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diff --git a/16480-h/16480-h.htm b/16480-h/16480-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eeab4ab --- /dev/null +++ b/16480-h/16480-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2633 @@ +<!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"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beechenbrook, by Margaret J. Preston. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; font-size: 0.8em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; left: 10%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:20%; margin-right:20%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i17 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beechenbrook, by Margaret J. Preston + +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: Beechenbrook + A Rhyme of the War + +Author: Margaret J. Preston + +Release Date: August 8, 2005 [EBook #16480] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEECHENBROOK *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Ted Garvin and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1>BEECHENBROOK;</h1> + +<h3>A Rhyme of the War.</h3> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>MARGARET J. PRESTON.</h2> + + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="center">BALTIMORE:<br /> +KELLY & PIET, PUBLISHERS,<br /> +174 BALTIMORE STREET,<br /> +1866.</p> + +<p class="center">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by KELLY & PIET,<br /> +In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of +Maryland.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h2>Dedication.</h2> + + +<p class="center">TO<br/> +EVERY SOUTHERN WOMAN, WHO HAS BEEN Widowed by the War, +I DEDICATE THIS RHYME, +PUBLISHED DURING THE PROGRESS OF THE STRUGGLE +AND NOW RE-PRODUCED—AS A Faint Memorial of Sufferings, +OF WHICH THERE CAN BE +NO FORGETFULNESS.</p> + +<p class="center">M.J.P.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 484px;"> +<img src="images/border.png" width="484" height="131" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>BEECHENBROOK;<br /> + +A<br /> + +RHYME OF THE WAR.</h3> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p class="center"> +<a href="#I"><b>I.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#II"><b>II.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#III"><b>III.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#IV"><b>IV.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#V"><b>V.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#VI"><b>VI.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#VII"><b>VII.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#VIII"><b>VIII.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#IX"><b>IX.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#X"><b>X.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#VIRGINIA"><b>VIRGINIA.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#JACKSON"><b>JACKSON.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#DIRGE_FOR_ASHBY"><b>DIRGE FOR ASHBY.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#STONEWALL_JACKSONS_GRAVE"><b>STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE.[A]</b></a><br /> +<a href="#WHEN_THE_WAR_IS_OVER"><b>WHEN THE WAR IS OVER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#VIRGINIA_CAPTA"><b>VIRGINIA CAPTA.</b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is sorrow in Beechenbrook Cottage; the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has been bright with the earliest glory of May;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue of the sky is as tender a blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever the sunshine came shimmering through:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The songs of the birds and the hum of the bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As they merrily dart in and out of the trees,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It mingles its odors with hawthorn and rose,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of the brook, as it lapses unseen,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laughter of children at play on the green,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insist on a picture so cheerful, so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who ever would dream that a grief could be there!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The last yellow sunbeam slides down from the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The purple of evening is ready to fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gladness of daylight is gone, and the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of something like sadness is over the room.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right bravely all day, with a smile on her brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has Alice been true to her duty,—but now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her tasks are all ended,—naught inside or out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the thoughtfullest love to be busy about;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The knapsack well furnished, the canteen all bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soldier's grey dress and his gauntlets in sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blanket tight strapped, and the haversack stored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lying beside them, the cap and the sword;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No last, little office,—no further commands,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No service to steady the tremulous hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All wife-work,—the sweet work that busied her so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is finished:—the dear one is ready to go.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not a sob has escaped her all day,—not a moan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now the tide rushes,—for she is alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the fresh, shining knapsack she pillows her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weeps as a mourner might weep for the dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She heeds not the three-year old baby at play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As donning the cap, on the carpet he lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till she feels on her forehead, his fingers' soft tips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on her shut eyelids, the touch of his lips.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Mamma is <i>so</i> sorry!—Mamma is <i>so</i> sad!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Archie can make her look up and be glad:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've been praying to God, as you told me to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Papa may come back when the battle is thro':—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He says when we pray, that our prayers shall be heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Mamma, don't you <i>always</i> know, God keeps his word?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Around the young comforter stealthily press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The arms of his father with sudden caress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then fast to his heart,—love and duty at strife,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He snatches with fondest emotion, his wife.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My own love! my precious!—I feel I am strong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know I am brave in opposing the wrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could stand where the battle was fiercest, nor feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One quiver of nerve at the flash of the steel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could gaze on the enemy guiltless of fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I quail at the sight of your passionate tears:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My calmness forsakes me,—my thoughts are a-whirl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the stout-hearted man is as weak as a girl.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I've been proud of your fortitude; never a trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of yielding, all day, could I read in your face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a look that was resolute, dauntless and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever flashed forth from a patriot's eye.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know how you cling to me,—know that to part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is tearing the tenderest cords of your heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the length and the breadth of our Valley to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No hand will a costlier sacrifice lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the altar of Country; and Alice,—sweet wife!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never have worshipped you so in my life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor heart,—that has held up so brave in the past,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor heart! must it break with its burden at last?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The arms thrown about him, but tighten their hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cheek that he kisses, is ashy and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bowed with the grief she so long has suppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She weeps herself quiet and calm on his breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length, in a voice just as steady and clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if it had never been choked by a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She raises her eyes with a softened control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through them her husband looks into her soul.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I feel that we each for the other could die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your heart to my own makes the instant reply:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dear as you are, Love,—my life and my light,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not consent to your stay, if I might:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No!—arm for the conflict, and on, with the rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Virginia has need of her bravest and best!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart—it must bleed, and my cheek will be wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet never, believe me, with selfish regret:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My ardor abates not one jot of its glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the tears of the wife and the woman <i>will</i> flow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Our cause is so holy, so just, and so true,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thank God! I can give a defender like you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For home, and for children,—for freedoms—for bread,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the house of our God,—for the graves of our dead,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For leave to exist on the soil of our birth,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For everything manhood holds dearest on earth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When <i>these</i> are the things that we fight for—dare I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hold back my best treasure, with plaint or with sigh?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My cheek would blush crimson,—my spirit be galled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If <i>he</i> were not there when the muster was called!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we pleaded for peace, every right was denied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every pressing petition turned proudly aside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now God judge betwixt us!—God prosper the right!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To brave men there's nothing remains, but to fight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I grudge you not, Douglass,—die, rather than yield,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like the old heroes,—come home on your shield!"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The morning is breaking:—the flush of the dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is warning the soldier, 'tis time to be gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The children around him expectantly wait,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His horse, all caparisoned, paws at the gate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With face strangely pallid,—no sobbings,—no sighs,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But only a luminous mist in her eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wife is subduing the heart-throbs that swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And calming herself for a quiet farewell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There falls a felt silence:—the note of a bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tremulous twitter,—is all that is heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The circle has knelt by the holly-bush there,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And listen,—there comes the low breathing of prayer.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Father! fold thine arms of pity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round us as we lowly bow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never have we kneeled before Thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With such burden'd hearts as now!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Joy has been our constant portion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if ill must now befall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a filial acquiescence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We would thank thee for it all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the path of present duty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Thy hand to lean upon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Questioning not the hidden future,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May we walk serenely on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For this holy, happy home-love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Purest bliss that crowns my life,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For these tender, trusting children,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For this fondest, faithful wife,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here I pour my full thanksgiving;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, when heart is torn from heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be our sweetest tryst-word, '<i>Mizpah</i>,'—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Watch betwixt us while we part!