Manassas yet" + Chatting and chaffing, and tit for tat, + Mosby's clan with the troopers sat. + +"Here comes the moon!" a captive cried; + "A song! what say? Archy, my lad" +Hailing are still one of the clan +(A boyish face with girlish hair), + "Give us that thing poor Pansy made + Last Year." He brightened, and began; + And this was the song of Mosby's man: + + _Spring is come; she shows her pass-- + Wild violets cool! + South of woods a small close grass-- + A vernal wool! + Leaves are a'bud on the sassafras-- + They'll soon be full; + Blessings on the friendly screen-- + I'm for the South! says the leafage green._ + + _Robins! fly, and take your fill + Of out-of-doors-- + Garden, orchard, meadow, hill, + Barns and bowers; + Take your fill, and have your will-- + Virginia's yours! + But, bluebirds! keep away, and fear + The ambuscade in bushes here._ + +"A green song that," a seargeant said; + "But where's poor Pansy? gone, I fear" +"Ay, mustered out at Ashby's Gap" +"I see; now for a live man's song; + Ditty for ditty--prepare to cheer. + My bluebirds, you can fling a cap! + You barehead Mosby-boys--why--clap!" + + _Nine Blue-coats went a-nutting + Slyly in Tennessee-- + Not for chestnuts--better than that-- + Hugh, you bumble-bee! + Nutting, nutting-- + All through the year there's nutting!_ + + _A tree they spied so yellow, + Rustling in motion queer; + In they fired, and down they dropped-- + Butternuts, my dear! + Nutting, nutting-- + Who'll 'list to go a-nutting?_ + +Ah! why should good fellows foemen be? + And who would dream that foes they were-- +Larking and singing so friendly then-- +A family likeness in every face. + But Captain Cloud made sour demur: + "Guard! keep your prisoners _in_ the pen, + And let none talk with Mosby's men." + +That captain was a valorous one + (No irony, but honest truth), +Yet down from his brain cold drops distilled, +Making stalactites in his heart-- + A conscientious soul, forsooth; + And with a formal hate was filled + Of Mosby's band; and some he'd killed. + +Meantime the lady rueful sat, + Watching the flicker of a fire +Were the Colonel played the outdoor host +In brave old hall of ancient Night. + But ever the dame grew shyer and shyer, + Seeming with private grief engrossed-- + Grief far from Mosby, housed or lost. + +The ruddy embers showed her pale. + The Soldier did his best devoir: +"Some coffee?--no?--cracker?--one" +Cared for her servant--sought to cheer: + "I know, I know--a cruel war! + But wait--even Mosby'll eat his bun; + The Old Hearth--back to it anon!" + +But cordial words no balm could bring; + She sighed, and kept her inward chafe, +And seemed to hate the voice of glee-- +Joyless and tearless. Soon he called + An escort: "See this lady safe + In yonder house.--Madam, you're free. + And now for Mosby.--Guide! with me." + +("A night-ride, eh?") "Tighten your girths! + But, buglers! not a note from you. +Fling more rails on the fires--a blaze" +("Sergeant, a feint--I told you so-- + Toward Aldie again. Bivouac, adieu!") + After the cheery flames they gaze, + Then back for Mosby through the maze. + +The moon looked through the trees, and tipped + The scabbards with her elfin beam; +The Leader backward cast his glance, +Proud of the cavalcade that came-- + A hundred horses, bay and cream: + "Major! look how the lads advance-- + Mosby we'll have in the ambulance!" + +"No doubt, no doubt:--was that a hare?-- + First catch, then cook; and cook him brown" +"Trust me to catch," the other cried-- +"The lady's letter!--a dance, man, dance + This night is given in Leesburg town" + "He'll be there too!" wheezed out the Guide; + "That Mosby loves a dance and ride!" + +"The lady, ah!--the lady's letter-- + A _lady_, then, is in the case" +Muttered the Major. "Ay, her aunt +Writes her to come by Friday eve + (To-night), for people of the place, + At Mosby's last fight jubilant, + A party give, though table-cheer be scant." + +The Major hemmed. "Then this night-ride + We owe to her?--One lighted house +In a town else dark.--The moths, begar! +Are not quite yet all dead!" "How? how" + "A mute, meek mournful little mouse!-- + Mosby has wiles which subtle are-- + But woman's wiles in wiles of war!" + +"Tut, Major! by what craft or guile--" + "Can't tell! but he'll be found in wait. +Softly we enter, say, the town-- +Good! pickets post, and all so sure-- + When--crack! the rifles from every gate, + The Gray-backs fire--dashes up and down-- + Each alley unto Mosby known!" + +"Now, Major, now--you take dark views + Of a moonlight night." "Well, well, we'll see" +And smoked as if each whiff were gain. +The other mused; then sudden asked, + "What would you do in grand decree" + I'd beat, if I could, Lee's armies--then + Send constables after Mosby's men." + +"Ay! ay!--you're odd." The moon sailed up; + On through the shadowy land they went. +"_Names must be made and printed be!_" +Hummed the blithe Colonel. "Doc, your flask! + Major, I drink to your good content. + My pipe is out--enough for me! + One's buttons shine--does Mosby see? + +"But what comes here?" A man from the front + Reported a tree athwart the road. +"Go round it, then; no time to bide; +All right--go on! Were one to stay + For each distrust of a nervous mood, + Long miles we'd make in this our ride + Through Mosby-land.--Oh! with the Guide!" + +Then sportful to the Surgeon turned: + "Green sashes hardly serve by night" +"Nor bullets nor bottles," the Major sighed, +"Against these moccasin-snakes--such foes + As seldom come to solid fight: + They kill and vanish; through grass they glide; + Devil take Mosby!--" his horse here shied. + +"Hold! look--the tree, like a dragged balloon; + A globe of leaves--some trickery here; +My nag is right--best now be shy" +A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl; + Little was plain--they blindly steer. + The Pleiads, as from ambush sly, + Peep out--Mosby's men in the sky! + +As restive they turn, how sore they feel, + And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen, +And curse the war. "Fools, North and South" +Said one right out. "O for a bed! + O now to drop in this woodland green" + He drops as the syllables leave his mouth-- + Mosby speaks from the undergrowth-- + +Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame! + Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees; +Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind; +"Steady--Dismount--form--and into the wood" + They go, but find what scarce can please: + Their steeds have been tied in the field behind, + And Mosby's men are off like the wind. + +Sound the recall! vain to pursue-- + The enemy scatters in wilds he knows, +To reunite in his own good time; +And, to follow, they need divide-- + To come lone and lost on crouching foes: + Maple and hemlock, beech and lime, + Are Mosby's confederates, share the crime. + +"Major," burst in a bugler small, + "The fellow we left in Loudon grass-- +Sir slyboots with the inward bruise, +His voice I heard--the very same-- + Some watchword in the ambush pass; + Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes-- + We caught him--Mosby--but to lose!" + +"Go, go!--these saddle-dreamers! Well, + And here's another.--Cool, sir, cool" +"Major, I saw them mount and sweep, +And one was humped, or I mistake, + And in the skurry dropped his wool" + "A wig! go fetch it:--the lads need sleep; + They'll next see Mosby in a sheep! + +"Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks-- + All's jackstraws here! Where's Captain Morn?-- +We've parted like boats in a raging tide! +But stay-the Colonel--did he charge? + And comes he there? 'Tis streak of dawn; + Mosby is off, the woods are wide-- + Hist! there's a groan--this crazy ride!" + +As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill; + They lay in the dew: "Ah! hurt much, Mink? +And--yes--the Colonel!" Dead! but so calm +That death seemed nothing--even death, + The thing we deem every thing heart can think; + Amid wilding roses that shed their balm, + Careless of Mosby he lay--in a charm! + +The Major took him by the Hand-- + Into the friendly clasp it bled +(A ball through heart and hand he rued): +"Good-by" and gazed with humid glance; + Then in a hollow revery said + "The weakness thing is lustihood; + But Mosby--" and he checked his mood. + +"Where's the advance?--cut off, by heaven! + Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there" +"The ambulance will carry all" +"Well, get them in; we go to camp. + Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care" + Then to himself, "This grief is gall; + That Mosby!--I'll cast a silver ball!" + +"Ho!" turning--"Captain Cloud, you mind + The place where the escort went--so shady? +Go search every closet low and high, +And barn, and bin, and hidden bower-- + Every covert--find that lady! + And yet I may misjudge her--ay, + Women (like Mosby) mystify. + +"We'll see. Ay, Captain, go--with speed! + Surround and search; each living thing +Secure; that done, await us where +We last turned off. Stay! fire the cage + If the birds be flown." By the cross-road spring + The bands rejoined; no words; the glare + Told all. Had Mosby plotted there? + +The weary troop that wended now-- + Hardly it seemed the same that pricked +Forth to the forest from the camp: +Foot-sore horses, jaded men; + Every backbone felt as nicked, + Each eye dim as a sick-room lamp, + All faces stamped with Mosby's stamp. + +In order due the Major rode-- + Chaplain and Surgeon on either hand; +A riderless horse a negro led; +In a wagon the blanketed sleeper went; + Then the ambulance with the bleeding band; + And, an emptied oat-bag on each head, + Went Mosby's men, and marked the dead. + +What gloomed them? what so cast them down, + And changed the cheer that late they took, +As double-guarded now they rode +Between the files of moody men? + Some sudden consciousness they brook, + Or dread the sequel. That night's blood + Disturbed even Mosby's brotherhood. + +The flagging horses stumbled at roots, + Floundered in mires, or clinked the stones; +No rider spake except aside; +But the wounded cramped in the ambulance, + It was horror to hear their groans-- + Jerked along in the woodland ride, + While Mosby's clan their revery hide. + +The Hospital Steward--even he-- + Who on the sleeper kept his glance, +Was changed; late bright-black beard and eye +Looked now hearse-black; his heavy heart, + Like his fagged mare, no more could dance; + His grape was now a raisin dry: + 'Tis Mosby's homily--_Man must die_. + +The amber sunset flushed the camp + As on the hill their eyes they fed; +The pickets dumb looks at the wagon dart; +A handkerchief waves from the bannered tent-- + As white, alas! the face of the dead: + Who shall the withering news impart? + The bullet of Mosby goes through heart to heart! + +They buried him where the lone ones lie + (Lone sentries shot on midnight post)-- +A green-wood grave-yard hid from ken, +Where sweet-fern flings an odor nigh-- + Yet held in fear for the gleaming ghost! + Though the bride should see threescore and ten, + She will dream of Mosby and his men. + +Now halt the verse, and turn aside-- + The cypress falls athwart the way; +No joy remains for bard to sing; +And heaviest dole of all is this, + That other hearts shall be as gay + As hers that now no more shall spring: + To Mosby-land the dirges cling. + + + + +Lee in the Capitol. + + + +Lee in the Capitol.[24] +(April, 1866.) + + +Hard pressed by numbers in his strait, + Rebellion's soldier-chief no more contends-- +Feels that the hour is come of Fate, + Lays down one sword, and widened warfare ends. +The captain who fierce armies led +Becomes a quiet seminary's head-- +Poor as his privates, earns his bread. +In studious cares and aims engrossed, + Strives to forget Stuart and Stonewall dead-- +Comrades and cause, station and riches lost, + And all the ills that flock when fortune's fled. +No word he breathes of vain lament, + Mute to reproach, nor hears applause-- +His doom accepts, perforce content, + And acquiesces in asserted laws; +Secluded now would pass his life, +And leave to time the sequel of the strife. + But missives from the Senators ran; +Not that they now would gaze upon a swordless foe, +And power made powerless and brought low: + Reasons of state, 'tis claimed, require the man. +Demurring not, promptly he comes +By ways which show the blackened homes, + And--last--the seat no more his own, +But Honor's; patriot grave-yards fill +The forfeit slopes of that patrician hill, + And fling a shroud on Arlington. +The oaks ancestral all are low; +No more from the porch his glance shall go +Ranging the varied landscape o'er, +Far as the looming Dome--no more. +One look he gives, then turns aside, +Solace he summons from his pride: +"So be it! They await me now +Who wrought this stinging overthrow; +They wait me; not as on the day +Of Pope's impelled retreat in disarray-- +By me impelled--when toward yon Dome +The clouds of war came rolling home" +The burst, the bitterness was spent, +The heart-burst bitterly turbulent, +And on he fared. + + In nearness now + He marks the Capitol--a show +Lifted in amplitude, and set +With standards flushed with a glow of Richmond yet; + Trees and green terraces sleep below. +Through the clear air, in sunny light, +The marble dazes--a temple white. + +Intrepid soldier! had his blade been drawn +For yon stirred flag, never as now +Bid to the Senate-house had he gone, +But freely, and in pageant borne, +As when brave numbers without number, massed, +Plumed the broad way, and pouring passed-- +Bannered, beflowered--between the shores +Of faces, and the dinn'd huzzas, +And balconies kindling at the sabre-flash, +'Mid roar of drums and guns, and cymbal-crash, +While Grant and Sherman shone in blue-- +Close of the war and victory's long review. + +Yet pride at hand still aidful swelled, +And up the hard ascent he held. +The meeting follows. In his mien +The victor and the vanquished both are seen-- +All that he is, and what he late had been. +Awhile, with curious eyes they scan +The Chief who led invasion's van-- +Allied by family to one, +Founder of the Arch the Invader warred upon: +Who looks at Lee must think of Washington; +In pain must think, and hide the thought, +So deep with grievous meaning it is fraught. + +Secession in her soldier shows +Silent and patient; and they feel + (Developed even in just success) +Dim inklings of a hazy future steal; + Their thoughts their questions well express: +"Does the sad South still cherish hate? +Freely will Southen men with Northern mate? +The blacks--should we our arm withdraw, +Would that betray them? some distrust your law. +And how if foreign fleets should come-- +Would the South then drive her wedges home" +And more hereof. The Virginian sees-- +Replies to such anxieties. +Discreet his answers run--appear +Briefly straightforward, coldly clear. + +"If now," the Senators, closing, say, +"Aught else remain, speak out, we pray" +Hereat he paused; his better heart +Strove strongly then; prompted a worthier part +Than coldly to endure his doom. +Speak out? Ay, speak, and for the brave, +Who else no voice or proxy have; +Frankly their spokesman here become, +And the flushed North from her own victory save. +That inspiration overrode-- +Hardly it quelled the galling load +Of personal ill. The inner feud +He, self-contained, a while withstood; +They waiting. In his troubled eye +Shadows from clouds unseen they spy; +They could not mark within his breast +The pang which pleading thought oppressed: +He spoke, nor felt the bitterness die. + +"My word is given--it ties my sword; +Even were banners still abroad, +Never could I strive in arms again +While you, as fit, that pledge retain. +Our cause I followed, stood in field and gate-- +All's over now, and now I follow Fate. +But this is naught. A People call-- +A desolted land, and all +The brood of ills that press so sore, +The natural offspring of this civil war, +Which ending not in fame, such as might rear +Fitly its sculptured trophy here, +Yields harvest large of doubt and dread +To all who have the heart and head +To feel and know. How shall I speak? +Thoughts knot with thoughts, and utterance check. +Before my eyes there swims a haze, +Through mists departed comrades gaze-- +First to encourage, last that shall upbraid! +How shall I speak? The South would fain +Feel peace, have quiet law again-- +Replant the trees for homestead-shade. + You ask if she recants: she yields. +Nay, and would more; would blend anew, +As the bones of the slain in her forests do, +Bewailed alike by us and you. + A voice comes out from these charnel-fields, +A plaintive yet unheeded one: +_'Died all in vain? both sides undone'_ +Push not your triumph; do not urge +Submissiveness beyond the verge. +Intestine rancor would you bide, +Nursing eleven sliding daggers in your side? + +"Far from my thought to school or threat; +I speak the things which hard beset. +Where various hazards meet the eyes, +To elect in magnanimity is wise. +Reap victory's fruit while sound the core; +What sounder fruit than re-established law? +I know your partial thoughts do press +Solely on us for war's unhappy stress; +But weigh--consider--look at all, +And broad anathema you'll recall. +The censor's charge I'll not repeat, +The meddlers kindled the war's white heat-- +Vain intermeddlers and malign, +Both of the palm and of the pine; +I waive the thought--which never can be rife-- +Common's the crime in every civil strife: +But this I feel, that North and South were driven +By Fate to arms. For our unshriven, +What thousands, truest souls, were tried-- + As never may any be again-- +All those who stemmed Secession's pride, +But at last were swept by the urgent tide + Into the chasm. I know their pain. +A story here may be applied: +'In Moorish lands there lived a maid + Brought to confess by vow the creed + Of Christians. Fain would priests persuade +That now she must approve by deed + The faith she kept. "What dead?" she asked. +"Your old sire leave, nor deem it sin, + And come with us." Still more they tasked +The sad one: "If heaven you'd win-- + Far from the burning pit withdraw, +Then must you learn to hate your kin, + Yea, side against them--such the law, +For Moor and Christian are at war" +"Then will I never quit my sire, +But here with him through every trial go, +Nor leave him though in flames below-- +God help me in his fire!" +So in the South; vain every plea +'Gainst Nature's strong fidelity; + True to the home and to the heart, +Throngs cast their lot with kith and kin, + Foreboding, cleaved to the natural part-- +Was this the unforgivable sin? +These noble spirits are yet yours to win. +Shall the great North go Sylla's way? +Proscribe? prolong the evil day? +Confirm the curse? infix the hate? +In Unions name forever alienate? + +"From reason who can urge the plea-- +Freemen conquerors of the free? +When blood returns to the shrunken vein, +Shall the wound of the Nation bleed again? +Well may the wars wan thought supply, +And kill the kindling of the hopeful eye, +Unless you do what even kings have done +In leniency--unless you shun +To copy Europe in her worst estate-- +Avoid the tyranny you reprobate." + +He ceased. His earnestness unforeseen +Moved, but not swayed their former mien; + And they dismissed him. Forth he went +Through vaulted walks in lengthened line +Like porches erst upon the Palatine: + Historic reveries their lesson lent, + The Past her shadow through the Future sent. + +But no. Brave though the Soldier, grave his plea-- + Catching the light in the future's skies, +Instinct disowns each darkening prophecy: + Faith in America never dies; +Heaven shall the end ordained fulfill, +We march with Providence cheery still. + + + + +A Meditation: + +Attributed to a northerner after attending the last of two funerals +from the same homestead--those of a national and a confederate +officer (brothers), his kinsmen, who had died from the effects of +wounds received in the closing battles. + + + +A Meditation. + + +How often in the years that close, + When truce had stilled the sieging gun, +The soldiers, mounting on their works, + With mutual curious glance have run +From face to face along the fronting show, +And kinsman spied, or friend--even in a foe. + +What thoughts conflicting then were shared. + While sacred tenderness perforce +Welled from the heart and wet the eye; + And something of a strange remorse +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood. + +Then stirred the god within the breast-- + The witness that is man's at birth; +A deep misgiving undermined + Each plea and subterfuge of earth; +The felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, +Horror and anguish for the civil strife. + +Of North or South they recked not then, + Warm passion cursed the cause of war: +Can Africa pay back this blood + Spilt on Potomac's shore? +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay, +And hands that fain had clasped again could slay. + +How frequent in the camp was seen + The herald from the hostile one, +A guest and frank companion there + When the proud formal talk was done; +The pipe of peace was smoked even 'mid the war, +And fields in Mexico again fought o'er. + +In Western battle long they lay + So near opposed in trench or pit, +That foeman unto foeman called + As men who screened in tavern sit: +"You bravely fight" each to the other said-- +"Toss us a biscuit!" o'er the wall it sped. + +And pale on those same slopes, a boy-- + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, + He cried to them who nearest were, +And out there came 'mid howling shot and shell +A daring foe who him befriended well. + +Mark the great Captains on both sides, + The soldiers with the broad renown-- +They all were messmates on the Hudson's marge, + Beneath one roof they laid them down; +And free from hate in many an after pass, +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class. + +A darker side there is; but doubt + In Nature's charity hovers there: +If men for new agreement yearn, + Then old upbraiding best forbear: +"_The South's the sinner!_" Well, so let it be; +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee? + +O, now that brave men yield the sword, + Mine be the manful soldier-view; +By how much more they boldly warred, + By so much more is mercy due: +When Vickburg fell, and the moody files marched out, +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout. + + + + +Footnotes. + + +1. The gloomy lull of the early part of the winter of 1860-1, seeming +big with final disaster to our institutions, affected some minds that +believed them to constitute one of the great hopes of mankind, much as +the eclipse which came over the promise of the first French Revolution +affected kindred natures, throwing them for the time into doubt and +misgivings universal. + +2. "The terrible Stone Fleet on a mission as pitiless as the granite +that freights it, sailed this morning from Port Royal, and before two +days are past will have made Charleston an inland city. The ships are +all old whalers, and cost the government from $2500 to $5000 each. Some +of them were once famous ships.--" (From Newspaper Correspondences of +the day.) + +Sixteen vessels were accordingly sunk on the bar at the river entrance. +Their names were as follows: + +Amazon, +America, +American, +Archer, +Courier, +Fortune, +Herald, +Kensington, +Leonidas, +Maria Theresa, +Potomac, +Rebecca Simms, +L.C. Richmond, +Robin Hood, +Tenedos, +William Lee. + +All accounts seem to agree that the object proposed was not +accomplished. The channel is even said to have become ultimately +benefited by the means employed to obstruct it. + +3. The _Temeraire_, that storied ship of the old English fleet, and the +subject of the well-known painting by Turner, commends itself to the +mind seeking for some one craft to stand for the poetic ideal of those +great historic wooden warships, whose gradual displacement is lamented +by none more than by regularly educated navy officers, and of all +nations. + +4. Some of the cannon of old times, especially the brass ones, unlike +the more effective ordnance of the present day, were cast in shapes +which Cellini might have designed, were gracefully enchased, generally +with the arms of the country. A few of them--field-pieces--captured in +our earlier wars, are preserved in arsenals and navy-yards. + +5. Whatever just military criticism, favorable or otherwise, has at any +time been made upon General McClellan's campaigns, will stand. But if, +during the excitement of the conflict, aught was spread abroad tending +the unmerited disparagement of the man, it must necessarily die out, +though not perhaps without leaving some traces, which may or may not +prove enduring. Some there are whose votes aided in the re-election of +Abraham Lincoln, who yet believed, and retain the belief, that General +McClellan, to say the least, always proved himself a patriotic and +honorable soldier. The feeling which surviving comrades entertain for +their late commnder is one which, from its passion, is susceptible of +versified representation, and such it receives. + +6. At Antietam Stonewall Jackson led one wing of Lee's army, consequenty +sharing that day in whatever may be deemed to have been the fortunes of +his superior. + +7. Admiral Porter is son of the late Commodore Porter, commander of the +Frigate Essex on that Pacific cruise which ended in the desparate fight +off Valparaiso with the English frigates Cherub and Phoebe, in the year +1814. + +8. Among numerous head-stones or monuments on Cemetery Hill, marred or +destroyed by the enemy's concentrated fire, was one, somewhat +conspicuous, of a Federal officer killed before Richmond in 1862. + +On the 4th of July 1865, the Gettysburg National Cemetery, on the same +height with the original burial-ground, was consecrated, and the +corner-stone laid of a commemorative pile. + +9. "I dare not write the horrible and inconceivable atrocities +committed," says Froissart, in alluding to the remarkable sedition in +France during his time. The like may be hinted of some proceedings of +the draft-rioters. + +10. Although the month was November, the day was in character an October +one--cool, clear, bright, intoxicatingly invigorating; one of those days +peculiar to the ripest hours of our American Autumn. This weather must +have had much to do with the spontaneous enthusiasm which seized the +troops--and enthusiasm aided, doubtless, by glad thoughts of the victory +of Look-out Mountain won the day previous, and also by the elation +attending the capture, after a fierce struggle, of the long ranges of +rifle-pits at the mountain's base, where orders for the time should have +stopped the advance. But there and then it was that the army took the +bit between its teeth, and ran away with the generals to the victory +commemorated. General Grant, at Culpepper, a few weeks prior to crossing +the Rapidan for the Wilderness, expressed to a visitor his impression of +the impulse and the spectacle: Said he: "I never saw any thing like it:" +language which seems curiously undertoned, considering its application; +but from the taciturn Commander it was equivalent to a superlative or +hyperbole from the talkative. + +The height of the Ridge, according to the account at hand, varies along +its length from six to seven hundred feet above the plain; it slopes at +an angle of about forty-five degrees. + +11. The great Parrott gun, planted in the marshes of James Island, and +employed in the prolonged, though at times intermitted bombardment of +Charleston, was known among our soldiers as the Swamp Angel. + +St. Michael's, characterized by its venerable tower, was the historic +and aristrocratic church of the town. + +12. Among the Northwestern regiments there would seem to have been more +than one which carried a living eagle as an added ensign. The bird +commemorated here was, according the the account, borne aloft on a perch +beside the standard; went through successive battles and campaigns; was +more than once under the surgeon's hands; and at the close of the +contest found honorable repose in the capital of Wisconsin, from which +state he had gone to the wars. + +13. The late Major General McPherson, commanding the Army of the +Tennessee, a major of Ohio and a West Pointer, was one of the foremost +spirits of the war. Young, though a veteran; hardy, intrepid, sensitive +in honor, full of engaging qualities, with manly beauty; possessed of +genius, a favorite with the army, and with Grant and Sherman. Both +Generals have generously acknowledged their professional obligiations to +the able engineer and admirable soldier, their subordinate and junior. + +In an informal account written by the Achilles to this Sarpedon, he +says: "On that day we avenged his death. Near twenty-two hundred of the +enemy's dead remained on the ground when night closed upon the scene of +action." + +It is significant of the scale on which the war was waged, that the +engagement thus written of goes solely (so far as can be learned) under +the vague designation of one of the battles before Atlanta. + +14. The piece was written while yet the reports were coming North of +Sherman's homeward advance from Savannah. It is needless to point out +its purely dramatic character. + +Though the sentiment ascribed in the beginning of the second stanza +must, in the present reading, suggest the historic tragedy of the 14th +of April, nevertheless, as intimated, it was written prior to that +event, and without any distinct application in the writer's mind. After +consideration, it is allowed to remain. + +Few need be reminded that, by the less intelligent classes of the South, +Abraham Lincoln, by nature the most kindly of men, was regarded as a +monster wantonly warring upon liberty. He stood for the personification +of tyrannic power. Each Union soldier was called a Lincolnite. + +Undoubtedly Sherman, in the desolation he inflicted after leaving +Atlanta, acted not in contravention of orders; and all, in a military +point of view, if by military judged deemed to have been expedient, and +nothing can abate General Sherman's shining renown; his claims to it +rest on no single campaign. Still, there are those who can not but +contrast some of the scenes enacted in Georgia and the Carolinas, and +also in the Shenandoah, with a circumstance in a great Civil War of +heathen antiquity. Plutarch relates that in a military council held by +Pompey and the chiefs of that party which stood for the Commonwealth, it +was decided that under no plea should any city be sacked that was +subject to the people of Rome. There was this difference, however, +between the Roman civil conflict and the American one. The war of Pompey +and Caesar divided the Roman people promiscuously; that of the North and +South ran a frontier line between what for the time were distinct +communities or nations. In this circumstance, possibly, and some others, +may be found both the cause and the justification of some of the +sweeping measures adopted. + +15. At this period of excitement the thought was by some passionately +welcomed that the Presidential successor had been raised up by heaven to +wreak vengeance on the South. The idea originated in the remembrance +that Andrew Johnson by birth belonged to that class of Southern whites +who never cherished love for the dominant: that he was a citizen of +Tennessee, where the contest at times and in places had been close and +bitter as a Middle-Age feud; the himself and family had been hardly +treated by the Secessionists. + +But the expectations build hereon (if, indeed, ever soberly +entertained), happily for the country, have not been verified. + +Likely the feeling which would have held the entire South chargeable +with the crime of one exceptional assassin, this too has died away with +the natural excitement of the hour. + +16. The incident on which this piece is based is narrated in a newspaper +account of the battle to be found in the "Rebellion Record." During the +disaster to the national forces on the first day, a brigade on the +extreme left found itself isolated. The perils it encountered are given +in detail. Among others, the following sentences occur: + +"Under cover of the fire from the bluffs, the rebels rushed down, +crossed the ford, and in a moment were seen forming this side the creek +in open fields, and within close musket-range. Their color-bearers +stepped defiantly to the front as the engagement opened furiously; the +rebels pouring in sharp, quick volleys of musketry, and their batteries +above continuing to support them with a destructive fire. Our +sharpshooters wanted to pick off the audacious rebel color-bearers, but +Colonel Stuart interposed: 'No, no, they're too brave fellows to be +killed.'" + +17. According to a report of the Secretary of War, there were on the +first day of March, 1865, 965,000 men on the army pay-rolls. Of these, +some 200,000--artillery, cavalry, and infantry--made up from the larger +portion of the veterans of Grant and Sherman, marched by the President. +The total number of Union troops enlisted during the war was 2,668,000. + +18. For a month or two after the completion of peace, some thousands of +released captives from the military prisons of the North, natives of all +parts of the South, passed through the city of New York, sometimes +waiting farther transportation for days, during which interval they +wandered penniless about the streets, or lay in their worn and patched +gray uniforms under the trees of Battery, near the barracks where they +were lodged and fed. They were transported and provided for at the +charge of government. + +19. Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a +view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the +same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to +deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem. + +20. The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest +youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same +classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern +seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched +who never returned except on the shield. + +21. Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at +Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each +beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the +prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at +the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at +Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four +large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like +getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the +interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople. + +22. In one of Kilpatrick's earlier cavalry fights near Aldie, a Colonel +who, being under arrest, had been temporarily deprived of his sword, +nevertheless, unarmed, insisted upon charging at the head of his men, +which he did, and the onset proved victorious. + +23. Certain of Mosby's followers, on the charge of being unlicensed +foragers or fighters, being hung by order of a Union cavalry commander, +the Partisan promptly retaliated in the woods. In turn, this also was +retaliated, it is said. To what extent such deplorable proceedings were +carried, it is not easy to learn. + +South of the Potamac in Virginia, and within a gallop of the Long Bridge +at Washington, is the confine of a country, in some places wild, which +throughout the war it was unsafe for a Union man to traverse except with +an armed escort. This was the chase of Mosby, the scene of many of his +exploits or those of his men. In the heart of this region at least one +fortified camp was maintained by our cavalry, and from time to time +expeditions ended disastrously. Such results were helped by the +exceeding cunning of the enemy, born of his wood-craft, and, in some +instances, by undue confidence on the part of our men. A body of +cavalry, starting from camp with the view of breaking up a nest of +rangers, and absent say three days, would return with a number of their +own forces killed and wounded (ambushed), without being able to +retaliate farther than by foraging on the country, destroying a house or +two reported to be haunts of the guerrillas, or capturing non-combatants +accused of being secretly active in their behalf. + +In the verse the name of Mosby is invested with some of those +associations with which the popular mind is familiar. But facts do not +warrant the belief that every clandestine attack of men who passed for +Mosby's was made under his eye or even by his knowledge. + +In partisan warfare he proved himself shrewd, able, and enterprising, +and always a wary fighter. He stood well in the confidence of his +superior officers, and was empoyed by them at times in furtherance of +important movements. To our wounded on more than one occasion he showed +considerate kindness. Officers and civilians captured by forces under +his immediate command were, so long as remaining under his orders, +treated with civility. These things are well known to those personally +familiar with the irregular fighting in Virginia. + +24. Among those summoned during the spring just passed to appear before +the Reconstruction Committee of Congress was Robert E. Lee. His +testimony is deeply interesting, both in itself and as coming from him. +After various questions had been put and briefly answered, these words +were addressed to him: + +"If there be any other matter about which you wish to speak on this +occasions, do so freely." Waiving this invitation, he responded by a +short personal explanation of some point in a previous answer, and after +a few more brief questions and replies, the interview closed. + +In the verse a poetical liberty has been ventured. Lee is not only +represented as responding to the invitation, but also as at last +renouncing his cold reserve, doubtless the cloak to feelings more or +less poignant. If for such freedom warrant be necessary the speeches in +ancient histories, not to speak of those in Shakespeare's historic +plays, may not unfitly perhaps be cited. + +The character of the original measures proposed about time in the +National Legislature for the treatment of the (as yet) Congressionally +excluded South, and the spirit in which those measures were +advocated--these are circumstances which it is fairly supposable would +have deeply influenced the thoughts, whether spoken or withheld, of a +Southerner placed in the position of Lee before the Reconstruction +Committee. + + + + +Supplement. + + +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism--not free +from solicitude--urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. + +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheavel affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion to +spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who shall +hymn the politicians? + +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen. + +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which +time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast. + +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered by a cause not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much. + +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all practical +purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of civil war to +feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; that both now lie +buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and that +together we comprise the Nation. + +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it +was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people of +the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. + +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and +upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea--a +renown which we of the North could not suppress even if we would. In +personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the South +enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from +disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can respect. +Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from our +passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV. could out of the +graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the +great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty, +Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout at Preston +Pans--Upon whose head the king's ancestor but one reign removed has set +a price--is it probable that the grandchildren of General Grant will +pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall +Jackson? + +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies +which record the deeds of her chieftains--writings freely published at +the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though +saddened interest. By students of the war such works are hailed as +welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the record. + +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers +of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd +felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through their +fidelity to the Stuarts--a feeling whose passion was tempered by the +poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to the +Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed excellent +things to literature. But, setting this view aside, dishonorable would +it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the memory of +brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her +behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray. + +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast. + +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of a poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied--an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry +or patriotism. + +There were excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities--exalted ones--courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be +held the characteristic traits, and not the former. + +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumph, so far as it +may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity. + +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men--few in number, we trust--who have resolved never +to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts every thing is thrown away +except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them +call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with +impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a +little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his own +heart at Richmond. + +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos--a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity. + +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though to +treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth--namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating strength +and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other side, on +ours might have lain those actions which now in our late opponents we +stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us own--what it +would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned--that our +triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior resources +and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a people for +years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we) were +the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with ourselves, +share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may possess. No one +can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat has now cast upon +Secession by withholding the recognition of these verities. + +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which law-making, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy--Christianity and +Machiavelli--dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate +fellow-men late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be +wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those attested in the +War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them nationally +available at need. + +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the +interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and +benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to exclude +kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For the +future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future of +the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a paramount +claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, is not +narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, it is +vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the +situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor +theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved. +And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length +attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we +still turn our eyes toward the South, as the Neapolitan, months after +the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may +be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has the crater but shifted? Let +us revere that sacred uncertainty which forever impends over men and +nations. Those of us who always abhorred slavery as an atheistical +iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of humanity over its +downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was accomplished not +by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence could so +mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the +benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of +dubious constitutional rightfulness toward our white countrymen +--measures of a nature to provoke, among other of the last evils, +exterminating hatred of race toward race. In imagination let us place +ourselves in the unprecedented position of the Southerners--their +position as regards the millions of ignorant manumitted slaves in their +midst, for whom some of us now claim the suffrage. Let us be Christians +toward our fellow-whites, as well as philanthropists toward the blacks +our fellow-men. In all things, and toward all, we are enjoined to do as +we would be done by. Nor should we forget that benevolent desires, after +passing a certain point, can not undertake their own fulfillment without +incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be remedied. +Something may well be left to the graduated care of future legislation, +and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two races in +the South--whether the negro be bond or free--seems (even as it did to +Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of +the reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present +transition period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble +may not unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too +swift to charge the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain +evils men must be more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent +digestion, and may in time convert and assimilate to good all elements +thrown in, however originally alien. + +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent +Re-establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent. + +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land--what then? Why the Congressman elected by the +people of the South will--represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itelf can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly with +the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than +the South, for the North is victor. + +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath opertively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This +is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted +fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo alteration, +assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission into the +National Legislature of men who represent the populations lately in +revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the principles of +democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the political +existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be +ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the +Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in +democracy. + +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is any thing +here thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural +--inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to many +thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they must +have that weight with the public which already they have had with +individuals. + +For that heroic band--those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials--we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet +passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic +in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to +discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side. + +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War +by Herman Melville + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASPECTS OF WAR *** + +***** This file should be named 12384-8.txt or 12384-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/8/12384/ + +Produced by David Maddock + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/old/12384-8.zip b/old/old/12384-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6c17bd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12384-8.zip diff --git a/old/old/12384.txt b/old/old/12384.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4507cca --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12384.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6015 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War, by Herman Melville + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War + +Author: Herman Melville + +Release Date: May 19, 2004 [EBook #12384] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASPECTS OF WAR *** + + + + +Produced by David Maddock + + + + +Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War. + +By Herman Melville. + + + +1866. + + + + +The Battle-Pieces in this volume are dedicated to the memory of the +THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND who in the war for the maintenance of the Union +fell devotedly under the flag of their fathers. + + + +[With few exceptions, the Pieces in this volume originated in an impulse +imparted by the fall of Richmond. They were composed without reference +to collective arrangement, but being brought together in review, +naturally fall into the order assumed. + +The events and incidents of the conflict--making up a whole, in varied +amplitude, corresponding with the geographical area covered by the +war--from these but a few themes have been taken, such as for any cause +chanced to imprint themselves upon the mind. + +The aspects which the strife as a memory assumes are as manifold as are +the moods of involuntary meditation--moods variable, and at times widely +at variance. Yielding instinctively, one after another, to feelings not +inspired from any one source exclusively, and unmindful, without +purposing to be, of consistency, I seem, in most of these verses, to +have but placed a harp in a window, and noted the contrasted airs which +wayward wilds have played upon the strings.] + + + +The Portent. +(1859.) + + +Hanging from the beam, + Slowly swaying (such the law), +Gaunt the shadow on your green, + Shenandoah! +The cut is on the crown +(Lo, John Brown), +And the stabs shall heal no more. + +Hidden in the cap + Is the anguish none can draw; +So your future veils its face, + Shenandoah! +But the streaming beard is shown +(Weird John Brown), +The meteor of the the war. + + + +Misgivings. +(1860.) + + + When ocean-clouds over inland hills + Sweep storming in late autumn brown, + And horror the sodden valley fills, + And the spire falls crashing in the town, + I muse upon my country's ills-- + The tempest bursting from the waste of Time +On the world's fairest hope linked with man's foulest crime. + + Nature's dark side is heeded now-- + (Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown)-- + A child may read the moody brow + Of yon black mountain lone. + With shouts the torrents down the gorges go, + And storms are formed behind the storm we feel: +The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel. + + + +The Conflict of Convictions.[1] +(1860-1.) + + +On starry heights + A bugle wails the long recall; +Derision stirs the deep abyss, + Heaven's ominous silence over all. +Return, return, O eager Hope, + And face man's latter fall. +Events, they make the dreamers quail; +Satan's old age is strong and hale, +A disciplined captain, gray in skill, +And Raphael a white enthusiast still; +Dashed aims, at which Christ's martyrs pale, +Shall Mammon's slaves fulfill? + + (_Dismantle the fort, + Cut down the fleet-- + Battle no more shall be! + While the fields for fight in aeons to come + Congeal beneath the sea._) + +The terrors of truth and dart of death + To faith alike are vain; +Though comets, gone a thousand years, + Return again, +Patient she stands--she can no more-- +And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar. + + (_At a stony gate, + A statue of stone, + Weed overgrown-- + Long 'twill wait!_) + +But God his former mind retains, + Confirms his old decree; +The generations are inured to pains, + And strong Necessity +Surges, and heaps Time's strand with wrecks. + The People spread like a weedy grass, + The thing they will they bring to pass, +And prosper to the apoplex. +The rout it herds around the heart, + The ghost is yielded in the gloom; +Kings wag their heads--Now save thyself + Who wouldst rebuild the world in bloom. + + (_Tide-mark + And top of the ages' strike, + Verge where they called the world to come, + The last advance of life-- + Ha ha, the rust on the Iron Dome!_) + +Nay, but revere the hid event; + In the cloud a sword is girded on, +I mark a twinkling in the tent + Of Michael the warrior one. +Senior wisdom suits not now, +The light is on the youthful brow. + + (_Ay, in caves the miner see: + His forehead bears a blinking light; + Darkness so he feebly braves-- + A meagre wight!_) + +But He who rules is old--is old; +Ah! faith is warm, but heaven with age is cold. + + (_Ho ho, ho ho, + The cloistered doubt + Of olden times + Is blurted out!_) + +The Ancient of Days forever is young, + Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; +I know a wind in purpose strong-- + It spins _against_ the way it drives. +What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare? +So deep must the stones be hurled +Whereon the throes of ages rear +The final empire and the happier world. + + (_The poor old Past, + The Future's slave, + She drudged through pain and crime + To bring about the blissful Prime, + Then--perished. There's a grave!_) + + Power unanointed may come-- +Dominion (unsought by the free) + And the Iron Dome, +Stronger for stress and strain, +Fling her huge shadow athwart the main; +But the Founders' dream shall flee. +Agee after age shall be +As age after age has been, +(From man's changeless heart their way they win); + +And death be busy with all who strive-- +Death, with silent negative. + + YEA, AND NAY-- + EACH HATH HIS SAY; + BUT GOD HE KEEPS THE MIDDLE WAY. + NONE WAS BY + WHEN HE SPREAD THE SKY; + WISDOM IS VAIN, AND PROPHESY. + + + +Apathy and Enthusiasm. +(1860-1.) + + +I + +O the clammy cold November, + And the winter white and dead, +And the terror dumb with stupor, + And the sky a sheet of lead; +And events that came resounding + With the cry that _All was lost_, +Like the thunder-cracks of massy ice + In intensity of frost-- +Bursting one upon another + Through the horror of the calm. + The paralysis of arm +In the anguish of the heart; +And the hollowness and dearth. + The appealings of the mother + To brother and to brother +Not in hatred so to part-- +And the fissure in the hearth + Growing momently more wide. +Then the glances 'tween the Fates, + And the doubt on every side, +And the patience under gloom +In the stoniness that waits +The finality of doom. + + +II + +So the winter died despairing, + And the weary weeks of Lent; +And the ice-bound rivers melted, + And the tomb of Faith was rent. +O, the rising of the People + Came with springing of the grass, +They rebounded from dejection + And Easter came to pass. +And the young were all elation + Hearing Sumter's cannon roar, +And they thought how tame the Nation + In the age that went before. +And Michael seemed gigantical, + The Arch-fiend but a dwarf; +And at the towers of Erebus + Our striplings flung the scoff. +But the elders with foreboding + Mourned the days forever o'er, +And re called the forest proverb, + The Iroquois' old saw: +_Grief to every graybeard + When young Indians lead the war._ + + + +The March into Virginia, +Ending in the First Manassas. +(July, 1861.) + + +Did all the lets and bars appear + To every just or larger end, +Whence should come the trust and cheer? + Youth must its ignorant impulse lend-- +Age finds place in the rear. + All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys, +The champions and enthusiasts of the state: + Turbid ardors and vain joys + Not barrenly abate-- + Stimulants to the power mature, + Preparatives of fate. + +Who here forecasteth the event? +What heart but spurns at precedent +And warnings of the wise, +Contemned foreclosures of surprise? + +The banners play, the bugles call, +The air is blue and prodigal. + No berrying party, pleasure-wooed, +No picnic party in the May, +Ever went less loth than they + Into that leafy neighborhood. +In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate, +Moloch's uninitiate; +Expectancy, and glad surmise +Of battle's unknown mysteries. +All they feel is this: 'tis glory, +A rapture sharp, though transitory, +Yet lasting in belaureled story. +So they gayly go to fight, +Chatting left and laughing right. + +But some who this blithe mood present, + As on in lightsome files they fare, +Shall die experienced ere three days are spent-- + Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare; +Or shame survive, and, like to adamant, + The throe of Second Manassas share. + + + +Lyon. +Battle of Springfield, Missouri. +(August, 1861.) + + +Some hearts there are of deeper sort, + Prophetic, sad, +Which yet for cause are trebly clad; + Known death they fly on: +This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon. + +"They are more than twenty thousand strong, + We less than five, +Too few with such a host to strive" + "Such counsel, fie on! +'Tis battle, or 'tis shame;" and firm stood Lyon. + +"For help at need in van we wait-- + Retreat or fight: +Retreat the foe would take for flight, + And each proud scion +Feel more elate; the end must come," said Lyon. + +By candlelight he wrote the will, + And left his all +To Her for whom 'twas not enough to fall; + Loud neighed Orion +Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon. + +The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale + With guard-fires lit; +Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it: + "A field to die on" +Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon. + +We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn-- + Fate seemed malign; +His horse the Leader led along the line-- + Star-browed Orion; +Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon. + +There came a sound like the slitting of air + By a swift sharp sword-- +A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad + Of black Orion +Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon. + +"General, you're hurt--this sleet of balls!" + He seemed half spent; +With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent: + "The field to die on; +But not--not yet; the day is long," breathed Lyon. + +For a time becharmed there fell a lull + In the heart of the fight; +The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light; + Warm noon-winds sigh on, +And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon. + +Texans and Indians trim for a charge: + "Stand ready, men! +Let them come close, right up, and then + After the lead, the iron; +Fire, and charge back!" So strength returned to Lyon. + +The Iowa men who held the van, + Half drilled, were new +To battle: "Some one lead us, then we'll do" + Said Corporal Tryon: +"Men! _I_ will lead," and a light glared in Lyon. + +On they came: they yelped, and fired; + His spirit sped; +We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled, + Nor stayed the iron, +Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon. + +This seer foresaw his soldier-doom, + Yet willed the fight. +He never turned; his only flight + Was up to Zion, +Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon. + + + +Ball's Bluff. +A Reverie. +(October, 1861.) + + +One noonday, at my window in the town, + I saw a sight--saddest that eyes can see-- + Young soldiers marching lustily + Unto the wars, +With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry; + While all the porches, walks, and doors +Were rich with ladies cheering royally. + +They moved like Juny morning on the wave, + Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime + (It was the breezy summer time), + Life throbbed so strong, +How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime + Would come to thin their shining throng? +Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime. + +Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed, + By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft, + On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft); + Some marching feet +Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft; + Wakeful I mused, while in the street +Far footfalls died away till none were left. + + + +Dupont's Round Fight. +(November, 1861.) + + +In time and measure perfect moves + All Art whose aim is sure; +Evolving ryhme and stars divine + Have rules, and they endure. + +Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right, + And, warring so, prevailed, +In geometric beauty curved, + And in an orbit sailed. + +The rebel at Port Royal felt + The Unity overawe, +And rued the spell. A type was here, + And victory of Law. + + + +The Stone Fleet.