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And if never round this altar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We should kneel as heretofore,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If these arms in benediction<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fold my precious ones no more,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou, who in her direst anguish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sooth'dst thy mother's lonely lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thy still unchanged compassion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Son of Man! forsake them not!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The little ones each he has caught to his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clasped them, and kissed them with fervent caress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then wordless and tearless, with hearts running o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>They</i> part who have never been parted before:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He springs to his saddle,—the rein is drawn tight,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Beechenbrook Cottage is lost to his sight.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II.</h2> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The feathery foliage has broadened its leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And June, with its beautiful mornings and eves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its magical atmosphere, breezes and blooms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its woods all delicious with thousand perfumes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First-born of the Summer,—spoiled pet of the year,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">June, delicate queen of the seasons, is here!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sadness has passed from the dwelling away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And quiet serenity brightens the day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With innocent prattle, her toils to beguile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the midst of her children, the mother <i>must</i> smile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With matronly cares,—those relentless demands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the strength of her heart and the skill of her hands,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hours come tenderly, ceaselessly fraught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leave her small space for the broodings of thought.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thank God!—busy fingers a solace can find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lighten the burden of body or mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Eden's old curse proves a blessing instead,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou toil for thy bread."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the bless'd relief in all labours that lurk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aye, thank Him, unhappy ones,—thank Him for work!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus Alice engages her thoughts and her powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And industry kindly lends wings to the hours:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor, petty employments they sometimes appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on her bright needle there plashes a tear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half shame and half passion;—what would she not dare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her fervid compatriots' struggles to share?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It irks her,—the weakness of womanhood then,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet such are the tears that make heroes of men!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She feels the hot blood of the nation beat high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rapture she catches the rallying cry:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From mountain and valley and hamlet they come!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On every side echoes the roll of the drum.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A people as firm, as united, as bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever drew blade for the blessings they hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Step sternly and solemnly forth in their might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swear on their altars to die for the right!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The clangor of muskets,—the flashing of steel,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clatter of spurs on the stout-booted heel,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waving of banners,—the resonant tramp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of marching battalions,—the fiery stamp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of steeds in their war-harness, newly decked out,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blast of the bugle,—the hurry, the shout,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The terrible energy, eager and wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lights up the face of man, woman and child,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That burns on all lips, that arouses all powers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did ever we dream that such times would be ours?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One thought is absorbing, with giant control,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With deadliest earnest, the national soul:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The right of self-government, crown of our pride,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right, bought with the sacredest blood,—is denied!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall we tamely resign what our enemy craves?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No! martyrs we <i>may</i> be!—we <i>cannot</i> be slaves!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fair women who naught but indulgence have seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never have learned what denial could mean,—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who deign not to clipper their own dainty feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose wants swarthy handmaids stand ready to meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose fingers decline the light kerchief to hem,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What aid in this struggle is hoped for from them?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet see! how they haste from their bowers of ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their dormant capacities fired,—to seize<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every feminine weapon their skill can command,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To labor with head, and with heart, and with hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They stitch the rough jacket, they shape the coarse shirt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unheeding though delicate fingers be hurt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They bind the strong haversack, knit the grey glove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor falter nor pause in their service of love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When ever were people subdued, overthrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With women to cheer them on, brave as our own?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With maidens and mothers at work on their knees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When ever were soldiers as fearless as these?<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">June's flower-wreathed sceptre is dropped with a sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forth like an empress steps stately July:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sits all unveiled, amidst sunshine and balms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Zenobia sat in her City of Palms!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not yet has the martial horizon grown dun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yet has the terrible conflict begun:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the tumult of legions,—the rush and the roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Break over our borders, like waves on the shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the Potomac, the confident foe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands marshalled for onset,—prepared, at a blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To vanquish the daring rebellion, and fling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Utter ruin at once on the arrogant thing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How sovran the silence that broods o'er the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ushers the twenty-first morn of July;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Date, written in fire on history's scroll,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Date, drawn in deep blood-lines on many a soul!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is quiet at Beechenbrook: Alice's brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is wearing a Sabbath tranquility now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As softly she reads from the page on her knee,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thou wilt keep him in peace who is stayed upon Thee!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Sophy bursts breathlessly into the room,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh! mother! we hear it,—we hear it!.., the boom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the fast and the fierce cannonading!—it shook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ground till it trembled, along by the brook."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One instant the listener sways in her seat,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The paralysed heart has forgotten to beat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next, with the speed and the frenzy of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She gains the green hillock, and pauses to hear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again and again the reverberant sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is fearfully felt in the tremulous ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again and again on their senses it thrills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like thunderous echoes astray in the hills.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On tip-toe,—the summer wind lifting his hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nostril expanded, and scenting the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a mettled young war-horse that tosses his mane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And frettingly champs at the bit and the rein,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands eager, exultant, a twelve-year-old boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His face all aflame with a rapturous joy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>That's</i> music for heroes in battle array!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, mother! I feel like a Roman to-day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Romans I read of in Plutarch;—Yes, men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thought it noble to die for their liberties then!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I've wondered if soldiers were ever so bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So gallant and brave, as those heroes of old.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—There!—listen!—that volley peals out the reply;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They prove it is sweet for their country to die:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How grand it must be! what a pride! what a joy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—And <i>I</i> can do nothing: I'm only a boy!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fervid hand drops as he ceases to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the eloquent crimson fades out on his cheek.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, Beverly!—brother! It never would do!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who comforts mamma, and who helps her like you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sends to the battle her darlingest one,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not give both of them,—husband and son;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she lose <i>you</i>, what's left her in life to enjoy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Oh, no! I am <i>glad</i> you are only a boy."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Sophy looks up with her tenderest air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kisses the fingers that toy with her hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For her, who all silent and motionless stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over her heart locks her quivering hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With white lips apart, and with eyes that dilate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the low thunder were sounding her fate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What racking suspenses, what agonies stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What spectres these echoes are rousing for her!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brave-natur'd, yet quaking,—high-souled, yet so pale,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it thus that the wife of a soldier should quail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shudder and shrink at the boom of a gun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As only a faint-hearted girl should have done?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! wait until custom has blunted the keen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cutting edge of that sound, and no woman, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will hear it with pulses more equal, more free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From feminine terrors and weakness, than she.