[2] +An Old Sailor's Lament. +(December, 1861.) + + +I have a feeling for those ships, + Each worn and ancient one, +With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam; + Ay, it was unkindly done. + But so they serve the Obsolete-- + Even so, Stone Fleet! + +You'll say I'm doting; do but think + I scudded round the Horn in one-- +The Tenedos, a glorious + Good old craft as ever run-- + Sunk (how all unmeet!) + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +An India ship of fame was she, + Spices and shawls and fans she bore; +A whaler when her wrinkles came-- + Turned off! till, spent and poor, + Her bones were sold (escheat)! + Ah! Stone Fleet. + +Four were erst patrician keels + (Names attest what families be), +The Kensington, and Richmond too, + Leonidas, and Lee: + But now they have their seat + With the Old Stone Fleet. + +To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- + Sack them, and dismast; +They sunk so slow, they died so hard, + But gurgling dropped at last. + Their ghosts in gales repeat + _Woe's us, Stone Fleet!_ + +And all for naught. The waters pass-- + Currents will have their way; +Nature is nobody's ally; 'tis well; + The harbor is bettered--will stay. + A failure, and complete, + Was your Old Stone Fleet. + + + +Donelson. +(February, 1862.) + + +The bitter cup + Of that hard countermand +Which gave the Envoys up, +Still was wormwood in the mouth, + And clouds involved the land, +When, pelted by sleet in the icy street, + About the bulletin-board a band +Of eager, anxious people met, +And every wakeful heart was set +On latest news from West or South. +"No seeing here," cries one--"don't crowd--" +"You tall man, pray you, read aloud." + +IMPORTANT. + _We learn that General Grant, + Marching from Henry overland, +And joined by a force up the Cumberland sent + (Some thirty thousand the command), +On Wednesday a good position won-- +Began the siege of Donelson. + +The stronghold crowns a river-bluff, + A good broad mile of leveled top; +Inland the ground rolls off + Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up-- +A wilderness of trees and brush. + The spaded summit shows the roods +Of fixed intrenchments in their hush; + Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods +Perplex the base.-- + The welcome weather + Is clear and mild; 'tis much like May. +The ancient boughs that lace together +Along the stream, and hang far forth, + Strange with green mistletoe, betray +A dreamy contrast to the North. + +Our troops are full of spirits--say + The siege won't prove a creeping one. +They purpose not the lingering stay +Of old beleaguerers; not that way; + But, full of _vim_ from Western prairies won, + They'll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson._ + +Washed by the storm till the paper grew +Every shade of a streaky blue, +That bulletin stood. The next day brought +A second. + + +LATER FROM THE FORT. +_Grant's investment is complete-- + A semicircular one. +Both wings the Cumberland's margin meet, +Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat. + On Wednesday this good work was done; + But of the doers some lie prone. +Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for; +The bold inclosing line we wrought for +Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost +A limb or life. But back we forced +Reserves and all; made good our hold; +And so we rest. + + Events unfold. +On Thursday added ground was won, + A long bold steep: we near the Den. +Later the foe came shouting down + In sortie, which was quelled; and then +We stormed them on their left. +A chilly change in the afternoon; +The sky, late clear, is now bereft +Of sun. Last night the ground froze hard-- +Rings to the enemy as they run +Within their works. A ramrod bites +The lip it meets. The cold incites +To swinging of arms with brisk rebound. +Smart blows 'gainst lusty chests resound. + +Along the outer line we ward + A crackle of skirmishing goes on. +Our lads creep round on hand and knee, + They fight from behind each trunk and stone; + And sometimes, flying for refuge, one +Finds 'tis an enemy shares the tree. +Some scores are maimed by boughs shot off + In the glades by the Fort's big gun. + We mourn the loss of colonel Morrison, + Killed while cheering his regiment on. +Their far sharpshooters try our stuff; +And ours return them puff for puff: +'Tis diamond-cutting-diamond work. + Woe on the rebel cannoneer +Who shows his head. Our fellows lurk + Like Indians that waylay the deer +By the wild salt-spring.--The sky is dun, +Fordooming the fall of Donelson. + +Stern weather is all unwonted here. + The people of the country own +We brought it. Yea, the earnest North +Has elementally issued forth + To storm this Donelson._ + +FURTHER. + A yelling rout +Of ragamuffins broke profuse + To-day from out the Fort. + Sole uniform they wore, a sort +Of patch, or white badge (as you choose) + Upon the arm. But leading these, +Or mingling, were men of face +And bearing of patrician race, +Splendid in courage and gold lace-- + The officers. Before the breeze +Made by their charge, down went our line; +But, rallying, charged back in force, +And broke the sally; yet with loss. +This on the left; upon the right +Meanwhile there was an answering fight; + Assailants and assailed reversed. +The charge too upward, and not down-- +Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown, + A strong redoubt. But they who first +Gained the fort's base, and marked the trees +Felled, heaped in horned perplexities, + And shagged with brush; and swarming there +Fierce wasps whose sting was present death-- +They faltered, drawing bated breath, + And felt it was in vain to dare; +Yet still, perforce, returned the ball, +Firing into the tangled wall +Till ordered to come down. They came; +But left some comrades in their fame, +Red on the ridge in icy wreath +And hanging gardens of cold Death. + But not quite unavenged these fell; +Our ranks once out of range, a blast + Of shrapnel and quick shell +Burst on the rebel horde, still massed, + Scattering them pell-mell. + (This fighting--judging what we read-- + Both charge and countercharge, + Would seem but Thursday's told at large, + Before in brief reported.--Ed.) +Night closed in about the Den + Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains. +A night not soon to be forgot, + Reviving old rheumatic pains +And longings for a cot. + + No blankets, overcoats, or tents. +Coats thrown aside on the warm march here-- +We looked not then for changeful cheer; +Tents, coats, and blankets too much care. + No fires; a fire a mark presents; + Near by, the trees show bullet-dents. +Rations were eaten cold and raw. + The men well soaked, come snow; and more-- +A midnight sally. Small sleeping done-- + But such is war; +No matter, we'll have Fort Donelson._ + + "Ugh! ugh! +'Twill drag along--drag along" +Growled a cross patriot in the throng, +His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover +Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over. +"Hurrah for Grant!" cried a stripling shrill; +Three urchins joined him with a will, +And some of taller stature cheered. +Meantime a Copperhead passed; he sneered. + "Win or lose," he pausing said, +"Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys; +Any thing to make a noise. + Like to see the list of the dead; +These '_craven Southerners_' hold out; +Ay, ay, they'll give you many a bout" + "We'll beat in the end, sir" +Firmly said one in staid rebuke, +A solid merchant, square and stout. + "And do you think it? that way tend, sir" +Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look +Of splenetic pity. "Yes, I do" +His yellow death's head the croaker shook: +"The country's ruined, that I know" +A shower of broken ice and snow, + In lieu of words, confuted him; +They saw him hustled round the corner go, + And each by-stander said--Well suited him. + +Next day another crowd was seen +In the dark weather's sleety spleen. +Bald-headed to the storm came out +A man, who, 'mid a joyous shout, +Silently posted this brief sheet: + +GLORIOUS VICTORY OF THE FLEET! + +FRIDAY'S GREAT EVENT! + +THE ENEMY'S WATER-BATTERIES BEAT! + +WE SILENCED EVERY GUN! + +THE OLD COMMODORE'S COMPLIMENTS SENT +PLUMP INTO DONELSON! + +"Well, well, go on!" exclaimed the crowd +To him who thus much read aloud. +"That's all," he said. "What! nothing more" +"Enough for a cheer, though--hip, hurrah!" +"But here's old Baldy come again--" +"More news!"--And now a different strain. + +(Our own reporter a dispatch compiles, + As best he may, from varied sources.) + +Large re-enforcements have arrived-- + Munitions, men, and horses-- +For Grant, and all debarked, with stores. + + The enemy's field-works extend six miles-- +The gate still hid; so well contrived. + +Yesterday stung us; frozen shores + Snow-clad, and through the drear defiles + +And over the desolate ridges blew +A Lapland wind. + The main affair + Was a good two hours' steady fight +Between our gun-boats and the Fort. + The Louisville's wheel was smashed outright. +A hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound ball +Came planet-like through a starboard port, +Killing three men, and wounding all +The rest of that gun's crew, +(The captain of the gun was cut in two); +Then splintering and ripping went-- +Nothing could be its continent. + In the narrow stream the Louisville, +Unhelmed, grew lawless; swung around, + And would have thumped and drifted, till +All the fleet was driven aground, +But for the timely order to retire. + +Some damage from our fire, 'tis thought, +Was done the water-batteries of the Fort. + +Little else took place that day, + Except the field artillery in line +Would now and then--for love, they say-- + Exchange a valentine. +The old sharpshooting going on. +Some plan afoot as yet unknown; +So Friday closed round Donelson. + +LATER. + Great suffering through the night-- +A stinging one. Our heedless boys + Were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen + Hapless wounded men were frozen. +During day being struck down out of sight, +And help-cries drowned in roaring noise, +They were left just where the skirmish shifted-- +Left in dense underbrush now-drifted. +Some, seeking to crawl in crippled plight, +So stiffened--perished. + Yet in spite +Of pangs for these, no heart is lost. +Hungry, and clothing stiff with frost, +Our men declare a nearing sun +Shall see the fall of Donelson. + And this they say, yet not disown +The dark redoubts round Donelson, + And ice-glazed corpses, each a stone-- + A sacrifice to Donelson; +They swear it, and swerve not, gazing on +A flag, deemed black, flying from Donelson. +Some of the wounded in the wood + Were cared for by the foe last night, +Though he could do them little needed good, + Himself being all in shivering plight. +The rebel is wrong, but human yet; +He's got a heart, and thrusts a bayonet. +He gives us battle with wondrous will-- +The bluff's a perverted Bunker Hill._ + +The stillness stealing through the throng +The silent thought and dismal fear revealed; + They turned and went, + Musing on right and wrong + And mysteries dimly sealed-- +Breasting the storm in daring discontent; +The storm, whose black flag showed in heaven, +As if to say no quarter there was given + To wounded men in wood, + Or true hearts yearning for the good-- +All fatherless seemed the human soul. +But next day brought a bitterer bowl-- + On the bulletin-board this stood; + + _Saturday morning at 3 A.M. + A stir within the Fort betrayed + That the rebels were getting under arms; + Some plot these early birds had laid. + But a lancing sleet cut him who stared + Into the storm. After some vague alarms, + Which left our lads unscared, + Out sallied the enemy at dim of dawn, + With cavalry and artillery, and went + In fury at our environment. + Under cover of shot and shell + Three columns of infantry rolled on, + Vomited out of Donelson-- + Rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell, + Surged at our line, and swelled and poured + Like breaking surf. But unsubmerged + Our men stood up, except where roared + The enemy through one gap. We urged + Our all of manhood to the stress, + But still showed shattered in our desperateness. + Back set the tide, + But soon afresh rolled in; + And so it swayed from side to side-- + Far batteries joining in the din, + Though sharing in another fray-- + Till all became an Indian fight, + Intricate, dusky, stretching far away, + Yet not without spontaneous plan + However tangled showed the plight; + Duels all over 'tween man and man, + Duels on cliff-side, and down in ravine, + Duels at long range, and bone to bone; + Duels every where flitting and half unseen. + Only by courage good as their own, + And strength outlasting theirs, + Did our boys at last drive the rebels off. + Yet they went not back to their distant lairs + In strong-hold, but loud in scoff + Maintained themselves on conquered ground-- + Uplands; built works, or stalked around. + Our right wing bore this onset. Noon + Brought calm to Donelson. + +The reader ceased; the storm beat hard; + 'Twas day, but the office-gas was lit; + Nature retained her sulking-fit, + In her hand the shard. +Flitting faces took the hue +Of that washed bulletin-board in view, +And seemed to bear the public grief +As private, and uncertain of relief; +Yea, many an earnest heart was won, + As broodingly he plodded on, +To find in himself some bitter thing, +Some hardness in his lot as harrowing + As Donelson. + +That night the board stood barren there, + Oft eyes by wistful people passing, + Who nothing saw but the rain-beads chasing +Each other down the wafered square, +As down some storm-beat grave-yard stone. +But next day showed-- + + MORE NEWS LAST NIGHT. + + +STORY OF SATURDAY AFTERNOON. + +VICISSITUDES OF THE WAR. + + _The damaged gun-boats can't wage fight +For days; so says the Commodore. +Thus no diversion can be had. +Under a sunless sky of lead + Our grim-faced boys in blacked plight +Gaze toward the ground they held before, +And then on Grant. He marks their mood, +And hails it, and will turn the same to good. +Spite all that they have undergone, +Their desperate hearts are set upon +This winter fort, this stubborn fort, +This castle of the last resort, + This Donelson. + +1 P.M. + + An order given + Requires withdrawal from the front + Of regiments that bore the brunt +Of morning's fray. Their ranks all riven +Are being replaced by fresh, strong men. +Great vigilance in the foeman's Den; +He snuffs the stormers. Need it is +That for that fell assault of his, +That rout inflicted, and self-scorn-- +Immoderate in noble natures, torn +By sense of being through slackness overborne-- +The rebel be given a quick return: +The kindest face looks now half stern. +Balked of their prey in airs that freeze, +Some fierce ones glare like savages. +And yet, and yet, strange moments are-- +Well--blood, and tears, and anguished War! +The morning's battle-ground is seen + In lifted glades, like meadows rare; + The blood-drops on the snow-crust there +Like clover in the white-week show-- + Flushed fields of death, that call again-- + Call to our men, and not in vain, +For that way must the stormers go. + +3 P.M. + + The work begins. +Light drifts of men thrown forward, fade + In skirmish-line along the slope, +Where some dislodgments must be made + Ere the stormer with the strong-hold cope. + +Lew Wallace, moving to retake +The heights late lost-- + (Herewith a break. + Storms at the West derange the wires. +Doubtless, ere morning, we shall hear +The end; we look for news to cheer-- + Let Hope fan all her fires.)_ + + +Next day in large bold hand was seen +The closing bulletin: + +VICTORY! + _Our troops have retrieved the day +By one grand surge along the line; +The spirit that urged them was divine. + The first works flooded, naught could stay +The stormers: on! still on! +Bayonets for Donelson! + +Over the ground that morning lost +Rolled the blue billows, tempest-tossed, + Following a hat on the point of a sword. +Spite shell and round-shot, grape and canister, +Up they climbed without rail or banister-- + Up the steep hill-sides long and broad, +Driving the rebel deep within his works. +'Tis nightfall; not an enemy lurks + In sight. The chafing men + Fret for more fight: + "To-night, to-night let us take the Den" +But night is treacherous, Grant is wary; +Of brave blood be a little chary. +Patience! the Fort is good as won; +To-morrow, and into Donelson._ + +LATER AND LAST. + + THE FORT IS OURS. + + _A flag came out at early morn +Bringing surrender. From their towers + Floats out the banner late their scorn. +In Dover, hut and house are full + Of rebels dead or dying. + The national flag is flying +From the crammed court-house pinnacle. +Great boat-loads of our wounded go +To-day to Nashville. The sleet-winds blow; +But all is right: the fight is won, +The winter-fight for Donelson. + Hurrah! +The spell of old defeat is broke, + The Habit of victory begun; +Grant strikes the war's first sounding stroke + At Donelson. + +For lists of killed and wounded, see +The morrow's dispatch: to-day 'tis victory._ + +The man who read this to the crowd + Shouted as the end he gained; + And though the unflagging tempest rained, + They answered him aloud. +And hand grasped hand, and glances met +In happy triumph; eyes grew wet. +O, to the punches brewed that night +Went little water. Windows bright +Beamed rosy on the sleet without, +And from the deep street came the frequent shout; +While some in prayer, as these in glee, +Blessed heaven for the winter-victory. + +But others were who wakeful laid + In midnight beds, and early rose, + And, feverish in the foggy snows, +Snatched the damp paper--wife and maid. + The death-list like a river flows + Down the pale sheet, +And there the whelming waters meet. + + Ah God! may Time with happy haste + Bring wail and triumph to a waste, + And war be done; + The battle flag-staff fall athwart + The curs'd ravine, and wither; naught + Be left of trench or gun; + The bastion, let it ebb away, + Washed with the river bed; and Day + In vain seek Donelson. + + + +The Cumberland. +(March, 1862.) + + +Some names there are of telling sound, + Whose voweled syllables free +Are pledge that they shall ever live renowned; + Such seem to be +A Frigate's name (by present glory spanned)-- + The Cumberland. + + Sounding name as ere was sung, + Flowing, rolling on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +She warred and sunk. There's no denying + That she was ended--quelled; +And yet her flag above her fate is flying, + As when it swelled +Unswallowed by the swallowing sea: so grand-- + The Cumberland. + + Goodly name as ere was sung, + Roundly rolling on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +What need to tell how she was fought-- + The sinking flaming gun-- +The gunner leaping out the port-- + Washed back, undone! +Her dead unconquerably manned + The Cumberland. + + Noble name as ere was sung, + Slowly roll it on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + +Long as hearts shall share the flame + Which burned in that brave crew, +Her fame shall live--outlive the victor's name; + For this is due. +Your flag and flag-staff shall in story stand-- + Cumberland! + + Sounding name as ere was sung, + Long they'll roll it on the tongue-- + Cumberland! Cumberland! + + + +In the Turret. +(March, 1862.) + + +Your honest heart of duty, Worden, + So helped you that in fame you dwell; +You bore the first iron battle's burden + Sealed as in a diving-bell. +Alcides, groping into haunted hell +To bring forth King Admetus' bride, +Braved naught more vaguely direful and untried. + What poet shall uplift his charm, +Bold Sailor, to your height of daring, + And interblend therewith the calm, +And build a goodly style upon your bearing. + +Escaped the gale of outer ocean-- + Cribbed in a craft which like a log +Was washed by every billow's motion-- + By night you heard of Og +The huge; nor felt your courage clog +At tokens of his onset grim: +You marked the sunk ship's flag-staff slim, + Lit by her burning sister's heart; +You marked, and mused: "Day brings the trial: + Then be it proved if I have part +With men whose manhood never took denial." + +A prayer went up--a champion's. Morning + Beheld you in the Turret walled +by adamant, where a spirit forewarning + And all-deriding called: +"Man, darest thou--desperate, unappalled-- +Be first to lock thee in the armored tower? +I have thee now; and what the battle-hour + To me shall bring--heed well--thou'lt share; +This plot-work, planned to be the foeman's terror, + To thee may prove a goblin-snare; +Its very strength and cunning--monstrous error!" + +"Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter + If here thou seest thy welded tomb? +And let huge Og with thunders batter-- + Duty be still my doom, +Though drowning come in liquid gloom; +First duty, duty next, and duty last; +Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!--" + So nerved, you fought wisely and well; +And live, twice live in life and story; + But over your Monitor dirges swell, +In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory. + + + +The Temeraire.[3] + +_(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by +the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)_ + + +The gloomy hulls, in armor grim, + Like clouds o'er moors have met, +And prove that oak, and iron, and man + Are tough in fibre yet. + +But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields + No front of old display; +The garniture, emblazonment, + And heraldry all decay. + +Towering afar in parting light, + The fleets like Albion's forelands shine-- +The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show + Of Ships-of-the-Line. + +The fighting Temeraire, + Built of a thousand trees, +Lunging out her lightnings, + And beetling o'er the seas-- +O Ship, how brave and fair, + That fought so oft and well, +On open decks you manned the gun + Armorial.[4] +What cheering did you share, + Impulsive in the van, +When down upon leagued France and Spain + We English ran-- +The freshet at your bowsprit + Like the foam upon the can. +Bickering, your colors + Licked up the Spanish air, +You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- + Your challenge, Temeraire! +The rear ones of our fleet + They yearned to share your place, +Still vying with the Victory + Throughout that earnest race-- +The Victory, whose Admiral, + With orders nobly won, +Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- + The angel in that sun. +Parallel in story, + Lo, the stately pair, +As late in grapple ranging, + The foe between them there-- +When four great hulls lay tiered, + And the fiery tempest cleared, +And your prizes twain appeared, + Temeraire! + +But Trafalgar' is over now, + The quarter-deck undone; +The carved and castled navies fire + Their evening-gun. +O, Tital Temeraire, + Your stern-lights fade away; +Your bulwarks to the years must yield, + And heart-of-oak decay. +A pigmy steam-tug tows you, + Gigantic, to the shore-- +Dismantled of your guns and spars, + And sweeping wings of war. +The rivets clinch the iron-clads, + Men learn a deadlier lore; +But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- + Your ghost it sails before: +O, the navies old and oaken, + O, the Temeraire no more! + + + +A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight. + + +Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, + More ponderous than nimble; +For since grimed War here laid aside +His Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit + Overmuch to ply +The Rhyme's barbaric cymbal. + +Hail to victory without the gaud + Of glory; zeal that needs no fans +Of banners; plain mechanic power +Plied cogently in War now placed-- + Where War belongs-- +Among the trades and artisans. + +Yet this was battle, and intense-- + Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; +Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm; +No passion; all went on by crank, + Pivot, and screw, +And calculations of caloric. + +Needless to dwell; the story's known. + the ringing of those plates on plates +Still ringeth round the world-- +The clangor of that blacksmith's fray. + The anvil-din +Resounds this message from the Fates: + +War shall yet be, and to the end; + But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; +War yet shall be, but warriors +Are now but operatives; War's made + Less grand than Peace, +And a singe runs through lace and feather. + + + +Shiloh. +A Requiem. +(April, 1862.) + + +Skimming lightly, wheeling still, + The swallows fly low +Over the field in clouded days, + The forest-field of Shiloh-- +Over the field where April rain +Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain +Through the pause of night +That followed the Sunday fight + Around the church of Shiloh-- +The church so lone, the log-built one, +That echoed to many a parting groan + And natural prayer +Of dying foemen mingled there-- +Foemen at morn, but friends at eve-- + Fame or country least their care: +(What like a bullet can undeceive!) + But now they lie low, +While over them the swallows skim, + And all is hushed at Shiloh. + + + +The Battle for the Mississipppi. +(April, 1862.) + + +When Israel camped by Migdol hoar, + Down at her feet her shawm she threw, +But Moses sung and timbrels rung + For Pharaoh's standed crew. +So God appears in apt events-- + The Lord is a man of war! +So the strong wind to the muse is given + In victory's roar. + +Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet-- + The fight by night--the fray +Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream, + And led it up to day. +Dully through din of larger strife + Shall bay that warring gun; +But none the less to us who live + It peals--an echoing one. + +The shock of ships, the jar of walls, + The rush through thick and thin-- +The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom-- + Eddies, and shells that spin-- +The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged, + The jam of gun-boats driven, +Or fired, or sunk--made up a war + Like Michael's waged with leven. + +The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled + The odds which hard beset; +The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze, + Passed on and thundered yet; +While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame, + The Ram Manassas--hark the yell!