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sun sinks serenely; a lingering look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He flings at the mists that steal over the brook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like nuns that come forth in the twilight to pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till their blushes are seen through their mantles of grey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The gay-hearted children, but lightly oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find perfect relief on their pillow of rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Alice, no bless'd forgetfulness comes;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wail of the bugles,—the roll of the drums,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The musket's sharp crack,—the artillery's roar,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flashing of bayonets dripping with gore,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moans of the dying,—the horror, the dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ghastliness gathering over the dead,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! these are the visions of anguish and pain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The phantoms of terror that troop through her brain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She pauses again and again on the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which the moonlight has brightened so mockingly o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wrings her cold hands with a groan of despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—"Oh, God! have compassion!—my darling is there!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All placidly, dewily, freshly, the dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes stealing in pulseless tranquility on:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More freely she breathes, in its balminess, though<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The forehead it kisses is pallid with woe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through the long summer sunshine the Cottage is stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By passers, who brokenly fling them a word:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such tidings of slaughter! "The enemy cowers;"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He breaks!"—"He is flying!"—"Manassas is ours!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis evening: and Archie, alone on the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits watching the fire-flies gleam as they pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When sudden he rushes, too eager to wait,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Mamma! there's an ambulance stops at the gate!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Suspense then is past: he is borne from the field,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"God help me!... God grant it be <i>not</i> on his shield!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Alice, her passionate soul in her eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hope and fear winging each quicken'd step, flies,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Embraces, with frantical wildness, the form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her husband, and finds... it is living, and warm!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye, who by the couches of languishing ones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have watched through the rising and setting of suns,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, silent, behind the close curtain, withdrawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce know that the current of being sweeps on,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom outer life is unreal, untrue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A world with whose moils ye have nothing to do;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who feel that the day, with its multiform rounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is full of discordant, impertinent sounds,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who speak in low whispers, and stealthily tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if a faint footfall were something to dread,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who find all existence,—its gladness, its gloom,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enclosed by the walls of that limited room,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye only can measure the sleepless unrest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lies like a night-mare on Alice's breast.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Days come and days go, and she watches the strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So evenly balanced, 'twixt death and 'twixt life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanks God he still breathes, as each evening takes wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dares not to think what the morrow may bring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the lone, ghostly midnight, he raves as he lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With death's ashen pallidness dimming his eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shouts the sharp war-cry,—he rallies his men,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is on the red field of Manassas again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Now, courage, my comrades! Keep steady! lie low!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wait, like the couch'd lion, to spring on your foe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye'll face without flinching the cannons' grim mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ye're 'Knights of the Horse-Shoe'—ye're Sons of the South!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's Jackson!—how brave he rides! coursing at will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Midst the prostrated lines on the crest of the hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God keep him! for what will we do if he falls?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be ready, good fellows!—be cool when he calls<br /></span><span class="i0">To the charge: Oh! we'll beat them,—we'll turn them,—and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll ride them down madly!—On! Onward! my men!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The feverish frenzy o'erwearies him soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And back on his pillows he sinks in a swoon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And sometimes, when Alice is wetting his lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turns from the draught, and refuses to sip:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—"'Tis sweet, pretty angel!—but yonder there lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A famishing comrade, with death in his eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His need is far greater, ... Sir Philip, I think,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or was it Sir Philip?... go, go!—let him drink!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And oft, with a sort of bewildered amaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her face he would fasten the wistfullest gaze:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—"You are kind, but a hospital nurse cannot be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Alice,—my tenderest Alice,—to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! I know there's at Beechenbrook, many a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she asks all the day,—'Will he never be here?'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Nature, kind healer! brings sovereignest balm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strokes the wild pulses with coolness and calm;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The conflict so equal, so stubborn, is past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life gains the hardly-won battle at last.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet through the long convalescence to lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the low window, gaze out at the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And float, as the zephyrs so tranquilly do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aloft in the depths of ineffable blue:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In painless, delicious half consciousness brood,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No duties to cumber, no claims to intrude,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Receptive as childhood, from trouble as free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feel it is bliss enough simply, to be!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For Alice,—what pencil can picture her joy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So perfect, so thankful, so free from annoy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As her lips press the lotus-bound chalice, and drain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That exquisite blessedness born out of pain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! not in her maidenhood, blushing and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Douglass first poured out his love at her feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not when a shrinking and beautiful bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With worshipping fondness she clung to his side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not in those holiest moments of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first she was held to his heart, as his wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never in motherhood's earliest bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had she tasted a happiness rounded like this!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Douglass, safe sheltered from war's rude alarms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Finds Eden's lost precincts again in her arms:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hears afar off, in the distance, the roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lash of the billows that break on the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his isle of enchantment,—his haven of rest,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rapturous languor steals over his breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He bathes in the sunlight of Alice's smiles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wraps himself round with love's magical wiles:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sweet iterations pall not on her ear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"<i>I love you—I love you!</i>"—she never can hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cadence too often; its musical roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wakes ever an echoed reply in her soul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—Do visions of trial, of warning, of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loom dark in the future of doubt? Do they know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are hiving, of honied remembrance, a store<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To live on, when summer and sunshine are o'er?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do they feel that their island of beauty at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must be rent by the tempest,—be swept by the blast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do they dream that afar, on the wild, wintry main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their love-freighted bark must be driven again?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—Bless God for the wisdom that curtains so tight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow's enjoyments or griefs from our sight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless God for the ignorance, darkness and doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That girdle so kindly our future about!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The crutches are brought, and the invalid's strength<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is able to measure the lawn's gravel'd length;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the beeches, once more he reclines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hears the wind plaintively moan through the pines;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His children around him, with frolic and play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheat autumn's mild listlessness out of the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Alice, the sunshine all flecking her book,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reads low to the chime of the murmuring brook.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the world's rushing tide washes up to his feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leaps the soft barriers that bound his retreat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tumult of camps surges out on the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever seems mocking his Capuan ease.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dare not be happy, or tranquil, or blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While his soil by the feet of invaders is prest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What brooks it though still he be pale as a ghost?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—If he languish or fail, let him fail at his post.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The gums by the brook-side are crimson and brown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leaves of the ash flicker goldenly down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roses that trellis the porches, have lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their brightness and bloom at the touch of the frost;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ozier-twined seat by the beeches, no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks tempting, and cheerful, and sweet, as of yore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The water glides darkly and mournfully on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Alice sits watching it:—Douglass has gone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I am weary and worn,—I am hungry and chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cuttingly strikes the keen blast o'er the hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day I have ridden through snow and through sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nothing,—not even a cracker to eat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now, as I rest by the bivouac fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose blaze leaps up merrily, higher and higher,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impatient as Roland, who neighs to be fed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Caleb to bring me my bacon and bread,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll warm my cold heart, that is aching and lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thinking of you, love,—my Alice,—my own!