-- +Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright, + The River gave a startled swell. + +They fought through lurid dark till dawn; + The war-smoke rolled away +With clouds of night, and showed the fleet + In scarred yet firm array, +Above the forts, above the drift + Of wrecks which strife had made; +And Farragut sailed up to the town + And anchored--sheathed the blade. + +The moody broadsides, brooding deep, + Hold the lewd mob at bay, +While o'er the armed decks' solemn aisles + The meek church-pennons play; +By shotted guns the sailors stand, + With foreheads bound or bare; +The captains and the conquering crews + Humble their pride in prayer. + +They pray; and after victory, prayer + Is meet for men who mourn their slain; +The living shall unmoor and sail, + But Death's dark anchor secret deeps detain. +Yet glory slants her shaft of rays + Far through the undisturbed abyss; +There must be other, nobler worlds for them + Who nobly yield their lives in this. + + + +Malvern Hill. +(July, 1862.) + + +Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill + In prime of morn and May, +Recall ye how McClellan's men + Here stood at bay? +While deep within yon forest dim + Our rigid comrades lay-- +Some with the cartridge in their mouth, +Others with fixed arms lifted South-- + Invoking so +The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! + +The spires of Richmond, late beheld + Through rifts in musket-haze, +Were closed from view in clouds of dust + On leaf-walled ways, +Where streamed our wagons in caravan; + And the Seven Nights and Days +Of march and fast, retreat and fight, +Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- + Does the elm wood +Recall the haggard beards of blood? + +The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, + We followed (it never fell!)-- +In silence husbanded our strength-- + Received their yell; +Till on this slope we patient turned + With cannon ordered well; +Reverse we proved was not defeat; +But ah, the sod what thousands meet!-- + Does Malvern Wood +Bethink itself, and muse and brood? + + _We elms of Malvern Hill + Remember every thing; + But sap the twig will fill: + Wag the world how it will, + Leaves must be green in Spring._ + + + + +The Victor of Antietam.[5] +(1862.) + + +When tempest winnowed grain from bran; +And men were looking for a man, +Authority called you to the van, + McClellan: +Along the line the plaudit ran, +As later when Antietam's cheers began. + +Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move +Each Cause and Man, dear to the stars and Jove; +Nor always can the wisest tell +Deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell-- +The struggler from the floundering ne'er-do-well. +A pall-cloth on the Seven Days fell, + Mcclellan-- +Unprosperously heroical! +Who could Antietam's wreath foretell? + +Authority called you; then, in mist +And loom of jeopardy--dismissed. +But staring peril soon appalled; +You, the Discarded, she recalled-- +Recalled you, nor endured delay; +And forth you rode upon a blasted way, +Arrayed Pope's rout, and routed Lee's array, + McClellan: +Your tent was choked with captured flags that day, + McClellan. +Antietam was a telling fray. + +Recalled you; and she heard your drum +Advancing through the glastly gloom. +You manned the wall, you propped the Dome, +You stormed the powerful stormer home, + McClellan: +Antietam's cannon long shall boom. + +At Alexandria, left alone, + McClellan-- +Your veterans sent from you, and thrown +To fields and fortunes all unknown-- +What thoughts were yours, revealed to none, +While faithful still you labored on-- +Hearing the far Manassas gun! + McClellan, +Only Antietam could atone. + +You fought in the front (an evil day, + McClellan)-- +The fore-front of the first assay; +The Cause went sounding, groped its way; +The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay; +Quills thwarted swords; divided sway; +The rebel flushed in his lusty May: +You did your best, as in you lay, + McClellan. +Antietam's sun-burst sheds a ray. + +Your medalled soldiers love you well, + McClellan: +Name your name, their true hearts swell; +With you they shook dread Stonewall's spell,[6] +With you they braved the blended yell +Of rebel and maligner fell; +With you in shame or fame they dwell, + McClellan: +Antietam-braves a brave can tell. + +And when your comrades (now so few, + McClellan-- +Such ravage in deep files they rue) +Meet round the board, and sadly view +The empty places; tribute due +They render to the dead--and you! +Absent and silent o'er the blue; +The one-armed lift the wine to _you_, + McClellan, +And great Antietam's cheers renew. + + + +Battle of Stone River, Tennessee. +A View from Oxford Cloisters. +(January, 1863.) + + +With Tewksbury and Barnet heath + In days to come the field shall blend, +The story dim and date obscure; + In legend all shall end. +Even now, involved in forest shade + A Druid-dream the strife appears, +The fray of yesterday assumes + The haziness of years. + In North and South still beats the vein + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian. + +Our rival Roses warred for Sway-- + For Sway, but named the name of Right; +And Passion, scorning pain and death, + Lent sacred fervor to the fight. +Each lifted up a broidered cross, + While crossing blades profaned the sign; +Monks blessed the fraticidal lance, + And sisters scarfs could twine. + Do North and South the sin retain + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian? + +But Rosecrans in the cedarn glade, + And, deep in denser cypress gloom, +Dark Breckenridge, shall fade away + Or thinly loom. +The pale throngs who in forest cowed + Before the spell of battle's pause, +Forefelt the stillness that shall dwell + On them and on their wars. + North and South shall join the train + Of Yorkist and Lancastrian. + +But where the sword has plunged so deep, + And then been turned within the wound +By deadly Hate; where Climes contend + On vasty ground-- +No warning Alps or seas between, + And small the curb of creed or law, +And blood is quick, and quick the brain; + Shall North and South their rage deplore, + And reunited thrive amain + Like Yorkist and Lancastrian? + + + +Running the Batteries, +As observed from the Anchorage above Vicksburgh. +(April, 1863.) + + +A moonless night--a friendly one; + A haze dimmed the shadowy shore +As the first lampless boat slid silent on; + Hist! and we spake no more; +We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw. + +We felt the dew, and seemed to feel + The secret like a burden laid. +The first boat melts; and a second keel + Is blent with the foliaged shade-- +Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made? + +Unspied as yet. A third--a fourth-- + Gun-boat and transport in Indian file +Upon the war-path, smooth from the North; + But the watch may they hope to beguile? +The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile. + +A flame leaps out; they are seen; + Another and another gun roars; +We tell the course of the boats through the screen + By each further fort that pours, +And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores. + +Converging fires. We speak, though low: + "That blastful furnace can they thread" +"Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego + Came out all right, we read; +The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned." + +How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun + A golden growing flame appears-- +Confirms to a silvery steadfast one: + "The town is afire!" crows Hugh: "three cheers" +Lot stops his mouth: "Nay, lad, better three tears." + +A purposed light; it shows our fleet; + Yet a little late in its searching ray, +So far and strong, that in phantom cheat + Lank on the deck our shadows lay; +The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play. + +How dread to mark her near the glare + And glade of death the beacon throws +Athwart the racing waters there; + One by one each plainer grows, +Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes. + +The impartial cresset lights as well + The fixed forts to the boats that run; +And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell + Back to each fortress dun: +Ponderous words speaks every monster gun. + +Fearless they flash through gates of flame, + The salamanders hard to hit, +Though vivid shows each bulky frame; + And never the batteries intermit, +Nor the boats huge guns; they fire and flit. + +Anon a lull. The beacon dies: + "Are they out of that strait accurst" +But other flames now dawning rise, + Not mellowly brilliant like the first, +But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst. + +A baleful brand, a hurrying torch + Whereby anew the boats are seen-- +A burning transport all alurch! + Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean +Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean. + +The effulgence takes an amber glow + Which bathes the hill-side villas far; +Affrighted ladies mark the show + Painting the pale magnolia-- +The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War. + +The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one. + Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly. +But the gauntlet now is nearly run, + The spleenful forts by fits reply, +And the burning boat dies down in morning's sky. + +All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs! + Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun. +So burst we through their barriers + And menaces every one: +So Porter proves himself a brave man's son.[7] + + + +Stonewall Jackson. +Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville. +(May, 1863.) + + +The Man who fiercest charged in fight, + Whose sword and prayer were long-- + Stonewall! + Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, +How can we praise? Yet coming days + Shall not forget him with this song. + +Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, + Vainly he died and set his seal-- + Stonewall! + Earnest in error, as we feel; +True to the thing he deemed was due, + True as John Brown or steel. + +Relentlessly he routed us; + But _we_ relent, for he is low-- + Stonewall! + Justly his fame we outlaw; so +We drop a tear on the bold Virginian's bier, + Because no wreath we owe. + + + +Stonewall Jackson. +(Ascribed to a Virginian.) + + +One man we claim of wrought renown + Which not the North shall care to slur; +A Modern lived who sleeps in death, + Calm as the marble Ancients are: + 'Tis he whose life, though a vapor's wreath, + Was charged with the lightning's burning breath-- + Stonewall, stormer of the war. + +But who shall hymn the roman heart? + A stoic he, but even more: +The iron will and lion thew + Were strong to inflict as to endure: + Who like him could stand, or pursue? + His fate the fatalist followed through; + In all his great soul found to do + Stonewall followed his star. + +He followed his star on the Romney march + Through the sleet to the wintry war; +And he followed it on when he bowed the grain-- + The Wind of the Shenandoah; + At Gaines's Mill in the giant's strain-- + On the fierce forced stride to Manassas-plain, + Where his sword with thunder was clothed again, + Stonewall followed his star. + +His star he followed athwart the flood + To Potomac's Northern shore, +When midway wading, his host of braves + "_My Maryland!_" loud did roar-- + To red Antietam's field of graves, + Through mountain-passes, woods and waves, + They followed their pagod with hymns and glaives, + For Stonewall followed a star. + +Back it led him to Marye's slope, + Where the shock and the fame he bore; +And to green Moss-Neck it guided him-- + Brief respite from throes of war: + To the laurel glade by the Wilderness grim, + Through climaxed victory naught shall dim, + Even unto death it piloted him-- + Stonewall followed his star. + +Its lead he followed in gentle ways + Which never the valiant mar; +A cap we sent him, bestarred, to replace + The sun-scorched helm of war: + A fillet he made of the shining lace + Childhood's laughing brow to grace-- + Not his was a goldsmith's star. + +O, much of doubt in after days + Shall cling, as now, to the war; +Of the right and the wrong they'll still debate, + Puzzled by Stonewall's star: + "Fortune went with the North elate" + "Ay, but the south had Stonewall's weight, + And he fell in the South's vain war." + + + +Gettysburg. +The Check. +(July, 1863.) + + +O pride of the days in prime of the months + Now trebled in great renown, +When before the ark of our holy cause + Fell Dagon down-- +Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed, +Never his impious heart enlarged +Beyond that hour; god walled his power, +And there the last invader charged. + +He charged, and in that charge condensed + His all of hate and all of fire; +He sought to blast us in his scorn, + And wither us in his ire. +Before him went the shriek of shells-- +Aerial screamings, taunts and yells; +Then the three waves in flashed advance + Surged, but were met, and back they set: +Pride was repelled by sterner pride, + And Right is a strong-hold yet. + +Before our lines it seemed a beach + Which wild September gales have strown +With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith + Pale crews unknown-- +Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun +Died on the face of each lifeless one, +And died along the winding marge of fight + And searching-parties lone. + +Sloped on the hill the mounds were green, + Our center held that place of graves, +And some still hold it in their swoon, + And over these a glory waves. +The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,[8] +Shall soar transfigured in loftier light, + A meaning ampler bear; +Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer +Have laid the stone, and every bone + Shall rest in honor there. + + + +The House-top. +A Night Piece. +(July, 1863.) + + +No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air +And binds the brain--a dense oppression, such +As tawny tigers feel in matted shades, +Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. +Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads +Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by. +Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf +Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot. +Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought, +Balefully glares red Arson--there-and there. +The Town is taken by its rats--ship-rats. +And rats of the wharves. All civil charms +And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe-- +Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway +Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve, +And man rebounds whole aeons back in nature.[9] +Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead, +And ponderous drag that shakes the wall. +Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll +Of black artillery; he comes, though late; +In code corroborating Calvin's creed +And cynic tyrannies of honest kings; +He comes, nor parlies; and the Town redeemed, +Give thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds +The grimy slur on the Republic's faith implied, +Which holds that Man is naturally good, +And--more--is Nature's Roman, never to be scourged. + + + +Look-out Mountain. +The Night Fight. +(November, 1863.) + + +Who inhabiteth the Mountain + That it shines in lurid light, +And is rolled about with thunders, + And terrors, and a blight, +Like Kaf the peak of Eblis-- + Kaf, the evil height? +Who has gone up with a shouting + And a trumpet in the night? + +There is battle in the Mountain-- + Might assaulteth Might; +'Tis the fastness of the Anarch, + Torrent-torn, an ancient height; +The crags resound the clangor + Of the war of Wrong and Right; +And the armies in the valley + Watch and pray for dawning light. + +Joy, Joy, the day is breaking, + And the cloud is rolled from sight; +There is triumph in the Morning + For the Anarch's plunging flight; +God has glorified the Mountain + Where a Banner burneth bright, +And the armies in the valley + They are fortified in right. + + + +Chattanooga. +(November, 1863.) + + +A kindling impulse seized the host + Inspired by heaven's elastic air;[9] +Their hearts outran their General's plan, + Though Grant commanded there-- + Grant, who without reserve can dare; +And, "Well, go on and do your will" + He said, and measured the mountain then: +So master-riders fling the rein-- + But you must know your men. + +On yester-morn in grayish mist, + Armies like ghosts on hills had fought, +And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud + The Cumberlands far had caught: + To-day the sunlit steeps are sought. +Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain, + And smoked as one who feels no cares; +But mastered nervousness intense + Alone such calmness wears. + +The summit-cannon plunge their flame + Sheer down the primal wall, +But up and up each linking troop + In stretching festoons crawl-- + Nor fire a shot. Such men appall +The foe, though brave. He, from the brink, + Looks far along the breadth of slope, +And sees two miles of dark dots creep, + And knows they mean the cope. + +He sees them creep. Yet here and there + Half hid 'mid leafless groves they go; +As men who ply through traceries high + Of turreted marbles show-- + So dwindle these to eyes below. +But fronting shot and flanking shell + Sliver and rive the inwoven ways; +High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, + But never the climbing stays. + +From right to left, from left to right + They roll the rallying cheer-- +Vie with each other, brother with brother, + Who shall the first appear-- + What color-bearer with colors clear +In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant, + Whose cigar must now be near the stump-- +While in solicitude his back + Heap slowly to a hump. + +Near and more near; till now the flags + Run like a catching flame; +And one flares highest, to peril nighest-- + _He_ means to make a name: + Salvos! they give him his fame. +The staff is caught, and next the rush, + And then the leap where death has led; +Flag answered flag along the crest, + And swarms of rebels fled. + +But some who gained the envied Alp, + And--eager, ardent, earnest there-- +Dropped into Death's wide-open arms, + Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air-- + Forever they slumber young and fair, +The smile upon them as they died; + Their end attained, that end a height: +Life was to these a dream fulfilled, + And death a starry night. + + + +The Armies of the Wilderness. +(1683-64.) + + +I + +Like snows the camps on southern hills + Lay all the winter long, +Our levies there in patience stood-- + They stood in patience strong. +On fronting slopes gleamed other camps + Where faith as firmly clung: +Ah, froward king! so brave miss-- + The zealots of the Wrong. + + _In this strife of brothers + (God, hear their country call), + However it be, whatever betide, + Let not the just one fall._ + +Through the pointed glass our soldiers saw + The base-ball bounding sent; +They could have joined them in their sport + But for the vale's deep rent. +And others turned the reddish soil, + Like diggers of graves they bent: +The reddish soil and tranching toil + Begat presentiment. + + _Did the Fathers feel mistrust? + Can no final good be wrought? + Over and over, again and again + Must the fight for the Right be fought?_ + +They lead a Gray-back to the crag: + "Your earth-works yonder--tell us, man" +"A prisoner--no deserter, I, + Nor one of the tell-tale clan" +His rags they mark: "True-blue like you + Should wear the color--your Country's, man" +He grinds his teeth: "However that be, + Yon earth-works have their plan." + + _Such brave ones, foully snared + By Belial's wily plea, + Were faithful unto the evil end-- + Feudal fidelity._ + +"Well, then, your camps--come, tell the names" + Freely he leveled his finger then: +"Yonder--see--are our Georgians; on the crest, + The Carolinians; lower, past the glen, +Virginians--Alabamians--Mississippians--Kentuckians + (Follow my finger)--Tennesseeans; and the ten +Camps _there_--ask your grave-pits; they'll tell. + Halloa! I see the picket-hut, the den +Where I last night lay." "Where's Lee" + "In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men!" + + _The tribes swarm up to war + As in ages long ago, + Ere the palm of promise leaved + And the lily of Christ did blow._ + +Their mounted pickets for miles are spied + Dotting the lowland plain, +The nearer ones in their veteran-rags-- + Loutish they loll in lazy disdain. +But ours in perilous places bide + With rifles ready and eyes that strain +Deep through the dim suspected wood + Where the Rapidan rolls amain. + + _The Indian has passed away, + But creeping comes another-- + Deadlier far. Picket, + Take heed--take heed of thy brother!_ + +From a wood-hung height, an outpost lone, + Crowned with a woodman's fort, +The sentinel looks on a land of dole, + Like Paran, all amort. +Black chimneys, gigantic in moor-like wastes, + The scowl of the clouded sky retort; +The hearth is a houseless stone again-- + Ah! where shall the people be sought? + + _Since the venom such blastment deals, + The south should have paused, and thrice, + Ere with heat of her hate she hatched + The egg with the cockatrice._ + +A path down the mountain winds to the glade + Where the dead of the Moonlight Fight lie low; +A hand reaches out of the thin-laid mould + As begging help which none can bestow. +But the field-mouse small and busy ant + Heap their hillocks, to hide if they may the woe: +By the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen, + And the drum which the drummer-boy dying let go. + + _Dust to dust, and blood for blood-- + Passion and pangs! Has Time + Gone back? or is this the Age + Of the world's great Prime?_ + +The wagon mired and cannon dragged + Have trenched their scar; the plain +Tramped like the cindery beach of the damned-- + A site for the city of Cain. +And stumps of forests for dreary leagues + Like a massacre show. The armies have lain +By fires where gums and balms did burn, + And the seeds of Summer's reign. + + _Where are the birds and boys? + Who shall go chestnutting when + October returns? The nuts-- + O, long ere they grow again._ + +They snug their huts with the chapel-pews, + In court-houses stable their steeds-- +Kindle their fires with indentures and bonds, + And old Lord Fairfax's parchment deeds; +And Virginian gentlemen's libraries old-- + Books which only the scholar heeds-- +Are flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range, + And gardens are left to weeds. + + _Turned adrift into war + Man runs wild on the plain, + Like the jennets let loose + On the Pampas--zebras again._ + +Like the Pleiads dim, see the tents through the storm-- + Aloft by the hill-side hamlet's graves, +On a head-stone used for a hearth-stone there + The water is bubbling for punch for our braves. +What if the night be drear, and the blast + Ghostly shrieks? their rollicking staves +Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords, + What care they if Winter raves? + + _Is life but a dream? and so, + In the dream do men laugh aloud? + So strange seems mirth in a camp, + So like a white tent to a shroud._ + + +II + +The May-weed springs; and comes a Man + And mounts our Signal Hill; +A quiet Man, and plain in garb-- + Briefly he looks his fill, +Then drops his gray eye on the ground, + Like a loaded mortar he is still: +Meekness and grimness meet in him-- + The silent General. + + _Were men but strong and wise, + Honest as Grant, and calm, + War would be left to the red and black ants, + And the happy world disarm._ + +That eve a stir was in the camps, + Forerunning quiet soon to come +Among the streets of beechen huts + No more to know the drum. +The weed shall choke the lowly door, + And foxes peer within the gloom, +Till scared perchange by Mosby's prowling men, + Who ride in the rear of doom. + + _Far West, and farther South, + Wherever the sword has been, + Deserted camps are met, + And desert graves are seen._ + +The livelong night they ford the flood; + With guns held high they silent press, +Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets' sheen-- + On Morning's banks their ranks they dress; +Then by the forests lightly wind, + Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless, +Borne by the cavalry scouting on-- + Sounding the Wilderness. + + _Like shoals of fish in spring + That visit Crusoe's isle, + The host in the lonesome place-- + The hundred thousand file._ + +The foe that held his guarded hills + Must speed to woods afar; +For the scheme that was nursed by the Culpepper hearth + With the slowly-smoked cigar-- +The scheme that smouldered through winter long + Now bursts into act--into war-- +The resolute scheme of a heart as calm + As the Cyclone's core. + + _The fight for the city is fought + In Nature's old domain; + Man goes out to the wilds, + And Orpheus' charm is vain._ + +In glades they meet skull after skull + Where pine-cones lay--the rusted gun, +Green shoes full of bones, the mouldering coat + And cuddled-up skeleton; +And scores of such. Some start as in dreams, + And comrades lost bemoan: +By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged-- + But the Year and the Man were gone. + + _At the height of their madness + The night winds pause, + Recollecting themselves; + But no lull in these wars._ + +A gleam!--a volley! And who shall go + Storming the swarmers in jungles dread? +No cannon-ball answers, no proxies are sent-- + They rush in the shrapnel's stead. +Plume and sash are vanities now-- + Let them deck the pall of the dead; +They go where the shade is, perhaps into Hades, + Where the brave of all times have led. + + _There's a dust of hurrying feet, + Bitten lips and bated breath, + And drums that challenge to the grave, + And faces fixed, forefeeling death._ + +What husky huzzahs in the hazy groves-- + What flying encounters fell; +Pursuer and pursued like ghosts disappear + In gloomed shade--their end who shall tell? +The crippled, a ragged-barked stick for a crutch, + Limp to some elfin dell-- +Hobble from the sight of dead faces--white + As pebbles in a well. + + _Few burial rites shall be; + No priest with book and band + Shall come to the secret place + Of the corpse in the foeman's land._ + +Watch and fast, march and fight--clutch your gun? + Day-fights and night-fights; sore is the strees; +Look, through the pines what line comes on? + Longstreet slants through the hauntedness? +'Tis charge for charge, and shout for yell: + Such battles on battles oppress-- +But Heaven lent strength, the Right strove well, + And emerged from the Wilderness. + + _Emerged, for the way was won; + But the Pillar of Smoke that led + Was brand-like with ghosts that went up + Ashy and red._ + +None can narrate that strife in the pines, + A seal is on it--Sabaean lore! +Obscure as the wood, the entangled rhyme + But hints at the maze of war-- +Vivid glimpses or livid through peopled gloom, + And fires which creep and char-- +A riddle of death, of which the slain + Sole solvers are. + + _Long they withhold the roll + Of the shroudless dead. It is right; + Not yet can we bear the flare + Of the funeral light._ + + + +On the Photograph of a Corps Commander. + + +Ay, man is manly. Here you see + The warrior-carriage of the head, +And brave dilation of the frame; + And lighting all, the soul that led +In Spottsylvania's charge to victory, + Which justifies his fame. + +A cheering picture. It is good + To look upon a Chief like this, +In whom the spirit moulds the form. + Here favoring Nature, oft remiss, +With eagle mien expressive has endued + A man to kindle strains that warm. + +Trace back his lineage, and his sires, + Yeoman or noble, you shall find +Enrolled with men of Agincourt, + Heroes who shared great Harry's mind. +Down to us come the knightly Norman fires, + And front the Templars bore. + +Nothing can lift the heart of man + Like manhood in a fellow-man. +The thought of heaven's great King afar + But humbles us--too weak to scan; +But manly greatness men can span, + And feel the bonds that draw. + + + +The Swamp Angel.[10] + + +There is a coal-black Angel + With a thick Afric lip, +And he dwells (like the hunted and harried) + In a swamp where the green frogs dip. +But his face is against a City + Which is over a bay of the sea, +And he breathes with a breath that is blastment, + And dooms by a far decree. + +By night there is fear in the City, + Through the darkness a star soareth on; +There's a scream that screams up to the zenith, + Then the poise of a meteor lone-- +Lighting far the pale fright of the faces, + And downward the coming is seen; +Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc, + And wails and shrieks between. + +It comes like the thief in the gloaming; + It comes, and none may foretell +The place of the coming--the glaring; + They live in a sleepless spell +That wizens, and withers, and whitens; + It ages the young, and the bloom +Of the maiden is ashes of roses-- + The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom. + +Swift is his messengers' going, + But slowly he saps their halls, +As if by delay deluding. + They move from their crumbling walls +Farther and farther away; + But the Angel sends after and after, +By night with the flame of his ray-- + By night with the voice of his screaming-- +Sends after them, stone by stone, + And farther walls fall, farther portals, +And weed follows weed through the Town. + +Is this the proud City? the scorner + Which never would yield the ground? +Which mocked at the coal-black Angel? + The cup of despair goes round. +Vainly she calls upon Michael + (The white man's seraph was he), +For Michael has fled from his tower + To the Angel over the sea. + +Who weeps for the woeful City + Let him weep for our guilty kind; +Who joys at her wild despairing-- + Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind. + + + +The Battle for the Bay. +(August, 1864.) + + +O mystery of noble hearts, + To whom mysterious seas have been +In midnight watches, lonely calm and storm, + A stern, sad disciple, +And rooted out the false and vain, + And chastened them to aptness for + Devotion and the deeds of war, +And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain. + +Beyond the bar the land-wind dies, + The prows becharmed at anchor swim: +A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down-- + Fair eve of battle grim. +The sentries pace, bonetas glide; + Below, the sleeping sailor swing, + And in their dreams to quarters spring, +Or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide. + +But drums are beat: _Up anchor all!