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class="i0">"I turn a deaf ear to the scream of the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I leave the rude camp and the forest behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Beechenbrook, wrapped in its raiment of white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is tauntingly filling my vision to-night.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I catch my sweet little ones' innocent mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I watch your dear face, as you sit at the hearth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I know, by the tender expression I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know that my darling is musing of me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does her thought dim the blaze?—Does it shed through the room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A chilly, unseen, and yet palpable gloom?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! then we are equal! <i>You</i> share all my pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>I</i> halve your blessedness with you again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Don't think that my hardships are bitter to bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't think I repine at the soldier's rough fare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever a thought so unworthy steals on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I look upon Ashby,—and lo! it is gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such chivalry, fortitude, spirit and tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make brighter, and stronger, and prouder, my own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! Beverly, boy!—on his white steed, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A princelier presence has never been seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as yonder he lies, from the groups all apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bow to him loyally,—bow with my heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What brave, buoyant letters you write, sweet!—they ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through my soul like the blast of a trumpet, and bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such a flame to my eye, such a flush to my cheek,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That often my hand will unconsciously seek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hilt of my sword as I read,—and I feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the warrior does, when he flashes the steel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fiery circles, and shouts in his might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the heroes behind him, to follow its light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True wife of a soldier!—If doubt or dismay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had ever, within me, one instant held sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your words wield a spell that would bid them be gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like bodiless ghosts at the touch of the dawn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Could the veriest craven that cowers and quails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the vast horde that insults and assails<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our land and our liberties,—could he to-night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sit here on the ice-girdled log where I write,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And look on the hopeful, bright brows of the men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who have toiled all the day over mountain, through glen,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half-clothed and unfed,—would he doubt?—would he dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the face of such proof, yield again to despair?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class="i0">"The hum of their voices comes laden with cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the wind wafts a musical swell to my ear,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Wild, clarion catches,—now flute-like and low;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Would you like me to give you their Song of the Snow?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Halt!—the march is over!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Day is almost done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loose the cumbrous knapsack,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drop the heavy gun:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chilled and wet and weary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wander to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking wood to kindle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fires amidst the snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Round the bright blaze gather,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heed not sleet nor cold,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye are Spartan soldiers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stout and brave and bold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never Xerxian army<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet subdued a foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who but asked a blanket<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On a bed of snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shivering midst the darkness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Christian men are found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There devoutly kneeling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the frozen ground,—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pleading for their country,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In its hour of woe,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For its soldiers marching<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shoeless through the snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lost in heavy slumbers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Free from toil and strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreaming of their dear ones,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Home, and child, and wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tentless they are lying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While the fires burn low,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lying in their blankets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Midst December's snow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, Sophy, my blossom! I've something to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will chase for a moment your gambols away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-day as we climbed the steep mountain-path o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I noticed a bare-footed lad in my corps;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"How comes it,"—I asked,—"you look careful and bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How comes it you're marching, unshod, through the cold?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah, sir! I'm a poor, lonely orphan, you see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No mother, no friends that are caring for me;<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I'm wounded, or captured, or killed, in the war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twill matter to nobody, Colonel Dunbar."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, Sophy!—your needles, dear!—Knit him some socks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And send the poor fellow a pair in my box;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he'll know,—and his heart with the thought will be filled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is <i>one</i> little maiden will care if he's killed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fire burns dimly, and scattered around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The men lie asleep on the snow-covered ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ere in my blanket I wrap me to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hold you, my darling, close,—close, to my breast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God love you! God grant you His comforting light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kiss you a thousand times over!—Good night!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To-morrow is Christmas!"—and clapping his hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little Archie in joyful expectancy stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watches the shadows, now short and now tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That momently dance up and down on the wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drawn curtains of crimson shut out the cold night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the parlor is pleasant with odours and light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soft lamp suspended, its mellowness throws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er cluster'd geranium, jasmine and rose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sleeping canary hangs caged midst the blooms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Sybarite slumberer steeped in perfumes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Alice still clings to her birds and her flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet tokens of kindlier, happier hours.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To-morrow is Christmas!—but Beverly,—say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will it do to be glad when Papa is away?"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the face that is tricksy and blythe as can be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tries vainly to temper its shadowless glee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For <i>you</i>, pet, I'm sure it is right to be glad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis a pitiful thing to see little ones sad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for Sophy and me, who are older, you know,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We dare not be glad when we look at the snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shrink from this comfort, this light and this heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This plenty to wear, and this plenty to eat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the soldiers who fight for us,—die for us,—lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nothing around and above, but the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When their clothes are so light, and the rations they deal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are only a morsel of bacon and meal:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how can I fold my thick blankets around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I know that my father's asleep on the ground?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm ashamed to be happy, or merry, or free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if war and its trials were nothing to me:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! I never can know any frolic or fun,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Any real, mad romps,—till the battles are done!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the face of the boy, so heroic and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is touched with the singular shadow of care.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sophy ceases her warbling, subdues her soft mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And draws her low ottoman up to the hearth:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But, brother, what good would it do to refuse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The comforts and blessings God gives us, or use<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them quite with indifference, as much as to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We care not how soon they are taken away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am sure I would give my last blanket, and spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My pretty, blue cloak, at night, over my bed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Mamma, you know, covers herself with her shawl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since we've sent all our blankets,)—but, then, it's too small!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would Papa be less hungry or cold, do you think,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If <i>we</i> had too little to eat or to drink?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I mean to be busy,—I mean to be glad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mamma says there's time enough yet to be sad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll work for the soldiers,—I'll pray, and I'll plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And just be as happy as ever I can;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've made the grey shirt, and I've finished the socks:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So come, let us help,—they are packing the box."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How grateful the task is to Alice! her cares<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are quite put aside, and her countenance wears<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A look of enjoyment as eager, as bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Santa Claus brings little dreamers to-night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Douglass away in his camp, is to share<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daintiest cates that her larder can spare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The turkey, well seasoned, and tenderly browned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is flanked by the spiciest <i>a la mode</i> "round;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great "priestly ham," in its juiciest pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is there,—with the tenderest surloin beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neat bottles, suggestive of ketchups and wines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And condiments racy, of various kinds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And firm rolls of butter as yellow as gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And patties and biscuit most rare to behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sauces that richest of odors betray,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are marshalled in most appetizing array.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Beverly brings of his nuts a full store,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Archie has apples, a dozen or more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Sophy, with gratified housewifery, makes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her present of spicy "Confederate cakes."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then in a snug little corner, there lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pacquet will brighten the orphan boy's eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Beverly claims it a pleasure to use<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His last cherish'd hoardings in buying him shoes.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sophy's socks too are there; and she catches afar—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There's <i>somebody</i> cares for me, Colonel Dunbar!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What subtlest of essences, sovereign to cheer—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What countless, uncatalogu'd tokens are here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What lavender'd memories, tenderly green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lie hidden, these grosser of viands between!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What food for the heart-life,—unreckon'd, untold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What manna enclosed in its chalice of gold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What caskets of sweets that Love only unlocks,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What mysteries Douglass will find in the box!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lull of the Winter is over; and Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes back, as delicious and buoyant a thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As airy, and fairy, and lightsome, and bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if not a sorrow was dark'ning the land;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So little has Nature of passion or part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the woes and the throes of humanity's heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wild tide of battle runs red,—dashes high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blots out the splendour of earth and of sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue air is heavy, and sulph'rous, and dun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the breeze on its wings bears the boom of the gun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In faster and fiercer and deadlier shocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thunderous billows are hurled on the rocks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our Valley becomes, amid Spring's softest breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The valley, alas! of the shadow of death.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The crash of the onset,—the plunge and the roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reach down to the depth of each patriot's soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It quivers—for since it is human, it must;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never a tremor of doubt or distrust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once blanches the cheek, or is wrung from the mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lurks in the eye of the sons of the South.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What need for dismay? Let the live surges roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leap in their fury, our fastnesses o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And threaten our beautiful Valley to fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rapine and ruin more terrible still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What fear we?—See Jackson! his sword in his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the stern rocks around him, immovable stand,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wisdom, the skill and the strength that he boasts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sought ever from him who is Leader of Hosts:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—He speaks in the name of his God:—lo! the tide,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red sea of battle, is seen to divide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pathway of victory cleaves the dark flood;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the foe is o'erwhelmed in a deluge of blood!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The spirit of Alice no longer is bowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the troubles, and tumults, and terrors, that crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So closely around her:—the willow's lithe form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bends meekly to meet the wild rush of the storm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet pale as Cassandra, unconscious of joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With visions of Greeks at the gates of her Troy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day she has waited and watched on the lawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the purple and gold of the sunset are gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the battle draws near her:—few leagues intervene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her home and that Valley of slaughter, between.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The tidings and rumors come thick and come fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As riders fly hotly and breathlessly past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They tell of the onslaught,—the headlong attack<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the foe with a quadruple force at his back:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They boast how they hurl themselves,—shiver and fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before their stout rampart, the valiant "Stonewall."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At length, with the gradual fading of day,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tokens of battle are floated away:<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The booming no longer makes sullen the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the silence of night seems as holy as prayer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gray shadows still linger the beeches among,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce has the earliest matin been sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere Alice with Beverly pale at her side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet firm as his mother, is ready to ride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With sympathy, womanly, tender, divine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lint and with bandage, with bread and with wine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hastes to the battle-field, eager to bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Relief to the wounded and perishing there:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To breathe, like an angel of mercy, the breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of peace over brows that are fainting in death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She dares not to stir with a question, <i>her</i> woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One word,—and the bitter-brimm'd heart would o'erflow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But speechless, and moveless, and stony of eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce conscious of aught in the earth or the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a swoon of the heart, all her senses have reeled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she prays for endurance,—for here is the field.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The flight and pursuit, so harassing, so hot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have drifted all combatants far from the spot:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the sparse woodlands, and over the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lie gorily scattered, the wounded and slain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! the sickness,—the shudder,—the quailing of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it leaps to her lips,—"What if Douglass be here!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet she frames not a question; her spirit can bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! anything,—all things, but hopeless despair:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does her darling lie stretched on the slope of yon hill?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let her doubt—let her hug the suspense, if she will!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">She watches each ambulance-burden with dread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She loots in the faces of dying and dead:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hour after hour, with steady control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She bends to her task all the strength of her soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She comforts the wounded with pity's sweet care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the spirit that's passing, she speeds with her prayer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She starts as she hears, from her stout-hearted boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wild exclamation, half doubt and half joy:—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! Surgeon!—some brandy! he's fainting!—Ah! now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The colour comes back to his cheek and his brow:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He breathes again—speaks again—listen!—you are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'An orderly'—is it?—'of Colonel Dunbar?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'He fought like a lion!' (I knew it!) and passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Untouched through the battle, 'unhurt to the last?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—My father is safe,—mother!—safe!—what a joy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here is Macpherson,—our barefooted boy!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Poor Alice!—her grief has been tearless and dumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the pressure once lifted, her senses succumb:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too quick the revulsion,—too glad the surprise,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mists of unconsciousness curtain her eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis only a moment they suffer eclipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And words of thanksgiving soon thrill on her lips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To Beechenbrook's quiet, with tenderest care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hasten the wounded, wan soldier to bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never hung mother more patiently o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The couch of the child, her own bosom that bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than Alice above the lone orphan, who lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Submissively breathing his spirit away.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He knows that existence is ebbing; his brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is lucid and calm, in the pauses of pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his round boyish cheek with no weeping is wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his smile is not touched with a shade of regret.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No murmur is uttered—no lingering sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Escapes him;—so young,—yet so willing to die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His garment of flesh he has worn undefiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faith is the beautiful faith of a child:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knows that the Crucified hung on the tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the pathway to bliss might be open and free:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He believes that the cup has been drained,—he can find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a drop of the wrath that had filled it,—behind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever a doubt or misgiving assails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His finger he puts on the print of the nails;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If sometimes there springs an emotion of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lays his cold hand on the mark of the spear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He thinks of his darling, dead mother;—the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the Heavenly City falls full on his sight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the rows of the palms, by the brim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the river—he knows she is waiting for him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the present comes back;—and on Alice's ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall whispers like these, as she pauses to hear:<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Only a private;—and who will care<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I may pass away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or how, or why I perish, or where<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I mix with the common clay?