_ + The triple lines steam slowly on; +Day breaks, and through the sweep of decks each man + Stands coldly by his gun-- +As cold as it. But he shall warm-- + Warm with the solemn metal there, + And all its ordered fury share, +In attitude a gladiatorial form. + +The Admiral--yielding the love + Which held his life and ship so dear-- +Sailed second in the long fleet's midmost line; + Yet thwarted all their care: +He lashed himself aloft, and shone + Star of the fight, with influence sent + Throughout the dusk embattlement; +And so they neared the strait and walls of stone. + +No sprintly fife as in the field, + The decks were hushed like fanes in prayer; +Behind each man a holy angel stood-- + He stood, though none was 'ware. +Out spake the forts on either hand, + Back speak the ships when spoken to, + And set their flags in concert true, +And _On and in!_ is Farragut's command. + +But what delays? 'mid wounds above + Dim buoys give hint of death below-- +Sea-ambuscades, where evil art had aped + Hecla that hides in snow. +The centre-van, entangled, trips; + The starboard leader holds straight on: + A cheer for the Tecumseh!--nay, +Before their eyes the turreted ship goes down! + +The fire redoubles, While the fleet + Hangs dubious--ere the horror ran-- +The Admiral rushes to his rightful place-- + Well met! apt hour and man!-- +Closes with peril, takes the lead, + His action is a stirring call; + He strikes his great heart through them all, +And is the genius of their daring deed. + +The forts are daunted, slack their fire, + Confounded by the deadlier aim +And rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet, + And fierce denouncing flame. +Yet shots from four dark hulls embayed + Come raking through the loyal crews, + Whom now each dying mate endues +With his last look, anguished yet undismayed. + +A flowering time to guilt is given, + And traitors have their glorying hour; +O late, but sure, the righteous Paramount comes-- + Palsy is on their power! +So proved it with the rebel keels, + The strong-holds past: assailed, they run; + The Selma strikes, and the work is done: +The dropping anchor the achievement seals. + +But no, she turns--the Tennessee! + The solid Ram of iron and oak, +Strong as Evil, and bold as Wrong, though lone-- + A pestilence in her smoke. +The flag-ship is her singled mark, + The wooden Hartford. Let her come; + She challenges the planet of Doom, +And naught shall save her--not her iron bark. + +_Slip anchor, all! and at her, all!_ + _Bear down with rushing beaks--and_ now! +First the Monongahela struck--and reeled; + The Lackawana's prow +Next crashed--crashed, but not crashing; then + The Admiral rammed, and rasping nigh + Sloped in a broadside, which glanced by: +The Monitors battered at her adamant den. + +The Chickasaw plunged beneath the stern + And pounded there; a huge wrought orb +From the Manhattan pierced one wall, but dropped; + Others the seas absorb. +Yet stormed on all sides, narrowed in, + Hampered and cramped, the bad one fought-- + Spat ribald curses from the port +Who shutters, jammed, locked up this Man-of-Sin. + +No pause or stay. They made a din + Like hammers round a boiler forged; +Now straining strength tangled itself with strength, + Till Hate her will disgorged. +The white flag showed, the fight was won-- + Mad shouts went up that shook the Bay; + But pale on the scarred fleet's decks there lay +A silent man for every silenced gun. + +And quiet far below the wave, + Where never cheers shall move their sleep, +Some who did boldly, nobly earn them, lie-- + Charmed children of the deep. +But decks that now are in the seed, + And cannon yet within the mine, + Shall thrill the deeper, gun and pine, +Because of the Tecumseh's glorious deed. + + + +Sheridan at Cedar Creek. +(October, 1864.) + + +Shoe the steed with silver + That bore him to the fray, +When he heard the guns at dawning-- + Miles away; +When he heard them calling, calling-- + Mount! nor stay: + Quick, or all is lost; + They've surprised and stormed the post, + They push your routed host-- + Gallop! retrieve the day. + +House the horse in ermine-- + For the foam-flake blew +White through the red October; + He thundered into view; +They cheered him in the looming, + Horseman and horse they knew. + The turn of the tide began, + The rally of bugles ran, + He swung his hat in the van; + The electric hoof-spark flew. + +Wreathe the steed and lead him-- + For the charge he led +Touched and turned the cypress + Into amaranths for the head +Of Philip, king of riders, + Who raised them from the dead. + The camp (at dawning lost), + By eve, recovered--forced, + Rang with laughter of the host + At belated Early fled. + +Shroud the horse in sable-- + For the mounds they heap! +There is firing in the Valley, + And yet no strife they keep; +It is the parting volley, + It is the pathos deep. + There is glory for the brave + Who lead, and noblys ave, + But no knowledge in the grave + Where the nameless followers sleep. + + + +In the Prison Pen. +(1864.) + + +Listless he eyes the palisades + And sentries in the glare; +'Tis barren as a pelican-beach-- + But his world is ended there. + +Nothing to do; and vacant hands + Bring on the idiot-pain; +He tries to think--to recollect, + But the blur is on his brain. + +Around him swarm the plaining ghosts + Like those on Virgil's shore-- +A wilderness of faces dim, + And pale ones gashed and hoar. + +A smiting sun. No shed, no tree; + He totters to his lair-- +A den that sick hands dug in earth + Ere famine wasted there, + +Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, + Walled in by throngs that press, +Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead-- + Dead in his meagreness. + + + +The College Colonel. + + +He rides at their head; + A crutch by his saddle just slants in view, +One slung arm is in splints, you see, + Yet he guides his strong steed--how coldly too. + +He brings his regiment home-- + Not as they filed two years before, +But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn, +Like castaway sailors, who--stunned + By the surf's loud roar, + Their mates dragged back and seen no more-- +Again and again breast the surge, + And at last crawl, spent, to shore. + +A still rigidity and pale-- + An Indian aloofness lones his brow; +He has lived a thousand years +Compressed in battle's pains and prayers, + Marches and watches slow. + +There are welcoming shouts, and flags; + Old men off hat to the Boy, +Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet, + But to _him_--there comes alloy. + +It is not that a leg is lost, + It is not that an arm is maimed. +It is not that the fever has racked-- + Self he has long disclaimed. + +But all through the Seven Day's Fight, + And deep in the wilderness grim, +And in the field-hospital tent, + And Petersburg crater, and dim +Lean brooding in Libby, there came-- + Ah heaven!--what _truth_ to him. + + + +The Eagle of the Blue.[12] + + +Aloft he guards the starry folds + Who is the brother of the star; +The bird whose joy is in the wind + Exultleth in the war. + +No painted plume--a sober hue, + His beauty is his power; +That eager calm of gaze intent + Foresees the Sibyl's hour. + +Austere, he crowns the swaying perch, + Flapped by the angry flag; +The hurricane from the battery sings, + But his claw has known the crag. + +Amid the scream of shells, his scream + Runs shrilling; and the glare +Of eyes that brave the blinding sun + The vollied flame can bear. + +The pride of quenchless strength is his-- + Strength which, though chained, avails; +The very rebel looks and thrills-- + The anchored Emblem hails. + +Though scarred in many a furious fray, + No deadly hurt he knew; +Well may we think his years are charmed-- + The Eagle of the Blue. + + + +A Dirge for McPherson,[13] +Killed in front of Atlanta. +(July, 1864.) + + +Arms reversed and banners craped-- + Muffled drums; +Snowy horses sable-draped-- + McPherson comes. + + _But, tell us, shall we know him more, + Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?_ + +Brave the sword upon the pall-- + A gleam in gloom; +So a bright name lighteth all + McPherson's doom. + +Bear him through the chapel-door-- + Let priest in stole +Pace before the warrior + Who led. Bell--toll! + +Lay him down within the nave, + The Lesson read-- +Man is noble, man is brave, + But man's--a weed. + +Take him up again and wend + Graveward, nor weep: +There's a trumpet that shall rend + This Soldier's sleep. + +Pass the ropes the coffin round, + And let descend; +Prayer and volley--let it sound + McPherson's end. + + _True fame is his, for life is o'er-- + Sarpedon of the mighty war._ + + + +At the Cannon's Mouth. +Destruction of the Ram Albermarle by the Torpedo-Launch. +(October, 1864.) + + +Palely intent, he urged his keel + Full on the guns, and touched the spring; +Himself involved in the bolt he drove +Timed with the armed hull's shot that stove +His shallop--die or do! +Into the flood his life he threw, + Yet lives--unscathed--a breathing thing +To marvel at. + + He has his fame; +But that mad dash at death, how name? + +Had Earth no charm to stay the Boy + From the martyr-passion? Could he dare +Disdain the Paradise of opening joy + Which beckons the fresh heart every where? +Life has more lures than any girl + For youth and strength; puts forth a share +Of beauty, hinting of yet rarer store; +And ever with unfathomable eyes, + Which baffingly entice, +Still strangely does Adonis draw. +And life once over, who shall tell the rest? +Life is, of all we know, God's best. +What imps these eagles then, that they +Fling disrespect on life by that proud way +In which they soar above our lower clay. + +Pretense of wonderment and doubt unblest: + In Cushing's eager deed was shown + A spirit which brave poets own-- +That scorn of life which earns life's crown; + Earns, but not always wins; but he-- + The star ascended in his nativity. + + + +The March to the Sea. +(December, 1864.) + + +Not Kenesaw high-arching, + Nor Allatoona's glen-- +Though there the graves lie parching-- + Stayed Sherman's miles of men; +From charred Atlanta marching + They launched the sword again. + The columns streamed like rivers + Which in their course agree, + And they streamed until their flashing + Met the flashing of the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + That marching to the sea. + +They brushed the foe before them + (Shall gnats impede the bull?); +Their own good bridges bore them + Over swamps or torrents full, +And the grand pines waving o'er them + Bowed to axes keen and cool. + The columns grooved their channels. + Enforced their own decree, + And their power met nothing larger + Until it met the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + A marching glad and free. + +Kilpatrick's snare of riders + In zigzags mazed the land, +Perplexed the pale Southsiders + With feints on every hand; +Vague menace awed the hiders + In forts beyond command. + To Sherman's shifting problem + No foeman knew the key; + But onward went the marching + Unpausing to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + The swinging step was free. + +The flankers ranged like pigeons + In clouds through field or wood; +The flocks of all those regions, + The herds and horses good, +Poured in and swelled the legions, + For they caught the marching mood. + A volley ahead! They hear it; + And they hear the repartee: + Fighting was but frolic + In that marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + A marching bold and free. + +All nature felt their coming, + The birds like couriers flew, +And the banners brightly blooming + The slaves by thousands drew, +And they marched beside the drumming, + And they joined the armies blue. + The cocks crowed from the cannon + (Pets named from Grant and Lee), + Plumed fighters and campaigners + In the marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + For every man was free. + +The foragers through calm lands + Swept in tempest gay, +And they breathed the air of balm-lands + Where rolled savannas lay, +And they helped themselves from farm-lands-- + As who should say them nay? + The regiments uproarious + Laughed in Plenty's glee; + And they marched till their broad laughter + Met the laughter of the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + That marching to the sea. + +The grain of endless acres + Was threshed (as in the East) +By the trampling of the Takers, + Strong march of man and beast; +The flails of those earth-shakers + Left a famine where they ceased. + The arsenals were yielded; + The sword (that was to be), + Arrested in the forging, + Rued that marching to the sea: + It was glorious glad marching, + But ah, the stern decree! + +For behind they left a wailing, + A terror and a ban, +And blazing cinders sailing, + And houseless households wan, +Wide zones of counties paling, + And towns where maniacs ran. + Was it Treason's retribution-- + Necessity the plea? + They will long remember Sherman + And his streaming columns free-- + They will long remember Sherman + Marching to the sea. + + + +The Frenzy in the Wake.[14] +Sherman's advance through the Carolinas. +(February, 1865.) + + +So strong to suffer, shall we be + Weak to contend, and break +The sinews of the Oppressor's knee + That grinds upon the neck? + O, the garments rolled in blood + Scorch in cities wrapped in flame, + And the African--the imp! + He gibbers, imputing shame. + +Shall Time, avenging every woe, + To us that joy allot +Which Israel thrilled when Sisera's brow + Showed gaunt and showed the clot? + Curse on their foreheads, cheeks, and eyes-- + The Northern faces--true + To the flag we hate, the flag whose stars + Like planets strike us through. + +From frozen Maine they come, + Far Minnesota too; +They come to a sun whose rays disown-- + May it wither them as the dew! + The ghosts of our slain appeal: + "Vain shall our victories be" + But back from its ebb the flood recoils-- + Back in a whelming sea. + +With burning woods our skies are brass, + The pillars of dust are seen; +The live-long day their cavalry pass-- + No crossing the road between. + We were sore deceived--an awful host! + They move like a roaring wind. + Have we gamed and lost? but even despair + Shall never our hate rescind. + + + +The Fall of Richmond. +The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis. +(April, 1865.) + + +What mean these peals from every tower, + And crowds like seas that sway? +The cannon reply; they speak the heart + Of the People impassioned, and say-- +A city in flags for a city in flames, + Richmond goes Babylon's way-- + _Sing and pray._ + +O weary years and woeful wars, + And armies in the grave; +But hearts unquelled at last deter +The helmed dilated Lucifer-- + Honor to Grant the brave, +Whose three stars now like Orion's rise + When wreck is on the wave-- + _Bless his glaive._ + +Well that the faith we firmly kept, + And never our aim forswore +For the Terrors that trooped from each recess +When fainting we fought in the Wilderness, + And Hell made loud hurrah; +But God is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town, + And Right through might is Law-- + _God's way adore._ + + + +The Surrender at Appomattox. +(April, 1865.) + + +As billows upon billows roll, + On victory victory breaks; +Ere yet seven days from Richmond's fall + And crowning triumph wakes +The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run + By sea-shore, streams, and lakes. + The hope and great event agree + In the sword that Grant received from Lee. + +The warring eagles fold the wing, + But not in Caesar's sway; +Not Rome o'ercome by Roman arms we sing, + As on Pharsalia's day, +But Treason thrown, though a giant grown, + And Freedom's larger play. + All human tribes glad token see + In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee. + + + +A Canticle: +Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at +the close of the War. + + +O the precipice Titanic + Of the congregated Fall, +And the angle oceanic + Where the deepening thunders call-- + And the Gorge so grim, + And the firmamental rim! +Multitudinously thronging + The waters all converge, +Then they sweep adown in sloping + Solidity of surge. + + The Nation, in her impulse + Mysterious as the Tide, + In emotion like an ocean + Moves in power, not in pride; + And is deep in her devotion + As Humanity is wide. + + Thou Lord of hosts victorious, + The confluence Thou hast twined; + By a wondrous way and glorious + A passage Thou dost find-- + A passage Thou dost find: + Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, + The hosts of human kind. + +Stable in its baselessness + When calm is in the air, +The Iris half in tracelessness + Hovers faintly fair. +Fitfully assailing it + A wind from heaven blows, +Shivering and paling it + To blankness of the snows; +While, incessant in renewal, + The Arch rekindled grows, +Till again the gem and jewel + Whirl in blinding overthrows-- +Till, prevailing and transcending, + Lo, the Glory perfect there, +And the contest finds an ending, + For repose is in the air. + +But the foamy Deep unsounded, + And the dim and dizzy ledge, +And the booming roar rebounded, + And the gull that skims the edge! + The Giant of the Pool + Heaves his forehead white as wool-- +Toward the Iris every climbing + From the Cataracts that call-- +Irremovable vast arras + Draping all the Wall. + + The Generations pouring + From times of endless date, + In their going, in their flowing + Ever form the steadfast State; + And Humanity is growing + Toward the fullness of her fate. + + Thou Lord of hosts victorious, + Fulfill the end designed; + By a wondrous way and glorious + A passage Thou dost find-- + A passage Thou dost find: + Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, + The hosts of human kind. + + + +The Martyr. +Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of +April, 1865. + + +Good Friday was the day + Of the prodigy and crime, +When they killed him in his pity, + When they killed him in his prime +Of clemency and calm-- + When with yearning he was filled + To redeem the evil-willed, +And, though conqueror, be kind; + But they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And they killed him from behind. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + +He lieth in his blood-- + The father in his face; +They have killed him, the Forgiver-- + The Avenger takes his place, [15] +The Avenger wisely stern, + Who in righteousness shall do + What the heavens call him to, +And the parricides remand; + For they killed him in his kindness, + In their madness and their blindness, +And his blood is on their hand. + + There is sobbing of the strong, + And a pall upon the land; + But the People in their weeping + Bare the iron hand: + Beware the People weeping + When they bare the iron hand. + + + +"The Coming Storm:" +A Picture by S.R. Gifford, and owned by E.B. +Included in the N.A. Exhibition, April, 1865. + + +All feeling hearts must feel for him + Who felt this picture. Presage dim-- +Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere + Fixed him and fascinated here. + +A demon-cloud like the mountain one + Burst on a spirit as mild +As this urned lake, the home of shades. + But Shakspeare's pensive child + +Never the lines had lightly scanned, + Steeped in fable, steeped in fate; +The Hamlet in his heart was 'ware, + Such hearts can antedate. + +No utter surprise can come to him + Who reaches Shakspeare's core; +That which we seek and shun is there-- + Man's final lore. + + + +Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh:[16] +A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly +after the surrender at Appomattox. + + +The color-bearers facing death +White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, + Stand boldly out before the line +Right and left their glances go, +Proud of each other, glorying in their show; +Their battle-flags about them blow, + And fold them as in flame divine: +Such living robes are only seen +Round martyrs burning on the green-- +And martyrs for the Wrong have been. + +Perish their Cause! but mark the men-- +Mark the planted statues, then +Draw trigger on them if you can. + +The leader of a patriot-band +Even so could view rebels who so could stand; + And this when peril pressed him sore, +Left aidless in the shivered front of war-- + Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, +And fighting with a broken brand. +The challenge in that courage rare-- +Courage defenseless, proudly bare-- +Never could tempt him; he could dare +Strike up the leveled rifle there. + +Sunday at Shiloh, and the day +When Stonewall charged--McClellan's crimson May, +And Chickamauga's wave of death, +And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath-- + All these have passed away. +The life in the veins of Treason lags, +Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, + And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? + Can poor spite be? +Shall nobleness in victory less aspire +Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, + And think how Grant met Lee. + + + +The Muster:[17] +Suggested by the Two Days' Review at Washington +(May, 1865.) + + +The Abrahamic river-- + Patriarch of floods, +Calls the roll of all his streams + And watery mutitudes: + Torrent cries to torrent, + The rapids hail the fall; + With shouts the inland freshets + Gather to the call. + + The quotas of the Nation, + Like the water-shed of waves, + Muster into union-- + Eastern warriors, Western braves. + + Martial strains are mingling, + Though distant far the bands, + And the wheeling of the squadrons + Is like surf upon the sands. + + The bladed guns are gleaming-- + Drift in lengthened trim, + Files on files for hazy miles-- + Nebulously dim. + + O Milky Way of armies-- + Star rising after star, + New banners of the Commonwealths, + And eagles of the War. + +The Abrahamic river + To sea-wide fullness fed, +Pouring from the thaw-lands + By the God of floods is led: + His deep enforcing current + The streams of ocean own, + And Europe's marge is evened + By rills from Kansas lone. + + + +Aurora-Borealis. +Commemorative of the Dissolution of Armies at the Peace. +(May, 1865.) + + +What power disbands the Northern Lights + After their steely play? +The lonely watcher feels an awe + Of Nature's sway, + As when appearing, + He marked their flashed uprearing +In the cold gloom-- + Retreatings and advancings, +(Like dallyings of doom), + Transitions and enhancings, + And bloody ray. + +The phantom-host has faded quite, + Splendor and Terror gone-- +Portent or promise--and gives way + To pale, meek Dawn; + The coming, going, + Alike in wonder showing-- +Alike the God, + Decreeing and commanding +The million blades that glowed, + The muster and disbanding-- + Midnight and Morn. + + + +The Released Rebel Prisoner.[18] +(June, 1865.) + + +Armies he's seen--the herds of war, + But never such swarms of men +As now in the Nineveh of the North-- + How mad the Rebellion then! + +And yet but dimly he divines + The depth of that deceit, +And superstition of vast pride + Humbled to such defeat. + +Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms-- + His steel the nearest magnet drew; +Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives-- + 'Tis Nature's wrong they rue. + +His face is hidden in his beard, + But his heart peers out at eye-- +And such a heart! like mountain-pool + Where no man passes by. + +He thinks of Hill--a brave soul gone; + And Ashby dead in pale disdain; +And Stuart with the Rupert-plume, + Whose blue eye never shall laugh again. + +He hears the drum; he sees our boys + From his wasted fields return; +Ladies feast them on strawberries, + And even to kiss them yearn. + +He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim, + The rifle proudly borne; +They bear it for an heir-loom home, + And he--disarmed--jail-worn. + +Home, home--his heart is full of it; + But home he never shall see, +Even should he stand upon the spot; + 'Tis gone!--where his brothers be. + +The cypress-moss from tree to tree + Hangs in his Southern land; +As weird, from thought to thought of his + Run memories hand in hand. + +And so he lingers--lingers on + In the City of the Foe-- +His cousins and his countrymen + Who see him listless go. + + + +A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia.[19] + + +Head-board and foot-board duly placed-- + Grassed in the mound between; +Daniel Drouth is the slumberer's name-- + Long may his grave be green! + +Quick was his way--a flash and a blow, + Full of his fire was he-- +A fire of hell--'tis burnt out now-- + Green may his grave long be! + +May his grave be green, though he + Was a rebel of iron mould; +Many a true heart--true to the Cause, + Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold. + +May his grave be green--still green + While happy years shall run; +May none come nigh to disinter + The--_Buried Gun_. + + + +"Formerly a Slave." +An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring +Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865. + + +The sufferance of her race is shown, + And retrospect of life, +Which now too late deliverance dawns upon; + Yet is she not at strife. + +Her children's children they shall know + The good withheld from her; +And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer-- + In spirit she sees the stir + +Far down the depth of thousand years, + And marks the revel shine; +Her dusky face is lit with sober light, + Sibylline, yet benign. + + + +The Apparition. +(A Retrospect.) + + +Convulsions came; and, where the field + Long slept in pastoral green, +A goblin-mountain was upheaved +(Sure the scared sense was all deceived), + Marl-glen and slag-ravine. + +The unreserve of Ill was there, + The clinkers in her last retreat; +But, ere the eye could take it in, +Or mind could comprehension win, + It sunk!--and at our feet. + +So, then, Solidity's a crust-- + The core of fire below; +All may go well for many a year, +But who can think without a fear + Of horrors that happen so? + + + +Magnanimity Baffled. + + +"Sharp words we had before the fight; + But--now the fight is done-- +Look, here's my hand," said the Victor bold, + "Take it--an honest one! +What, holding back? I mean you well; + Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man; +The odds were great; I honor you; + Man honors man. + +"Still silent, friend? can grudges be? + Yet am I held a foe?-- +Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies-- + Never I'll leave him so! +Brave one! I here implore your hand; + Dumb still? all fellowship fled? +Nay, then, I'll have this stubborn hand" + He snatched it--it was dead. + + + +On the Slain Collegians.