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They will fill my empty place again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With another as bold and brave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they'll blot me out, ere the Autumn rain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has freshened my nameless grave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only a private:—it matters not,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I did my duty well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all through a score of battles I fought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then, like a soldier, fell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The country I died for,—never will heed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My unrequited claim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And history cannot record the deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For she never has heard my name.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only a private;—and yet I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I heard the rallying call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was one of the very first to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ... I'm one of the many who fall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, as here I lie, it is sweet to feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That my honor's without a stain;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I only fought for my Country's weal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not for glory or gain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only a private;—yet He who reads<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the guises of the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks not at the splendour of the deeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the way we do our part;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when He shall take us by the hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And our small service own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There'll a glorious band of privates stand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As victors around the throne!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The breath of the morning is heavy and chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gloomily lower the mists on the hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds through the beeches are shivering low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a plaintive and sad <i>miserere</i> of woe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A quiet is over the Cottage,—a dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clouds the children's sweet faces,—Macpherson is dead!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis Autumn,—and Nature the forest has hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With arras more gorgeous than ever was flung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Gobelin looms,—all so varied, so rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As never the princeliest palaces were.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft curtains of haze the far mountains enfold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose warp is of purple, whose woof is of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sky bends as peacefully, purely above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if earth breathed an atmosphere only of love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But thick as white asters in Autumn, are found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tents all bestrewing the carpeted ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The din of a camp, with its stir and its strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its motley and strange, multitudinous life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floats upward along the brown slopes, till it fills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The echoing hollows afar in the hills.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis the twilight of Sabbath,—and sweet through the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swells the blast of the bugle, that summons to prayer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The signal is answered, and soon in the glen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits Colonel Dunbar in the midst of his men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Chaplain advances with reverent face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where lies a felled oak, he has chosen his place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the stump of an ash-tree the Bible he lays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they bow on the grass, as he solemnly prays.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Underneath thine open sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Father, as we bend the knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May we feel thy presence nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">—Nothing 'twixt our souls and thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are weary,—cares and woes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay their weight on every breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each heart before thee knows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That it sighs for inward rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou canst lift this weight away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou canst bid these sighings cease;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou canst walk these waves and say<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To their restless tossings—"Peace!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are tempted;—snares abound,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sin its treacherous meshes weaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And temptations strew us round,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thicker than the Autumn leaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Midst these perils, mark our path,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou who art 'the life, the way;'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rend each fatal wile that hath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Power to lead our souls astray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Prince of Peace! we follow Thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Plant thy banner in our sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let thy shadowy legions be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Guards around our tents to-night."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through the aisles of the forest, far-stretching and dim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a cloister'd Cathedral, the notes of a hymn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Float tenderly upward,—now soft and now clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if twilight had silenced its breathing to hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now swelling, a lofty, triumphant refrain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now sobbing itself into sadness again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Bible is opened, and stillness profound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broods over the listeners scattered around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warning, and comfort, and blessing, and balm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distil from the beautiful words of the Psalm.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then simply and earnestly pleading,—his face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lit up with persuasive and eloquent grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Chaplain pours forth, from the warmth of his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His words of entreaty and truth, ere they part.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I see before me valiant men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With courage high and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who fight as only heroes fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And die, as heroes do.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your serried ranks have never quailed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before the battle-shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose maddest fury beats and breaks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like foam against the rock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye've borne the deadly brunt of war,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through storm, and cold, and heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet never have ye turned your backs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor fled before defeat.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Behind you lie your cheerful homes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all of sweet or fair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only remnants earth has left<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Eden-life, are there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye know that many a once bright cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Consuming care, makes wan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye know the old, dear happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That blest your hearths,—is gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye see your comrades smitten down,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The young, the good, the brave,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye feel, the turf ye tread to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May be to-morrow's grave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet not a murmur meets the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor discontent has sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not a sullen brow is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through all the camp to-day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No Greek, in Greece's palmiest days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His javelin ever threw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impelled by more heroic zeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or nobler aim than you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No mailed warrior ever bore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aloft his shining lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More proudly through the tales that fire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The page of old romance.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! soldiers!—well ye bear your part;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world awards its praise:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be sure,—this grandest tourney o'er,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twill crown you with its bays!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But there's sublimer work than even<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To free your native sod;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Ye may be loyal to your land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet traitors to your God!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No Moslem heaven for him who falls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bribed requital doles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while ye save your country,—ye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! may lose your souls!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No glorious deeds can urge their claim,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No merits, entrance win,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pierced hand of Christ alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must freely let you in.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! sirs!—there lurks a fiercer foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than this that treads your soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who springs from unseen ambuscades,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To drag you as his spoil.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He drugs the heedless conscience, till,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No wary watch it keeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And parleys with the treacherous heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While fast the warder sleeps.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He captive leads the wavering will<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With specious words, and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And enters the beleaguered soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rules, a conqueror there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Will ye who fling defiance forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against a temporal foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rather die, than stoop to wear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The chains that gall you so,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Will ye succumb beneath a power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That grasps at full control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And binds its helpless victims down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In servitude of soul?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay,—act like brave men, as ye are,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor let the despot, sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrest those immortal rights away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Christ has died to win.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For Heaven—best home—true fatherland,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bear toil, reproach and loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your highest honor,—holiest name,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The soldiers of the Cross!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My Douglass! my darling!—there once was a time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we to each other confessed the sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And perfect sufficiency love could bestow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the hearts that have learned its completeness to know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We felt that we too had a well-spring of joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That earthly convulsions could never destroy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mossy, sealed fountain, so cool and so bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It could solace the soul, let it thirst as it might.