[20] + + +Youth is the time when hearts are large, + And stirring wars +Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn + To the blade it draws. +If woman incite, and duty show + (Though made the mask of Cain), +Or whether it be Truth's sacred cause, + Who can aloof remain +That shares youth's ardor, uncooled by the snow + Of wisdom or sordid gain? + +The liberal arts and nurture sweet +Which give his gentleness to man-- + Train him to honor, lend him grace +Through bright examples meet-- +That culture which makes never wan +With underminings deep, but holds + The surface still, its fitting place, + And so gives sunniness to the face +And bravery to the heart; what troops + Of generous boys in happiness thus bred-- + Saturnians through life's Tempe led, +Went from the North and came from the South, +With golden mottoes in the mouth, + To lie down midway on a bloody bed. + +Woe for the homes of the North, +And woe for the seats of the South; +All who felt life's spring in prime, +And were swept by the wind of their place and time-- + All lavish hearts, on whichever side, +Of birth urbane or courage high, +Armed them for the stirring wars-- +Armed them--some to die. + Apollo-like in pride, +Each would slay his Python--caught +The maxims in his temple taught-- + Aflame with sympathies whose blaze +Perforce enwrapped him--social laws, + Friendship and kin, and by-gone days-- +Vows, kisses--every heart unmoors, +And launches into the seas of wars. +What could they else--North or South? +Each went forth with blessings given +By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; + And honor in both was chief. +Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? +So be it; but they both were young-- +Each grape to his cluster clung, +All their elegies are sung. + +The anguish of maternal hearts + Must search for balm divine; +But well the striplings bore their fated parts + (The heavens all parts assign)-- +Never felt life's care or cloy. +Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; +Nor dreamed what death was--thought it mere +Sliding into some vernal sphere. +They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, +Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf-- +Which storms lay low in kindly doom, +And kill them in their flush of bloom. + + + +America. + + +I. + +Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand +I saw a Banner in gladsome air-- +Starry, like Berenice's Hair-- +Afloat in broadened bravery there; +With undulating long-drawn flow, +As rolled Brazilian billows go +Voluminously o'er the Line. +The Land reposed in peace below; + The children in their glee +Were folded to the exulting heart + Of young Maternity. + + +II. + +Later, and it streamed in fight + When tempest mingled with the fray, +And over the spear-point of the shaft + I saw the ambiguous lightning play. +Valor with Valor strove, and died: +Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; +And the lorn Mother speechless stood, +Pale at the fury of her brood. + + +III. + +Yet later, and the silk did wind + Her fair cold form; +Little availed the shining shroud, + Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. +A watcher looked upon her low, and said-- +She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. + But in that sleep contortion showed +The terror of the vision there-- + A silent vision unavowed, +Revealing earth's foundation bare, + And Gorgon in her hidden place. +It was a thing of fear to see + So foul a dream upon so fair a face, +And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. + + +IV. + +But from the trance she sudden broke-- + The trance, or death into promoted life; +At her feet a shivered yoke, +And in her aspect turned to heaven + No trace of passion or of strife-- +A clear calm look. It spake of pain, +But such as purifies from stain-- +Sharp pangs that never come again-- + And triumph repressed by knowledge meet, +Power dedicate, and hope grown wise, + And youth matured for age's seat-- +Law on her brow and empire in her eyes. + So she, with graver air and lifted flag; +While the shadow, chased by light, +Fled along the far-drawn height, + And left her on the crag. + + + + +Verses +Inscriptive and Memorial + + + +On the Home Guards +who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri. + + +The men who here in harness died + Fell not in vain, though in defeat. +They by their end well fortified + The Cause, and built retreat +(With memory of their valor tried) +For emulous hearts in many an after fray-- +Hearts sore beset, which died at bay. + + + +Inscription +for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas. + + +Let none misgive we died amiss + When here we strove in furious fight: +Furious it was; nathless was this + Better than tranquil plight, +And tame surrender of the Cause +Hallowed by hearts and by the laws. + We here who warred for Man and Right, +The choice of warring never laid with us. + There we were ruled by the traitor's choice. + Nor long we stood to trim and poise, +But marched, and fell--victorious! + + + +The Fortitude of the North +under the Disaster of the Second Manassas. + + +They take no shame for dark defeat + While prizing yet each victory won, +Who fight for the Right through all retreat, + Nor pause until their work is done. +The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe; + Vainly against that foreland beat +Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below: + The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet +When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow. + + + +On the Men of Maine +killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. + + +Afar they fell. It was the zone + Of fig and orange, cane and lime +(A land how all unlike their own, +With the cold pine-grove overgrown), + But still their Country's clime. +And there in youth they died for her-- + The Volunteers, +For her went up their dying prayers: + So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie. +What doubt shall come, then, to deter + The Republic's earnest faith and courage high. + + + +An Epitaph. + + +When Sunday tidings from the front + Made pale the priest and people, +And heavily the blessing went, + And bells were dumb in the steeple; +The Soldier's widow (summering sweerly here, + In shade by waving beeches lent) + Felt deep at heart her faith content, +And priest and people borrowed of her cheer. + + + +Inscription +for Marye's Heights, Fredericksburg. + + +To them who crossed the flood +And climbed the hill, with eyes + Upon the heavenly flag intent, + And through the deathful tumult went +Even unto death: to them this Stone-- +Erect, where they were overthrown-- + Of more than victory the monument. + + + +The Mound by the Lake. + + +The grass shall never forget this grave. +When homeward footing it in the sun + After the weary ride by rail, +The stripling soldiers passed her door, + Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, +She left her household work undone-- +Duly the wayside table spread, + With evergreens shaded, to regale +Each travel-spent and grateful one. +So warm her heart--childless--unwed, +Who like a mother comforted. + + + +On the Slain at Chickamauga. + + +Happy are they and charmed in life + Who through long wars arrive unscarred +At peace. To such the wreath be given, +If they unfalteringly have striven-- + In honor, as in limb, unmarred. +Let cheerful praise be rife, + And let them live their years at ease, +Musing on brothers who victorious died-- + Loved mates whose memory shall ever please. + +And yet mischance is honorable too-- + Seeming defeat in conflict justified +Whose end to closing eyes is his from view. +The will, that never can relent-- +The aim, survivor of the bafflement, + Make this memorial due. + + + +An uninscribed Monument +on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness. + + +Silence and Solitude may hint + (Whose home is in yon piny wood) +What I, though tableted, could never tell-- +The din which here befell, + And striving of the multitude. +The iron cones and spheres of death + Set round me in their rust, + These, too, if just, +Shall speak with more than animated breath. + Thou who beholdest, if thy thought, +Not narrowed down to personal cheer, +Take in the import of the quiet here-- + The after-quiet--the calm full fraught; +Thou too wilt silent stand-- +Silent as I, and lonesome as the land. + + + +On Sherman's Men +who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia. + + +They said that Fame her clarion dropped + Because great deeds were done no more-- +That even Duty knew no shining ends, +And Glory--'twas a fallen star! + But battle can heroes and bards restore. + Nay, look at Kenesaw: +Perils the mailed ones never knew +Are lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue, +And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war. + + + +On the Grave +of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia. + + +Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends-- + Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he +Whom here low violets veil from eyes. + But all these gifts transcended be: +His happier fortune in this mound you see. + + + +A Requiem +for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports. + + +When, after storms that woodlands rue, + To valleys comes atoning dawn, +The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew; + And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn, +Caroling fly in the languid blue; +The while, from many a hid recess, +Alert to partake the blessedness, +The pouring mites their airy dance pursue. + So, after ocean's ghastly gales, +When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks, + Every finny hider wakes-- + From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales; + Through the delightsome sea he sails, +With shoals of shining tiny things +Frolic on every wave that flings + Against the prow its showery spray; +All creatures joying in the morn, +Save them forever from joyance torn, + Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play; +Save them that by the fabled shore, + Down the pale stream are washed away, +Far to the reef of bones are borne; + And never revisits them the light, +Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more; + Nor heed they now the lone bird's flight +Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour. + + + +On a natural Monument +in a field of Georgia.[21] + + +No trophy this--a Stone unhewn, + And stands where here the field immures +The nameless brave whose palms are won. +Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh-- + Pure fame of deeds, not doers; +Nor deeds of men who bleeding die + In cheer of hymns that round them float: +In happy dreams such close the eye. +But withering famine slowly wore, + And slowly fell disease did gloat. +Even Nature's self did aid deny; +They choked in horror the pensive sigh. + Yea, off from home sad Memory bore +(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way), +Lest wreck of reason might befall. + As men in gales shun the lee shore, +Though there the homestead be, and call, +And thitherward winds and waters sway-- +As such lorn mariners, so fared they. +But naught shall now their peace molest. + Their fame is this: they did endure-- +Endure, when fortitude was vain +To kindle any approving strain +Which they might hear. To these who rest, + This healing sleep alone was sure. + + + +Commemorative of a Naval Victory. + + +Sailors there are of gentlest breed, + Yet strong, like every goodly thing; +The discipline of arms refines, + And the wave gives tempering. + The damasked blade its beam can fling; +It lends the last grave grace: +The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman + In Titian's picture for a king, +Are of Hunter or warrior race. + +In social halls a favored guest + In years that follow victory won, +How sweet to feel your festal fame, + In woman's glance instinctive thrown: + Repose is yours--your deed is known, +It musks the amber wine; +It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days + Rich as October sunsets brown, +Which make the barren place to shine. + +But seldom the laurel wreath is seen + Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; +There's a light and a shadow on every man + Who at last attains his lifted mark-- + Nursing through night the ethereal spark. +Elate he never can be; +He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth, + Sleep in oblivion.--The shark +Glides white through the prosphorus sea. + + + +Presentation to the Authorities, +by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the +Surrender of Lee. + + +These flags of armies overthrown-- +Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one +In end foredoomed which closes war; +We here, the captors, lay before + The altar which of right claims all-- +Our Country. And as freely we, + Revering ever her sacred call, +Could lay our lives down--though life be +Thrice loved and precious to the sense +Of such as reap the recompense + Of life imperiled for just cause-- +Imperiled, and yet preserved; +While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved, +Whose wives were all as dear, lie low. +But these flags given, glad we go + To waiting homes with vindicated laws. + + + +The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle. + + +Over the hearth--my father's seat-- + Repose, to patriot-memory dear, +Thou tried companion, whom at last I greet + By steepy banks of Hudson here. +How oft I told thee of this scene-- +The Highlands blue--the river's narrowing sheen. +Little at Gettysburg we thought +To find such haven; but God kept it green. +Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen. + + + + +The Scout toward Aldie. + + +The cavalry-camp lies on the slope + Of what was late a vernal hill, +But now like a pavement bare-- +An outpost in the perilous wilds + Which ever are lone and still; + But Mosby's men are there-- + Of Mosby best beware. + +Great trees the troopers felled, and leaned + In antlered walls about their tents; +Strict watch they kept; 'twas _Hark!_ and _Mark!_ +Unarmed none cared to stir abroad + For berries beyond their forest-fence: + As glides in seas the shark, + Rides Mosby through green dark. + +All spake of him, but few had seen + Except the maimed ones or the low; +Yet rumor made him every thing-- +A farmer--woodman--refugee-- + The man who crossed the field but now; + A spell about his life did cling-- + Who to the ground shall Mosby bring? + +The morning-bugles lonely play, + Lonely the evening-bugle calls-- +Unanswered voices in the wild; +The settled hush of birds in nest + Becharms, and all the wood enthralls: + Memory's self is so beguiled + That Mosby seems a satyr's child. + +They lived as in the Eerie Land-- + The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam; +And yet from pine-tops one might ken +The Capitol dome--hazy--sublime-- + A vision breaking on a dream: + So strange it was that Mosby's men + Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen. + +A scout toward Aldie broke the spell.-- + The Leader lies before his tent +Gazing at heaven's all-cheering lamp +Through blandness of a morning rare; + His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent: + His sunny bride is in the camp-- + But Mosby--graves are beds of damp! + +The trumpet calls; he goes within; + But none the prayer and sob may know: +Her hero he, but bridegroom too. +Ah, love in a tent is a queenly thing, + And fame, be sure, refines the vow; + But fame fond wives have lived to rue, + And Mosby's men fell deeds can do. + +_Tan-tara! tan-tara! tan-tara!_ + Mounted and armed he sits a king; +For pride she smiles if now she peep-- +Elate he rides at the head of his men; + He is young, and command is a boyish thing: + They file out into the forest deep-- + Do Mosby and his rangers sleep? + +The sun is gold, and the world is green, + Opal the vapors of morning roll; +The champing horses lightly prance-- +Full of caprice, and the riders too + Curving in many a caricole. + But marshaled soon, by fours advance-- + Mosby had checked that airy dance. + +By the hospital-tent the cripples stand-- + Bandage, and crutch, and cane, and sling, +And palely eye the brave array; +The froth of the cup is gone for them + (Caw! caw! the crows through the blueness wing); + Yet these were late as bold, as gay; + But Mosby--a clip, and grass is hay. + +How strong they feel on their horses free, + Tingles the tendoned thigh with life; +Their cavalry-jackets make boys of all-- +With golden breasts like the oriole; + The chat, the jest, and laugh are rife. + But word is passed from the front--a call + For order; the wood is Mosby's hall. + +To which behest one rider sly + (Spurred, but unarmed) gave little heed-- +Of dexterous fun not slow or spare, +He teased his neighbors of touchy mood, + Into plungings he pricked his steed: + A black-eyed man on a coal-black mare, + Alive as Mosby in mountain air. + +His limbs were long, and large and round; + He whispered, winked--did all but shout: +A healthy man for the sick to view; +The taste in his mouth was sweet at morn; + Little of care he cared about. + And yet of pains and pangs he knew-- + In others, maimed by Mosby's crew. + +The Hospital Steward--even he + (Sacred in person as a priest), +And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice +Wore the caduceus, black and green. + No wonder he sat so light on his beast; + This cheery man in suit of price + Not even Mosby dared to slice. + +They pass the picket by the pine + And hollow log--a lonesome place; +His horse adroop, and pistol clean; +'Tis cocked--kept leveled toward the wood; + Strained vigilance ages his childish face. + Since midnight has that stripling been + Peering for Mosby through the green. + +Splashing they cross the freshet-flood, + And up the muddy bank they strain; +A horse at the spectral white-ash shies-- +One of the span of the ambulance, + Black as a hearse. They give the rein: + Silent speed on a scout were wise, + Could cunning baffle Mosby's spies. + +Rumor had come that a band was lodged + In green retreats of hills that peer +By Aldie (famed for the swordless charge[22]). +Much store they'd heaped of captured arms + And, peradventure, pilfered cheer; + For Mosby's lads oft hearts enlarge + In revelry by some gorge's marge. + +"Don't let your sabres rattle and ring; + To his oat-bag let each man give heed-- +There now, that fellow's bag's untied, +Sowing the road with the precious grain. + Your carbines swing at hand--you need! + Look to yourselves, and your nags beside, + Men who after Mosby ride." + +Picked lads and keen went sharp before-- + A guard, though scarce against surprise; +And rearmost rode an answering troop, +But flankers none to right or left. + No bugle peals, no pennon flies: + Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop + On Mosby with an Indian whoop. + +On, right on through the forest land, + Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen-- +Not even a dog. The air was still; +The blackened hut they turned to see, + And spied charred benches on the green; + A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill + Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill. + +By worn-out fields they cantered on-- + Drear fields amid the woodlands wide; +By cross-roads of some olden time, +In which grew groves; by gate-stones down-- + Grassed ruins of secluded pride: + A strange lone land, long past the prime, + Fit land for Mosby or for crime. + +The brook in the dell they pass. One peers + Between the leaves: "Ay, there's the place-- +There, on the oozy ledge--'twas there +We found the body (Blake's you know); + Such whirlings, gurglings round the face-- + Shot drinking! Well, in war all's fair-- + So Mosby says. The bough--take care!" + +Hard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould + Danked and decayed the shaded roof; +The porch was punk; the clapboards spanned +With ruffled lichens gray or green; + Red coral-moss was not aloof; + And mid dry leaves green dead-man's-hand + Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land. + +They leave the road and take the wood, + And mark the trace of ridges there-- +A wood where once had slept the farm-- +A wood where once tobacco grew + Drowsily in the hazy air, + And wrought in all kind things a calm-- + Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm. + +To ease even yet the place did woo-- + To ease which pines unstirring share, +For ease the weary horses sighed: +Halting, and slackening girths, they feed, + Their pipes they light, they loiter there; + Then up, and urging still the Guide, + On, and after Mosby ride. + +This Guide in frowzy coat of brown, + And beard of ancient growth and mould, +Bestrode a bony steed and strong, +As suited well with bulk he bore-- + A wheezy man with depth of hold + Who jouncing went. A staff he swung-- + A wight whom Mosby's wasp had stung. + +Burnt out and homeless--hunted long! + That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood +Crouching (a fat man) for his life, +And spied his lean son 'mong the crew + That probed the covert. Ah! black blood + Was his 'gainst even child and wife-- + Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife. + +A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths, + Strains hard to readjust his seat +Ere the main body show the gap +'Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near + He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet; + Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap-- + "Let Mosby fine!" nor heeds mishap. + +A gable time-stained peeps through trees: + "You mind the fight in the haunted house? +That's it; we clenched them in the room-- +An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought, + But proved sly rebels on a house! + Luke lies in the yard." The chimneys loom: + Some muse on Mosby--some on doom. + +Less nimbly now through brakes they wind, + And ford wild creeks where men have drowned; +They skirt the pool, a void the fen, +And so till night, when down they lie, + They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground: + Rein in hand they slumber then, + Dreaming of Mosby's cedarn den. + +But Colonel and Major friendly sat + Where boughs deformed low made a seat. +The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred) +Of the partisan's blade he longed to win, + And frays in which he meant to beat. + The grizzled Major smoked, and heard: + "But what's that--Mosby?" "No, a bird." + +A contrast here like sire and son, + Hope and Experience sage did meet; +The Youth was brave, the Senior too; +But through the Seven Days one had served, + And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat: + So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew-- + "Any _sure_ news of Mosby's crew?" + +He smoked and smoked, eying the while + A huge tree hydra-like in growth-- +Moon-tinged--with crook'd boughs rent or lopped-- +Itself a haggard forest. "Come" + The Colonel cried, "to talk you're loath; + D've hear? I say he must be stopped, + This Mosby--caged, and hair close cropped." + +"Of course; but what's that dangling there" + "Where?" "From the tree--that gallows-bough; + A bit of frayed bark, is it not" +"Ay--or a rope; did _we_ hang last?-- + Don't like my neckerchief any how" + He loosened it: "O ay, we'll stop + This Mosby--but that vile jerk and drop!"[23] + +By peep of light they feed and ride, + Gaining a grove's green edge at morn, +And mark the Aldie hills upread +And five gigantic horsemen carved + Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn; + Are more behind? an open snare? + Or Mosby's men but watchmen there? + +The ravaged land was miles behind, + And Loudon spread her landscape rare; +Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood, +Cows were feeding, a cock loud crew, + But not a friend at need was there; + The valley-folk were only good + To Mosby and his wandering brood. + +What best to do? what mean yon men? + Colonel and Guide their minds compare; +Be sure some looked their Leader through; +Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned + As one who feigns an easy air; + And yet perplexed he was they knew-- + Perplexed by Mosby's mountain-crew. + +The Major hemmed as he would speak, + But checked himself, and left the ring +Of cavalrymen about their Chief-- +Young courtiers mute who paid their court + By looking with confidence on their king; + They knew him brave, foresaw no grief-- + But Mosby--the time to think is brief. + +The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green) + Was glad 'twas not for _him_ to say +What next should be; if a trooper bleeds, +Why he will do his best, as wont, + And his partner in black will aid and pray; + But judgment bides with him who leads, + And Mosby many a problem breeds. + +The Surgeon was the kindliest man + That ever a callous trace professed; +He felt for him, that Leader young, +And offered medicine from his flask: + The Colonel took it with marvelous zest. + For such fine medicine good and strong, + Oft Mosby and his foresters long. + +A charm of proof. "Ho, Major, come-- + Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop, +Through the thickets wind--pray speedy be-- +And gain their read. And, Captain Morn, + Picket these roads--all travelers stop; + The rest to the edge of this crest with me, + That Mosby and his scouts may see." + +Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep, + Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays, +Ten riding double--luckless ten!-- +Five horses gone, and looped hats lost, + And love-locks dancing in a maze-- + Certes, but sophomores from the glen + Of Mosby--not his veteran men. + +"Colonel," said the Major, touching his cap, + "We've had our ride, and here they are" +"Well done! how many found you there" +"As many as I bring you here" + "And no one hurt?" "There'll be no scar-- + One fool was battered." "Find their lair" + "Why, Mosby's brood camp every where." + +He sighed, and slid down from his horse, + And limping went to a spring-head nigh. +"Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope" +"Battered my knee against a bar + When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.-- + Halloa! they gave you too much rope-- + Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?" + +Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood + The guard, remiss, had given a chance +For a sudden sally into the cover-- +But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot, + Though the issue was a deadly trance; + For, hurled 'gainst an oak that humped low over, + Mosby's man fell, pale as a lover. + +They pulled some grass his head to ease + (Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred). +The Surgeon came--"Here's a to-do" +"Ah!" cried the Major, darting a glance, + "This fellow's the one that fired and spurred + Down hill, but met reserves below-- + My boys, not Mosby's--so we go!" + +The Surgeon--bluff, red, goodly man-- + Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee +He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too-- +(Who went to the wars for cure of souls, + And his own student-ailments)--he + Bent over likewise; spite the two, + Mosby's poor man more pallid grew. + +Meanwhile the mounted captives near + Jested; and yet they anxious showed; +Virginians; some of family-pride, +And young, and full of fire, and fine + In open feature and cheek that glowed; + And here thralled vagabonds now they ride-- + But list! one speaks for Mosby's side. + +"Why, three to one--your horses strong-- + Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise-- +Surrender we account no shame! +We live, are gay, and life is hope; + We'll fight again when fight is wise. + There are plenty more from where we came; + But go find Mosby--start the game!" + +Yet one there was who looked but glum; + In middle-age, a father he, +And this his first experience too: +"They shot at my heart when my hands were up-- + This fighting's crazy work, I see" + But noon is high; what next do? + The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe. + +"Save what we've got," the Major said; + "Bad plan to make a scout too long; +The tide may turn, and drag them back, +And more beside. These rides I've been, + And every time a mine was sprung. + To rescue, mind, they won't be slack-- + Look out for Mosby's rifle-crack." + +"We'll welcome it! give crack for crack! + Peril, old lad, is what I seek" +"O then, there's plenty to be had-- +By all means on, and have our fill" + With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck, + Showing a scar by buck-shot made-- + Kind Mosby's Christmas gift, he said. + +"But, Colonel, my prisoners--let a guard + Make sure of them, and lead to camp. +That done, we're free for a dark-room fight +If so you say." The other laughed; + "Trust me, Major, nor throw a damp. + But first to try a little sleight-- + Sure news of Mosby would suit me quite." + +Herewith he turned--"Reb, have a dram" + Holding the Surgeon's flask with a smile +To a young scapegrace from the glen. +"O yes!" he eagerly replied, + "And thank you, Colonel, but--any guile? + For if you think we'll blab--why, then + You don't know Mosby or his men." + +The Leader's genial air relaxed. + "Best give it up," a whisperer said. +"By heaven, I'll range their rebel den" +"They'll treat you well," the captive cried; + "They're all like us--handsome--well bred: + In wood or town, with sword or pen, + Polite is Mosby, bland his men." + +"Where were you, lads, last night?--come, tell" + "We?--at a wedding in the Vale-- +The bridegroom our comrade; by his side +Belisent, my cousin--O, so proud + Of her young love with old wounds pale-- + A Virginian girl! God bless her pride-- + Of a crippled Mosby-man the bride!" + +"Four wall shall mend that saucy mood, + And moping prisons tame him down" +Said Captain Cloud. "God help that day" +Cried Captain Morn, "and he so young. + But hark, he sings--a madcap one" + "_O we multiply merrily in the May, + The birds and Mosby's men, they say!_" + +While echoes ran, a wagon old, + Under stout guard of Corporal Chew +Came up; a lame horse, dingy white, +With clouted harness; ropes in hand, + Cringed the humped driver, black in hue; + By him (for Mosby's band a sight) + A sister-rebel sat, her veil held tight. + +"I picked them up," the Corporal said, + "Crunching their way over stick and root, +Through yonder wood. The man here--Cuff-- +Says they are going to Leesburg town" + The Colonel's eye took in the group; + The veiled one's hand he spied--enough! + Not Mosby's. Spite the gown's poor stuff, + +Off went his hat: "Lady, fear not; + We soldiers do what we deplore-- +I must detain you till we march" +The stranger nodded. Nettled now, + He grew politer than before:-- + "'Tis Mosby's fault, this halt and search" + The lady stiffened in her starch. + +"My duty, madam, bids me now + Ask what may seem a little rude. +Pardon--that veil--withdraw it, please +(Corporal! make every man fall back); + Pray, now I do but what I should; + Bethink you, 'tis in masks like these + That Mosby haunts the villages." + +Slowly the stranger drew her veil, + And looked the Soldier in the eye-- +A glance of mingled foul and fair; +Sad patience in a proud disdain, + And more than quietude. A sigh + She heaved, and if all unaware, + And far seemed Mosby from her care. + +She came from Yewton Place, her home, + So ravaged by the war's wild play-- +Campings, and foragings, and fires-- +That now she sought an aunt's abode. + Her Kinsmen? In Lee's army, they. + The black? A servant, late her sire's. + And Mosby? Vainly he inquires. + +He gazed, and sad she met his eye; + "In the wood yonder were you lost" +No; at the forks they left the road +Because of hoof-prints (thick they were-- + Thick as the words in notes thrice crossed), + And fearful, made that episode. + In fear of Mosby? None she showed. + +Her poor attire again he scanned: + "Lady, once more; I grieve to jar +On all sweet usage, but must plead +To have what peeps there from your dress; + That letter--'tis justly prize of war" + She started--gave it--she must need. + "'Tis not from Mosby? May I read?" + +And straight such matter he perused + That with the Guide he went apart. +The Hospital Steward's turn began: +"Must squeeze this darkey; every tap + Of knowledge we are bound to start" + "Garry," she said, "tell all you can + Of Colonel Mosby--that brave man." + +"Dun know much, sare; and missis here + Know less dan me. But dis I know--" +"Well, what?" "I dun know what I know" +"A knowing answer!" The hump-back coughed, + Rubbing his yellowish wool like tow. + "Come--Mosby--tell!" "O dun look so! + My gal nursed missis--let we go." + +"Go where?" demanded Captain Cloud; + "Back into bondage? Man, you're free" +"Well, _let_ we free!" The Captain's brow +Lowered; the Colonel came--had heard: + "Pooh! pooh! his simple heart I see-- + A faithful servant.--Lady" (a bow), + "Mosby's abroad--with us you'll go. + +"Guard! look to your prisoners; back to camp! + The man in the grass--can he mount and away? +Why, how he groans!" "Bad inward bruise-- +Might lug him along in the ambulance" + "Coals to Newcastle! let him stay. + Boots and saddles!--our pains we lose, + Nor care I if Mosby hear the news!" + +But word was sent to a house at hand, + And a flask was left by the hurt one's side. +They seized in that same house a man, +Neutral by day, by night a foe-- + So charged his neighbor late, the Guide. + A grudge? Hate will do what it can; + Along he went for a Mosby-man. + +No secrets now; the bugle calls; + The open road they take, nor shun +The hill; retrace the weary way. +But one there was who whispered low, + "This is a feint--we'll back anon; + Young Hair-Brains don't retreat, they say; + A brush with Mosby is the play!" + +They rode till eve. Then on a farm + That lay along a hill-side green, +Bivouacked. Fires were made, and then +Coffee was boiled; a cow was coaxed + And killed, and savory roasts were seen; + And under the lee of a cattle-pen + The guard supped freely with Mosby's men. + +The ball was bandied to and fro; + Hits were given and hits were met; +"Chickamauga, Feds--take off your hat" +"But the Fight in the Clouds repaid you, Rebs" + "Forgotten about Manassas yet" + Chatting and chaffing, and tit for tat, + Mosby's clan with the troopers sat. + +"Here comes the moon!" a captive cried; + "A song! what say? Archy, my lad" +Hailing are still one of the clan +(A boyish face with girlish hair), + "Give us that thing poor Pansy made + Last Year." He brightened, and began; + And this was the song of Mosby's man: + + _Spring is come; she shows her pass-- + Wild violets cool! + South of woods a small close grass-- + A vernal wool! + Leaves are a'bud on the sassafras-- + They'll soon be full; + Blessings on the friendly screen-- + I'm for the South! says the leafage green._ + + _Robins! fly, and take your fill + Of out-of-doors-- + Garden, orchard, meadow, hill, + Barns and bowers; + Take your fill, and have your will-- + Virginia's yours! + But, bluebirds! keep away, and fear + The ambuscade in bushes here._ + +"A green song that," a seargeant said; + "But where's poor Pansy? gone, I fear" +"Ay, mustered out at Ashby's Gap" +"I see; now for a live man's song; + Ditty for ditty--prepare to cheer. + My bluebirds, you can fling a cap! + You barehead Mosby-boys--why--clap!" + + _Nine Blue-coats went a-nutting + Slyly in Tennessee-- + Not for chestnuts--better than that-- + Hugh, you bumble-bee! + Nutting, nutting-- + All through the year there's nutting!_ + + _A tree they spied so yellow, + Rustling in motion queer; + In they fired, and down they dropped-- + Butternuts, my dear! + Nutting, nutting-- + Who'll 'list to go a-nutting?_ + +Ah! why should good fellows foemen be? + And who would dream that foes they were-- +Larking and singing so friendly then-- +A family likeness in every face. + But Captain Cloud made sour demur: + "Guard! keep your prisoners _in_ the pen, + And let none talk with Mosby's men." + +That captain was a valorous one + (No irony, but honest truth), +Yet down from his brain cold drops distilled, +Making stalactites in his heart-- + A conscientious soul, forsooth; + And with a formal hate was filled + Of Mosby's band; and some he'd killed. + +Meantime the lady rueful sat, + Watching the flicker of a fire +Were the Colonel played the outdoor host +In brave old hall of ancient Night. + But ever the dame grew shyer and shyer, + Seeming with private grief engrossed-- + Grief far from Mosby, housed or lost. + +The ruddy embers showed her pale. + The Soldier did his best devoir: +"Some coffee?--no?--cracker?--one" +Cared for her servant--sought to cheer: + "I know, I know--a cruel war! + But wait--even Mosby'll eat his bun; + The Old Hearth--back to it anon!" + +But cordial words no balm could bring; + She sighed, and kept her inward chafe, +And seemed to hate the voice of glee-- +Joyless and tearless. Soon he called + An escort: "See this lady safe + In yonder house.--Madam, you're free. + And now for Mosby.--Guide! with me." + +("A night-ride, eh?") "Tighten your girths! + But, buglers! not a note from you. +Fling more rails on the fires--a blaze" +("Sergeant, a feint--I told you so-- + Toward Aldie again. Bivouac, adieu!") + After the cheery flames they gaze, + Then back for Mosby through the maze. + +The moon looked through the trees, and tipped + The scabbards with her elfin beam; +The Leader backward cast his glance, +Proud of the cavalcade that came-- + A hundred horses, bay and cream: + "Major! look how the lads advance-- + Mosby we'll have in the ambulance!" + +"No doubt, no doubt:--was that a hare?-- + First catch, then cook; and cook him brown" +"Trust me to catch," the other cried-- +"The lady's letter!--a dance, man, dance + This night is given in Leesburg town" + "He'll be there too!" wheezed out the Guide; + "That Mosby loves a dance and ride!" + +"The lady, ah!--the lady's letter-- + A _lady_, then, is in the case" +Muttered the Major. "Ay, her aunt +Writes her to come by Friday eve + (To-night), for people of the place, + At Mosby's last fight jubilant, + A party give, though table-cheer be scant." + +The Major hemmed. "Then this night-ride + We owe to her?--One lighted house +In a town else dark.--The moths, begar! +Are not quite yet all dead!" "How? how" + "A mute, meek mournful little mouse!-- + Mosby has wiles which subtle are-- + But woman's wiles in wiles of war!" + +"Tut, Major! by what craft or guile--" + "Can't tell! but he'll be found in wait. +Softly we enter, say, the town-- +Good! pickets post, and all so sure-- + When--crack! the rifles from every gate, + The Gray-backs fire--dashes up and down-- + Each alley unto Mosby known!" + +"Now, Major, now--you take dark views + Of a moonlight night." "Well, well, we'll see" +And smoked as if each whiff were gain. +The other mused; then sudden asked, + "What would you do in grand decree" + I'd beat, if I could, Lee's armies--then + Send constables after Mosby's men." + +"Ay! ay!--you're odd." The moon sailed up; + On through the shadowy land they went. +"_Names must be made and printed be!_" +Hummed the blithe Colonel. "Doc, your flask! + Major, I drink to your good content. + My pipe is out--enough for me! + One's buttons shine--does Mosby see? + +"But what comes here?" A man from the front + Reported a tree athwart the road. +"Go round it, then; no time to bide; +All right--go on! Were one to stay + For each distrust of a nervous mood, + Long miles we'd make in this our ride + Through Mosby-land.--Oh! with the Guide!" + +Then sportful to the Surgeon turned: + "Green sashes hardly serve by night" +"Nor bullets nor bottles," the Major sighed, +"Against these moccasin-snakes--such foes + As seldom come to solid fight: + They kill and vanish; through grass they glide; + Devil take Mosby!--" his horse here shied. + +"Hold! look--the tree, like a dragged balloon; + A globe of leaves--some trickery here; +My nag is right--best now be shy" +A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl; + Little was plain--they blindly steer. + The Pleiads, as from ambush sly, + Peep out--Mosby's men in the sky! + +As restive they turn, how sore they feel, + And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen, +And curse the war. "Fools, North and South" +Said one right out. "O for a bed! + O now to drop in this woodland green" + He drops as the syllables leave his mouth-- + Mosby speaks from the undergrowth-- + +Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame! + Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees; +Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind; +"Steady--Dismount--form--and into the wood" + They go, but find what scarce can please: + Their steeds have been tied in the field behind, + And Mosby's men are off like the wind. + +Sound the recall! vain to pursue-- + The enemy scatters in wilds he knows, +To reunite in his own good time; +And, to follow, they need divide-- + To come lone and lost on crouching foes: + Maple and hemlock, beech and lime, + Are Mosby's confederates, share the crime. + +"Major," burst in a bugler small, + "The fellow we left in Loudon grass-- +Sir slyboots with the inward bruise, +His voice I heard--the very same-- + Some watchword in the ambush pass; + Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes-- + We caught him--Mosby--but to lose!" + +"Go, go!--these saddle-dreamers! Well, + And here's another.--Cool, sir, cool" +"Major, I saw them mount and sweep, +And one was humped, or I mistake, + And in the skurry dropped his wool" + "A wig! go fetch it:--the lads need sleep; + They'll next see Mosby in a sheep! + +"Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks-- + All's jackstraws here! Where's Captain Morn?-- +We've parted like boats in a raging tide! +But stay-the Colonel--did he charge? + And comes he there? 'Tis streak of dawn; + Mosby is off, the woods are wide-- + Hist! there's a groan--this crazy ride!" + +As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill; + They lay in the dew: "Ah! hurt much, Mink? +And--yes--the Colonel!" Dead! but so calm +That death seemed nothing--even death, + The thing we deem every thing heart can think; + Amid wilding roses that shed their balm, + Careless of Mosby he lay--in a charm! + +The Major took him by the Hand-- + Into the friendly clasp it bled +(A ball through heart and hand he rued): +"Good-by" and gazed with humid glance; + Then in a hollow revery said + "The weakness thing is lustihood; + But Mosby--" and he checked his mood. + +"Where's the advance?--cut off, by heaven! + Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there" +"The ambulance will carry all" +"Well, get them in; we go to camp. + Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care" + Then to himself, "This grief is gall; + That Mosby!--I'll cast a silver ball!" + +"Ho!" turning--"Captain Cloud, you mind + The place where the escort went--so shady? +Go search every closet low and high, +And barn, and bin, and hidden bower-- + Every covert--find that lady! + And yet I may misjudge her--ay, + Women (like Mosby) mystify. + +"We'll see. Ay, Captain, go--with speed! + Surround and search; each living thing +Secure; that done, await us where +We last turned off. Stay! fire the cage + If the birds be flown." By the cross-road spring + The bands rejoined; no words; the glare + Told all. Had Mosby plotted there? + +The weary troop that wended now-- + Hardly it seemed the same that pricked +Forth to the forest from the camp: +Foot-sore horses, jaded men; + Every backbone felt as nicked, + Each eye dim as a sick-room lamp, + All faces stamped with Mosby's stamp. + +In order due the Major rode-- + Chaplain and Surgeon on either hand; +A riderless horse a negro led; +In a wagon the blanketed sleeper went; + Then the ambulance with the bleeding band; + And, an emptied oat-bag on each head, + Went Mosby's men, and marked the dead. + +What gloomed them? what so cast them down, + And changed the cheer that late they took, +As double-guarded now they rode +Between the files of moody men? + Some sudden consciousness they brook, + Or dread the sequel. That night's blood + Disturbed even Mosby's brotherhood. + +The flagging horses stumbled at roots, + Floundered in mires, or clinked the stones; +No rider spake except aside; +But the wounded cramped in the ambulance, + It was horror to hear their groans-- + Jerked along in the woodland ride, + While Mosby's clan their revery hide. + +The Hospital Steward--even he-- + Who on the sleeper kept his glance, +Was changed; late bright-black beard and eye +Looked now hearse-black; his heavy heart, + Like his fagged mare, no more could dance; + His grape was now a raisin dry: + 'Tis Mosby's homily--_Man must die_. + +The amber sunset flushed the camp + As on the hill their eyes they fed; +The pickets dumb looks at the wagon dart; +A handkerchief waves from the bannered tent-- + As white, alas! the face of the dead: + Who shall the withering news impart? + The bullet of Mosby goes through heart to heart! + +They buried him where the lone ones lie + (Lone sentries shot on midnight post)-- +A green-wood grave-yard hid from ken, +Where sweet-fern flings an odor nigh-- + Yet held in fear for the gleaming ghost! + Though the bride should see threescore and ten, + She will dream of Mosby and his men. + +Now halt the verse, and turn aside-- + The cypress falls athwart the way; +No joy remains for bard to sing; +And heaviest dole of all is this, + That other hearts shall be as gay + As hers that now no more shall spring: + To Mosby-land the dirges cling. + + + + +Lee in the Capitol. + + + +Lee in the Capitol.[24] +(April, 1866.) + + +Hard pressed by numbers in his strait, + Rebellion's soldier-chief no more contends-- +Feels that the hour is come of Fate, + Lays down one sword, and widened warfare ends. +The captain who fierce armies led +Becomes a quiet seminary's head-- +Poor as his privates, earns his bread. +In studious cares and aims engrossed, + Strives to forget Stuart and Stonewall dead-- +Comrades and cause, station and riches lost, + And all the ills that flock when fortune's fled. +No word he breathes of vain lament, + Mute to reproach, nor hears applause-- +His doom accepts, perforce content, + And acquiesces in asserted laws; +Secluded now would pass his life, +And leave to time the sequel of the strife. + But missives from the Senators ran; +Not that they now would gaze upon a swordless foe, +And power made powerless and brought low: + Reasons of state, 'tis claimed, require the man. +Demurring not, promptly he comes +By ways which show the blackened homes, + And--last--the seat no more his own, +But Honor's; patriot grave-yards fill +The forfeit slopes of that patrician hill, + And fling a shroud on Arlington. +The oaks ancestral all are low; +No more from the porch his glance shall go +Ranging the varied landscape o'er, +Far as the looming Dome--no more. +One look he gives, then turns aside, +Solace he summons from his pride: +"So be it! They await me now +Who wrought this stinging overthrow; +They wait me; not as on the day +Of Pope's impelled retreat in disarray-- +By me impelled--when toward yon Dome +The clouds of war came rolling home" +The burst, the bitterness was spent, +The heart-burst bitterly turbulent, +And on he fared. + + In nearness now + He marks the Capitol--a show +Lifted in amplitude, and set +With standards flushed with a glow of Richmond yet; + Trees and green terraces sleep below. +Through the clear air, in sunny light, +The marble dazes--a temple white. + +Intrepid soldier! had his blade been drawn +For yon stirred flag, never as now +Bid to the Senate-house had he gone, +But freely, and in pageant borne, +As when brave numbers without number, massed, +Plumed the broad way, and pouring passed-- +Bannered, beflowered--between the shores +Of faces, and the dinn'd huzzas, +And balconies kindling at the sabre-flash, +'Mid roar of drums and guns, and cymbal-crash, +While Grant and Sherman shone in blue-- +Close of the war and victory's long review. + +Yet pride at hand still aidful swelled, +And up the hard ascent he held. +The meeting follows. In his mien +The victor and the vanquished both are seen-- +All that he is, and what he late had been. +Awhile, with curious eyes they scan +The Chief who led invasion's van-- +Allied by family to one, +Founder of the Arch the Invader warred upon: +Who looks at Lee must think of Washington; +In pain must think, and hide the thought, +So deep with grievous meaning it is fraught. + +Secession in her soldier shows +Silent and patient; and they feel + (Developed even in just success) +Dim inklings of a hazy future steal; + Their thoughts their questions well express: +"Does the sad South still cherish hate? +Freely will Southen men with Northern mate? +The blacks--should we our arm withdraw, +Would that betray them? some distrust your law. +And how if foreign fleets should come-- +Would the South then drive her wedges home" +And more hereof. The Virginian sees-- +Replies to such anxieties. +Discreet his answers run--appear +Briefly straightforward, coldly clear. + +"If now," the Senators, closing, say, +"Aught else remain, speak out, we pray" +Hereat he paused; his better heart +Strove strongly then; prompted a worthier part +Than coldly to endure his doom. +Speak out? Ay, speak, and for the brave, +Who else no voice or proxy have; +Frankly their spokesman here become, +And the flushed North from her own victory save. +That inspiration overrode-- +Hardly it quelled the galling load +Of personal ill. The inner feud +He, self-contained, a while withstood; +They waiting. In his troubled eye +Shadows from clouds unseen they spy; +They could not mark within his breast +The pang which pleading thought oppressed: +He spoke, nor felt the bitterness die. + +"My word is given--it ties my sword; +Even were banners still abroad, +Never could I strive in arms again +While you, as fit, that pledge retain. +Our cause I followed, stood in field and gate-- +All's over now, and now I follow Fate. +But this is naught. A People call-- +A desolted land, and all +The brood of ills that press so sore, +The natural offspring of this civil war, +Which ending not in fame, such as might rear +Fitly its sculptured trophy here, +Yields harvest large of doubt and dread +To all who have the heart and head +To feel and know. How shall I speak? +Thoughts knot with thoughts, and utterance check. +Before my eyes there swims a haze, +Through mists departed comrades gaze-- +First to encourage, last that shall upbraid! +How shall I speak? The South would fain +Feel peace, have quiet law again-- +Replant the trees for homestead-shade. + You ask if she recants: she yields. +Nay, and would more; would blend anew, +As the bones of the slain in her forests do, +Bewailed alike by us and you. + A voice comes out from these charnel-fields, +A plaintive yet unheeded one: +_'Died all in vain? both sides undone'_ +Push not your triumph; do not urge +Submissiveness beyond the verge. +Intestine rancor would you bide, +Nursing eleven sliding daggers in your side? + +"Far from my thought to school or threat; +I speak the things which hard beset. +Where various hazards meet the eyes, +To elect in magnanimity is wise. +Reap victory's fruit while sound the core; +What sounder fruit than re-established law? +I know your partial thoughts do press +Solely on us for war's unhappy stress; +But weigh--consider--look at all, +And broad anathema you'll recall. +The censor's charge I'll not repeat, +The meddlers kindled the war's white heat-- +Vain intermeddlers and malign, +Both of the palm and of the pine; +I waive the thought--which never can be rife-- +Common's the crime in every civil strife: +But this I feel, that North and South were driven +By Fate to arms. For our unshriven, +What thousands, truest souls, were tried-- + As never may any be again-- +All those who stemmed Secession's pride, +But at last were swept by the urgent tide + Into the chasm. I know their pain. +A story here may be applied: +'In Moorish lands there lived a maid + Brought to confess by vow the creed + Of Christians. Fain would priests persuade +That now she must approve by deed + The faith she kept. "What dead?" she asked. +"Your old sire leave, nor deem it sin, + And come with us." Still more they tasked +The sad one: "If heaven you'd win-- + Far from the burning pit withdraw, +Then must you learn to hate your kin, + Yea, side against them--such the law, +For Moor and Christian are at war" +"Then will I never quit my sire, +But here with him through every trial go, +Nor leave him though in flames below-- +God help me in his fire!" +So in the South; vain every plea +'Gainst Nature's strong fidelity; + True to the home and to the heart, +Throngs cast their lot with kith and kin, + Foreboding, cleaved to the natural part-- +Was this the unforgivable sin? +These noble spirits are yet yours to win. +Shall the great North go Sylla's way? +Proscribe? prolong the evil day? +Confirm the curse? infix the hate? +In Unions name forever alienate? + +"From reason who can urge the plea-- +Freemen conquerors of the free? +When blood returns to the shrunken vein, +Shall the wound of the Nation bleed again? +Well may the wars wan thought supply, +And kill the kindling of the hopeful eye, +Unless you do what even kings have done +In leniency--unless you shun +To copy Europe in her worst estate-- +Avoid the tyranny you reprobate." + +He ceased. His earnestness unforeseen +Moved, but not swayed their former mien; + And they dismissed him. Forth he went +Through vaulted walks in lengthened line +Like porches erst upon the Palatine: + Historic reveries their lesson lent, + The Past her shadow through the Future sent. + +But no. Brave though the Soldier, grave his plea-- + Catching the light in the future's skies, +Instinct disowns each darkening prophecy: + Faith in America never dies; +Heaven shall the end ordained fulfill, +We march with Providence cheery still. + + + + +A Meditation: + +Attributed to a northerner after attending the last of two funerals +from the same homestead--those of a national and a confederate +officer (brothers), his kinsmen, who had died from the effects of +wounds received in the closing battles. + + + +A Meditation. + + +How often in the years that close, + When truce had stilled the sieging gun, +The soldiers, mounting on their works, + With mutual curious glance have run +From face to face along the fronting show, +And kinsman spied, or friend--even in a foe. + +What thoughts conflicting then were shared. + While sacred tenderness perforce +Welled from the heart and wet the eye; + And something of a strange remorse +Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood, +And Christian wars of natural brotherhood. + +Then stirred the god within the breast-- + The witness that is man's at birth; +A deep misgiving undermined + Each plea and subterfuge of earth; +The felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife, +Horror and anguish for the civil strife. + +Of North or South they recked not then, + Warm passion cursed the cause of war: +Can Africa pay back this blood + Spilt on Potomac's shore? +Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay, +And hands that fain had clasped again could slay. + +How frequent in the camp was seen + The herald from the hostile one, +A guest and frank companion there + When the proud formal talk was done; +The pipe of peace was smoked even 'mid the war, +And fields in Mexico again fought o'er. + +In Western battle long they lay + So near opposed in trench or pit, +That foeman unto foeman called + As men who screened in tavern sit: +"You bravely fight" each to the other said-- +"Toss us a biscuit!" o'er the wall it sped. + +And pale on those same slopes, a boy-- + A stormer, bled in noon-day glare; +No aid the Blue-coats then could bring, + He cried to them who nearest were, +And out there came 'mid howling shot and shell +A daring foe who him befriended well. + +Mark the great Captains on both sides, + The soldiers with the broad renown-- +They all were messmates on the Hudson's marge, + Beneath one roof they laid them down; +And free from hate in many an after pass, +Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class. + +A darker side there is; but doubt + In Nature's charity hovers there: +If men for new agreement yearn, + Then old upbraiding best forbear: +"_The South's the sinner!_" Well, so let it be; +But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee? + +O, now that brave men yield the sword, + Mine be the manful soldier-view; +By how much more they boldly warred, + By so much more is mercy due: +When Vickburg fell, and the moody files marched out, +Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout. + + + + +Footnotes. + + +1. The gloomy lull of the early part of the winter of 1860-1, seeming +big with final disaster to our institutions, affected some minds that +believed them to constitute one of the great hopes of mankind, much as +the eclipse which came over the promise of the first French Revolution +affected kindred natures, throwing them for the time into doubt and +misgivings universal. + +2. "The terrible Stone Fleet on a mission as pitiless as the granite +that freights it, sailed this morning from Port Royal, and before two +days are past will have made Charleston an inland city. The ships are +all old whalers, and cost the government from $2500 to $5000 each. Some +of them were once famous ships.