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Tis easy, while happiness strews in our path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The richest and costliest blessings it hath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis easy to say that no sorrow, no pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could utterly beggar our spirits again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis easy to sit in the sunshine, and speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the darkness and storm, with a smile on the cheek!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"As hungry and cold, and with weariness spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You droop in your saddle, or crouch in your tent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can you feel that the love so entire, so true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love that we dreamed of,—is all things to you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That come what there may,—desolation or loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prick of the thorn, or the weight of the cross—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You can bear it,—nor feel you are wholly bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the bosom that beats for you only, is left?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the birdlings are spared that have made it so blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can you look, undismayed, on the wreck of the nest?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There's a love that is tenderer, sweeter than this—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is fuller of comfort, and blessing, and bliss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That never can fail us, whatever befall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unchanging, unwearied, undying, through all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have need of the support—the staff and the rod;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved! we'll lean on the bosom of God!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You guess what I fain would keep hidden:—you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere now, that the trail of the insolent foe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaves ruin behind it, disastrous and dire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And burns through our Valley, a pathway of fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Our beautiful home,—as I write it, I weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our beautiful home is a smouldering heap!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blackened, and blasted, and grim, and forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its chimneys stand stark in the mists of the morn!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I stood in my womanly helplessness, weak—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I felt a brave color was kindling my cheek—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I plead by the sacredest things of their lives—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the love that they bore to their children,—their wives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the homes left behind them, whose joys they had shared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the God that should judge them,—that mine should be spared.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"As well might I plead with the whirlwind to stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it crashingly cuts through the forest its way!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know that my eye flashed a passionate ire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As they scornfully flung me their answer of—fire!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why harrow your heart with the grief and the pain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why paint you the picture that's scorching my brain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why speak of the night when I stood on the lawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watched the last flame die away in the dawn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis over,—that vision of terror,—of woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its horrors I would not recall;—let them go!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am calm when I think what I suffered them for;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I grudge not the quota <i>I</i> pay to the war!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But, Douglass!—deep down in the core of my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a throbbing, an aching, that will not depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For memory mourns, with a wail of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loss of her treasures,—the subtle, the rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Precious things over which she delighted to pore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which nothing,—ah! nothing, can ever restore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The rose-covered porch, where I sat as your bride—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hearth, where at twilight I leaned at your side—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The low-cushioned window-seat, where I would lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my head on your knee, and look out on the sky:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chamber all holy with love and with prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The motherhood memories clustering there—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vines that <i>your</i> hand has delighted to train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trees that <i>you</i> planted;—Oh! never again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can love build us up such a bower of bliss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! never can home be as hallow'd as this!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thank God! there's a dwelling not builded with hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose pearly foundation, immovable stands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There struggles, alarms, and disquietudes cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the blissfulest balm of the spirit is—peace!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Small trial 'twill seem when our perils are past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we enter the house of our Father at last,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light trouble, that here, in the night of our stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blast swept our wilderness lodging away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The children—dear hearts!—it is touching to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Beverly's beautiful kindness to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So buoyant his mein—so heroic—resigned—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boy has the soul of his father, I find!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a childish complaint or regret have I heard,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not even from Archie, a petulant word:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once only—a tear moistened Sophy's bright cheek:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'<i>Papa has no home now!</i>'—'twas all she could speak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A stranger I wander midst strangers; and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never,—no, not for a moment forget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That my heart has a home,—just as real, as true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as warm as if Beechenbrook sheltered me too.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God grant that this refuge from sorrow and pain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This blessedest haven of peace, may remain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, then, though disaster, still sharper, befall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think I can patiently bear with it all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the rarest, most exquisite bliss of my life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is wrapped in a word, Douglass ... I am your wife!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When fierce and fast-thronging calamities rush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resistless as destiny o'er us, and crush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The life from the quivering heart till we feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the victim whose body is broke on the wheel—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we think we have touched the far limit at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—One throe, and the point of endurance is passed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we shivering hang on the verge of despair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There still is capacity left us to bear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The storm of the winter, the smile of the Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No respite, no pause, and no hopefulness bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The demon of carnage still breathes his hot breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fiercely goes forward the harvest of death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Days painfully drag their slow burden along;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the pulse that is beating so steady and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands still, as there comes, from the echoing shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the winding and clear Rappahannock, the roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of conflict so fell, that the silvery flood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Runs purple and rapid and ghastly with blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—Grand army of martyrs!—though victory waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them onward, her march must be over <i>their</i> graves:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They feel it—they know it,—yet steadier each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close phalanx moves into the desperate breach:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their step does not falter—their faith does not yield,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For yonder, supreme o'er the fiercely-fought field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Erect in his leonine grandeur, they see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The proud and magnificent calmness of <span class="smcap">Lee</span>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis morn—but the night has brought Alice no rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roof seems to press like a weight on her breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she wanders forth, wearily lifting her eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seek for relief 'neath the calm of the sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The air of the forest is spicy and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dreamily babbles a brook at her feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her children are 'round her, and sunshine and flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Try vainly to banish the gloom of the hours.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a volume she fain her wild thoughts would assuage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her vision can trace not a line on the page,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the poet's dear strains, once so soft to her ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have lost all their mystical power to cheer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The evening approaches—the pressure—the woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grows drearer and heavier,—yet she must go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stifle between the dead walls, as she may,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart that scarce breathed in the free, open day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She reaches the dwelling that serves as her home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A horseman awaits at the entrance;—the foam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is flecking the sides of his fast-ridden steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who pants, over-worn with exhaustion and speed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Alice for support to Beverly clings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the soldier delivers the letter he brings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her ashy lips move, but the words do not come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she stands in her whiteness, bewildered and dumb:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She turns to the letter with hopeless appeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her fingers are helpless to loosen the seal:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She lifts her dim eyes with a look of despair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hands for a moment are folded in prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strength she has sought is vouchsafed in her need:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—"I think I can bear it now, Beverly .., read."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The boy, with the resolute nerve of a man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a voice which he holds as serene as he can,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Takes quietly from her the letter, and reads:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dear Madam,—My heart in its sympathy bleeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the pain that my tidings must bear you: may God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most tenderly comfort you, under His rod!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"This morning, at daybreak, a terrible charge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was made on the enemy's centre: such large<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fresh reinforcements were held at his back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stoutly and stubbornly met the attack.