--" (From Newspaper Correspondences of +the day.) + +Sixteen vessels were accordingly sunk on the bar at the river entrance. +Their names were as follows: + +Amazon, +America, +American, +Archer, +Courier, +Fortune, +Herald, +Kensington, +Leonidas, +Maria Theresa, +Potomac, +Rebecca Simms, +L.C. Richmond, +Robin Hood, +Tenedos, +William Lee. + +All accounts seem to agree that the object proposed was not +accomplished. The channel is even said to have become ultimately +benefited by the means employed to obstruct it. + +3. The _Temeraire_, that storied ship of the old English fleet, and the +subject of the well-known painting by Turner, commends itself to the +mind seeking for some one craft to stand for the poetic ideal of those +great historic wooden warships, whose gradual displacement is lamented +by none more than by regularly educated navy officers, and of all +nations. + +4. Some of the cannon of old times, especially the brass ones, unlike +the more effective ordnance of the present day, were cast in shapes +which Cellini might have designed, were gracefully enchased, generally +with the arms of the country. A few of them--field-pieces--captured in +our earlier wars, are preserved in arsenals and navy-yards. + +5. Whatever just military criticism, favorable or otherwise, has at any +time been made upon General McClellan's campaigns, will stand. But if, +during the excitement of the conflict, aught was spread abroad tending +the unmerited disparagement of the man, it must necessarily die out, +though not perhaps without leaving some traces, which may or may not +prove enduring. Some there are whose votes aided in the re-election of +Abraham Lincoln, who yet believed, and retain the belief, that General +McClellan, to say the least, always proved himself a patriotic and +honorable soldier. The feeling which surviving comrades entertain for +their late commnder is one which, from its passion, is susceptible of +versified representation, and such it receives. + +6. At Antietam Stonewall Jackson led one wing of Lee's army, consequenty +sharing that day in whatever may be deemed to have been the fortunes of +his superior. + +7. Admiral Porter is son of the late Commodore Porter, commander of the +Frigate Essex on that Pacific cruise which ended in the desparate fight +off Valparaiso with the English frigates Cherub and Phoebe, in the year +1814. + +8. Among numerous head-stones or monuments on Cemetery Hill, marred or +destroyed by the enemy's concentrated fire, was one, somewhat +conspicuous, of a Federal officer killed before Richmond in 1862. + +On the 4th of July 1865, the Gettysburg National Cemetery, on the same +height with the original burial-ground, was consecrated, and the +corner-stone laid of a commemorative pile. + +9. "I dare not write the horrible and inconceivable atrocities +committed," says Froissart, in alluding to the remarkable sedition in +France during his time. The like may be hinted of some proceedings of +the draft-rioters. + +10. Although the month was November, the day was in character an October +one--cool, clear, bright, intoxicatingly invigorating; one of those days +peculiar to the ripest hours of our American Autumn. This weather must +have had much to do with the spontaneous enthusiasm which seized the +troops--and enthusiasm aided, doubtless, by glad thoughts of the victory +of Look-out Mountain won the day previous, and also by the elation +attending the capture, after a fierce struggle, of the long ranges of +rifle-pits at the mountain's base, where orders for the time should have +stopped the advance. But there and then it was that the army took the +bit between its teeth, and ran away with the generals to the victory +commemorated. General Grant, at Culpepper, a few weeks prior to crossing +the Rapidan for the Wilderness, expressed to a visitor his impression of +the impulse and the spectacle: Said he: "I never saw any thing like it:" +language which seems curiously undertoned, considering its application; +but from the taciturn Commander it was equivalent to a superlative or +hyperbole from the talkative. + +The height of the Ridge, according to the account at hand, varies along +its length from six to seven hundred feet above the plain; it slopes at +an angle of about forty-five degrees. + +11. The great Parrott gun, planted in the marshes of James Island, and +employed in the prolonged, though at times intermitted bombardment of +Charleston, was known among our soldiers as the Swamp Angel. + +St. Michael's, characterized by its venerable tower, was the historic +and aristrocratic church of the town. + +12. Among the Northwestern regiments there would seem to have been more +than one which carried a living eagle as an added ensign. The bird +commemorated here was, according the the account, borne aloft on a perch +beside the standard; went through successive battles and campaigns; was +more than once under the surgeon's hands; and at the close of the +contest found honorable repose in the capital of Wisconsin, from which +state he had gone to the wars. + +13. The late Major General McPherson, commanding the Army of the +Tennessee, a major of Ohio and a West Pointer, was one of the foremost +spirits of the war. Young, though a veteran; hardy, intrepid, sensitive +in honor, full of engaging qualities, with manly beauty; possessed of +genius, a favorite with the army, and with Grant and Sherman. Both +Generals have generously acknowledged their professional obligiations to +the able engineer and admirable soldier, their subordinate and junior. + +In an informal account written by the Achilles to this Sarpedon, he +says: "On that day we avenged his death. Near twenty-two hundred of the +enemy's dead remained on the ground when night closed upon the scene of +action." + +It is significant of the scale on which the war was waged, that the +engagement thus written of goes solely (so far as can be learned) under +the vague designation of one of the battles before Atlanta. + +14. The piece was written while yet the reports were coming North of +Sherman's homeward advance from Savannah. It is needless to point out +its purely dramatic character. + +Though the sentiment ascribed in the beginning of the second stanza +must, in the present reading, suggest the historic tragedy of the 14th +of April, nevertheless, as intimated, it was written prior to that +event, and without any distinct application in the writer's mind. After +consideration, it is allowed to remain. + +Few need be reminded that, by the less intelligent classes of the South, +Abraham Lincoln, by nature the most kindly of men, was regarded as a +monster wantonly warring upon liberty. He stood for the personification +of tyrannic power. Each Union soldier was called a Lincolnite. + +Undoubtedly Sherman, in the desolation he inflicted after leaving +Atlanta, acted not in contravention of orders; and all, in a military +point of view, if by military judged deemed to have been expedient, and +nothing can abate General Sherman's shining renown; his claims to it +rest on no single campaign. Still, there are those who can not but +contrast some of the scenes enacted in Georgia and the Carolinas, and +also in the Shenandoah, with a circumstance in a great Civil War of +heathen antiquity. Plutarch relates that in a military council held by +Pompey and the chiefs of that party which stood for the Commonwealth, it +was decided that under no plea should any city be sacked that was +subject to the people of Rome. There was this difference, however, +between the Roman civil conflict and the American one. The war of Pompey +and Caesar divided the Roman people promiscuously; that of the North and +South ran a frontier line between what for the time were distinct +communities or nations. In this circumstance, possibly, and some others, +may be found both the cause and the justification of some of the +sweeping measures adopted. + +15. At this period of excitement the thought was by some passionately +welcomed that the Presidential successor had been raised up by heaven to +wreak vengeance on the South. The idea originated in the remembrance +that Andrew Johnson by birth belonged to that class of Southern whites +who never cherished love for the dominant: that he was a citizen of +Tennessee, where the contest at times and in places had been close and +bitter as a Middle-Age feud; the himself and family had been hardly +treated by the Secessionists. + +But the expectations build hereon (if, indeed, ever soberly +entertained), happily for the country, have not been verified. + +Likely the feeling which would have held the entire South chargeable +with the crime of one exceptional assassin, this too has died away with +the natural excitement of the hour. + +16. The incident on which this piece is based is narrated in a newspaper +account of the battle to be found in the "Rebellion Record." During the +disaster to the national forces on the first day, a brigade on the +extreme left found itself isolated. The perils it encountered are given +in detail. Among others, the following sentences occur: + +"Under cover of the fire from the bluffs, the rebels rushed down, +crossed the ford, and in a moment were seen forming this side the creek +in open fields, and within close musket-range. Their color-bearers +stepped defiantly to the front as the engagement opened furiously; the +rebels pouring in sharp, quick volleys of musketry, and their batteries +above continuing to support them with a destructive fire. Our +sharpshooters wanted to pick off the audacious rebel color-bearers, but +Colonel Stuart interposed: 'No, no, they're too brave fellows to be +killed.'" + +17. According to a report of the Secretary of War, there were on the +first day of March, 1865, 965,000 men on the army pay-rolls. Of these, +some 200,000--artillery, cavalry, and infantry--made up from the larger +portion of the veterans of Grant and Sherman, marched by the President. +The total number of Union troops enlisted during the war was 2,668,000. + +18. For a month or two after the completion of peace, some thousands of +released captives from the military prisons of the North, natives of all +parts of the South, passed through the city of New York, sometimes +waiting farther transportation for days, during which interval they +wandered penniless about the streets, or lay in their worn and patched +gray uniforms under the trees of Battery, near the barracks where they +were lodged and fed. They were transported and provided for at the +charge of government. + +19. Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a +view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the +same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to +deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem. + +20. The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest +youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same +classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern +seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched +who never returned except on the shield. + +21. Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at +Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each +beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the +prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at +the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at +Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four +large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like +getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the +interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople. + +22. In one of Kilpatrick's earlier cavalry fights near Aldie, a Colonel +who, being under arrest, had been temporarily deprived of his sword, +nevertheless, unarmed, insisted upon charging at the head of his men, +which he did, and the onset proved victorious. + +23. Certain of Mosby's followers, on the charge of being unlicensed +foragers or fighters, being hung by order of a Union cavalry commander, +the Partisan promptly retaliated in the woods. In turn, this also was +retaliated, it is said. To what extent such deplorable proceedings were +carried, it is not easy to learn. + +South of the Potamac in Virginia, and within a gallop of the Long Bridge +at Washington, is the confine of a country, in some places wild, which +throughout the war it was unsafe for a Union man to traverse except with +an armed escort. This was the chase of Mosby, the scene of many of his +exploits or those of his men. In the heart of this region at least one +fortified camp was maintained by our cavalry, and from time to time +expeditions ended disastrously. Such results were helped by the +exceeding cunning of the enemy, born of his wood-craft, and, in some +instances, by undue confidence on the part of our men. A body of +cavalry, starting from camp with the view of breaking up a nest of +rangers, and absent say three days, would return with a number of their +own forces killed and wounded (ambushed), without being able to +retaliate farther than by foraging on the country, destroying a house or +two reported to be haunts of the guerrillas, or capturing non-combatants +accused of being secretly active in their behalf. + +In the verse the name of Mosby is invested with some of those +associations with which the popular mind is familiar. But facts do not +warrant the belief that every clandestine attack of men who passed for +Mosby's was made under his eye or even by his knowledge. + +In partisan warfare he proved himself shrewd, able, and enterprising, +and always a wary fighter. He stood well in the confidence of his +superior officers, and was empoyed by them at times in furtherance of +important movements. To our wounded on more than one occasion he showed +considerate kindness. Officers and civilians captured by forces under +his immediate command were, so long as remaining under his orders, +treated with civility. These things are well known to those personally +familiar with the irregular fighting in Virginia. + +24. Among those summoned during the spring just passed to appear before +the Reconstruction Committee of Congress was Robert E. Lee. His +testimony is deeply interesting, both in itself and as coming from him. +After various questions had been put and briefly answered, these words +were addressed to him: + +"If there be any other matter about which you wish to speak on this +occasions, do so freely." Waiving this invitation, he responded by a +short personal explanation of some point in a previous answer, and after +a few more brief questions and replies, the interview closed. + +In the verse a poetical liberty has been ventured. Lee is not only +represented as responding to the invitation, but also as at last +renouncing his cold reserve, doubtless the cloak to feelings more or +less poignant. If for such freedom warrant be necessary the speeches in +ancient histories, not to speak of those in Shakespeare's historic +plays, may not unfitly perhaps be cited. + +The character of the original measures proposed about time in the +National Legislature for the treatment of the (as yet) Congressionally +excluded South, and the spirit in which those measures were +advocated--these are circumstances which it is fairly supposable would +have deeply influenced the thoughts, whether spoken or withheld, of a +Southerner placed in the position of Lee before the Reconstruction +Committee. + + + + +Supplement. + + +Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would +close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism--not free +from solicitude--urges a claim overriding all literary scruples. + +It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have +not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain +of this. There has been an upheavel affecting the basis of things; to +altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are +difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion to +spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who shall +hymn the politicians? + +In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and +considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly +on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather +conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to +submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen. + +And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions +growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which +time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less +temperate and charitable cast. + +There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together, +or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political +trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered by a cause not +partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at +all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but +these? These are much. + +Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence. +But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war +she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her +is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since +this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy +in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of +voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford +just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all practical +purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of civil war to +feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; that both now lie +buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and that +together we comprise the Nation. + +The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to +eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a +free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was +in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it +was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights +guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people of +the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the +conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of +liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was +the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based +upon the systematic degradation of man. + +Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and +achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and +upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea--a +renown which we of the North could not suppress even if we would. In +personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the South +enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from +disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can respect. +Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from our +passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV. could out of the +graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the +great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty, +Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout at Preston +Pans--Upon whose head the king's ancestor but one reign removed has set +a price--is it probable that the grandchildren of General Grant will +pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall +Jackson? + +But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies +which record the deeds of her chieftains--writings freely published at +the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though +saddened interest. By students of the war such works are hailed as +welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the record. + +Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the +generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance +to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet +cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers +of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd +felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through their +fidelity to the Stuarts--a feeling whose passion was tempered by the +poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to the +Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed excellent +things to literature. But, setting this view aside, dishonorable would +it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the memory of +brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her +behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray. + +Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who +this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian +dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred +in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of +tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And +yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast. + +Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in +looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been +tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting, +though but dramatically and by way of a poetic record, the passions and +epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which +every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion +of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the +close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied--an +exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however +indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in +certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of +necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry +or patriotism. + +There were excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps +inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving +warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized. +Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively +can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their +name. But surely other qualities--exalted ones--courage and fortitude +matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be +held the characteristic traits, and not the former. + +In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt +from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the +dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumph, so far as it +may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity. + +Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable +consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably +debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for +themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of +conciliating those men--few in number, we trust--who have resolved never +to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts every thing is thrown away +except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them +call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with +impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a +little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his own +heart at Richmond. + +Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people +in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short +of its pathos--a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity. + +How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them. +We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall +come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though, +perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though to +treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes, +nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly +speaking, is the truth--namely, that those unfraternal denunciations, +continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended +in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating strength +and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other side, on +ours might have lain those actions which now in our late opponents we +stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us own--what it +would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned--that our +triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior resources +and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a people for +years politically misled by designing men, and also by some +honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been +otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though indeed, they +sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not +the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we) were +the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with ourselves, +share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may possess. No one +can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat has now cast upon +Secession by withholding the recognition of these verities. + +Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification, +based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers +of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally +triumphant, did not bring about, and which law-making, however anxious, +or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be +largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some +revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this +should harmoniously work another kind of prudence not unallied with +entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy--Christianity and +Machiavelli--dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued. +Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate +fellow-men late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be +wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those attested in the +War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them nationally +available at need. + +The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the +sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the +interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and +benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to exclude +kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For the +future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future of +the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a paramount +claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, is not +narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, it is +vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the +situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor +theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved. +And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length +attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we +still turn our eyes toward the South, as the Neapolitan, months after +the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may +be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has the crater but shifted? Let +us revere that sacred uncertainty which forever impends over men and +nations. Those of us who always abhorred slavery as an atheistical +iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of humanity over its +downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was accomplished not +by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence could so +mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the +benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of +dubious constitutional rightfulness toward our white countrymen +--measures of a nature to provoke, among other of the last evils, +exterminating hatred of race toward race. In imagination let us place +ourselves in the unprecedented position of the Southerners--their +position as regards the millions of ignorant manumitted slaves in their +midst, for whom some of us now claim the suffrage. Let us be Christians +toward our fellow-whites, as well as philanthropists toward the blacks +our fellow-men. In all things, and toward all, we are enjoined to do as +we would be done by. Nor should we forget that benevolent desires, after +passing a certain point, can not undertake their own fulfillment without +incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be remedied. +Something may well be left to the graduated care of future legislation, +and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two races in +the South--whether the negro be bond or free--seems (even as it did to +Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of +the reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present +transition period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble +may not unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too +swift to charge the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain +evils men must be more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent +digestion, and may in time convert and assimilate to good all elements +thrown in, however originally alien. + +But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent +Re-establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to +pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should +plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of +duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not +the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of +the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have +gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as +resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought +leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn +aside and be silent. + +But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats +in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those +cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have +prevailed in the land--what then? Why the Congressman elected by the +people of the South will--represent the people of the South. This may +seem a flat conclusion; but in view of the last five years, may there +not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those +Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our +own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows +a violent quarrel; but if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice +observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new +rupture. Amity itelf can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and +true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and +South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South +though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon +differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged? +shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant +self-assertion on the other? shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted +for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full +Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet if +otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The +maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly with +the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than +the South, for the North is victor. + +But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and +for this reason: Since the test-oath opertively excludes from Congress +all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but +Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This +is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted +fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo alteration, +assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission into the +National Legislature of men who represent the populations lately in +revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the principles of +democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the political +existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be +ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the +Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in +democracy. + +In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is any thing +here thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem natural +--inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves to many +thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long they must +have that weight with the public which already they have had with +individuals. + +For that heroic band--those children of the furnace who, in regions like +Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible +trials--we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet +passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic +in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to +discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as +Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now +to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the +Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in +times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the +expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every +side. + +Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have +been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through +terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those +expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War +by Herman Melville + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASPECTS OF WAR *** + +***** This file should be named 12384.txt or 12384.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/8/12384/ + +Produced by David Maddock + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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