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Our cavalry bore themselves splendidly:—far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In front of his line galloped Colonel Dunbar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Erect in his stirrups,—his sword flashing high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the look of a conqueror kindling his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His silvery voice rang aloft through the roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the musketry poured from the opposite shore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—'Remember the Valley!—remember your wives!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on to your duty, boys!—on—with your lives!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He turned, and he paused, as he uttered the call—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then reeled in his seat, and fell,—pierced by a ball.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He lives and he breathes yet:—the surgeons declare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the balance is trembling 'twixt hope and despair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his blanket he lies, on the hospital floor,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So calm, you might deem all his agony o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here, as I write, on his face I can see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An expression whose radiance is startling to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faith is sublime:—he relinquishes life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And craves but one blessing,—<i>to look on his wife!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Chaplain's recital is ended:—no word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Alice's white, breathless lips has been heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, rousing herself from her passionless woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She simply and quietly says—"I will go."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are moments of anguish so deadly, so deep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That numbness seems over the senses to creep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With interposition, whose timely relief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is an anodyne-draught to the madness of grief.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such mercy is meted to Alice;—her eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sees as it saw not, is vacant and dry:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The billows' wild fury sweeps over her soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she bends to the rush with a passive control.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through the dusk of the night—through the glare of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She urges, unconscious, her desolate way:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One image is ever her vision before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—That blanketed form on the hospital floor!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her journey is ended; and yonder she sees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spot where <i>he</i> lies, looming white through the trees:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her torpor dissolves with a shuddering start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a terrible agony clutches her heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Chaplain advances to meet her:—he draws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her silently onward;—no question—no pause—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her finger she lays on her lip;—if she spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She knows that the spell that upholds her, would break.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She has strength to go forward; they enter the door,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there, on the crowded and blood-tainted floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close wrapped in his blanket, lies Douglass:—his brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wore never a look so seraphic as now!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She stretches her arms the dear form to enfold,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God help her!..., she shrieks..., it is silent and cold!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Break, my heart, and ease this pain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cease to throb, thou tortured brain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me die,—since he is slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blessed brow, that loved to rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its dear whiteness on my breast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gory was the grass it prest,<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! that still and stately form—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never more will it be warm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chilled beneath that iron storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not a pillow for his head—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a hand to smooth his bed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not one tender parting said,<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Straightway from that bloody sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the trampling horsemen trod—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted to the arms of God;<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not my love to come between,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its interposing screen—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Naught of earth to intervene;<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Snatched the purple billows o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the fiendish rage and roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the far and peaceful shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Nunc demitte</i>—thus I pray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What else left for me to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since my life is reft away?<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let me die, oh! God!—the dart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rankles deep within my heart,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope, and joy, and peace, depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i17">—Slain in battle!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><br /> +<span class="i0">'Tis thus through her days and her nights of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her months of bereavement so bitter to bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Alice moans ever. Ah! little they know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who look on that brow, still and white as the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who watch—but in vain—for the sigh or the tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That only comes thick when no mortal is near,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who whisper—"How gently she bends to the rod!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because all her heart-break is kept for her God,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! little <i>they</i> know of the tempests that roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their desolate floods through the depths of her soul!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Afar in our sunshiny homes on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We heed not how wildly the billows may roar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We smile at our firesides, happy and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the rich-freighted argosy founders at sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though wrapped in the weeds of her widowhood, pale,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though life seems all sunless and dim through the veil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That drearily shadows her sorrowful brow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the cause of her country less dear to her now?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Does the patriot-flame in her heart cease to stir,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does she feel that the conflict is over for her?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because the red war-tide has deluged her o'er,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has wreaked its wild wrath, and can harm <i>her</i> no more,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does she stand, self-absorbed, on the wreck she has braved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor care if her country be lost or be saved?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By her pride in the soil that has given her birth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By her tenderest memories garnered on earth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the legacy blood-bought and precious, which she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would leave to her children—the right to be free,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the altar where once rose the hymn and the prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the home that lies scarred in its solitude there,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the pangs she has suffered,—the ills she has borne,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the desolate exile through which she must mourn,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the struggles that hallow this fair Southern sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the vows she has breathed in the ear of her God,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the blood of the heart that she worshipped,—the life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That enfolded her own; by her love, as his wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By his death on the battle-field, gallantly brave,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the shadow that ever will wrap her—his grave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the faith she reposes, oh! Father! in Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She claims that her glorious South <span class="smcap">must be free</span>!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIRGINIA" id="VIRGINIA"></a>VIRGINIA.</h2> + +<h3>A SONNET.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Grandly thou fillest the world's eye to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My proud Virginia! When the gage was thrown—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The deadly gage of battle—thou, alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong in thy self-control, didst stoop to lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The olive-branch thereon, and calmly pray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We might have peace, the rather. When the foe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turned scornfully upon thee,—bade thee go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whistled up his war-hounds, then—the way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of duty full before thee,—thou didst spring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the centre of the martial ring—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy brave blood boiling, and thy glorious eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shot with heroic fire, and swear to claim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sublimest victory in God's own name,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, wrapped in robes of martyrdom,—to die!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="JACKSON" id="JACKSON"></a>JACKSON.</h2> + +<h3>A SONNET.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thank God for such a Hero!—Fearless hold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His diamond character beneath the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And brighter scintillations, one by one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come flashing from it. Never knight of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wore on serener brow, so calm, yet bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Diviner courage: never martyr knew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Trust more sublime,—nor patriot, zeal more true,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor saint, self-abnegation of a mould<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Touched with profounder beauty. All the rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clear, starry points of light, that gave his soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such lambent lustre, owned but one sole aim,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not for himself, nor yet his country's fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These glories shone: he kept the clustered whole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A jewel for the crown that Christ shall wear!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DIRGE_FOR_ASHBY" id="DIRGE_FOR_ASHBY"></a>DIRGE FOR ASHBY.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Heard ye that thrilling word—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accent of dread—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flash like a thunderbolt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bowing each head—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crash through the battle dun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the booming gun—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"<i>Ashby, our bravest one</i>,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ashby is dead!</i>"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Saw ye the veterans—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hearts that had known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never a quail of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never a groan—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sob 'mid the fight they win,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Tears their stern eyes within,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ashby, our Paladin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ashby is gone!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dash,—dash the tear away—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Crush down the pain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"<i>Dulce et decus</i>," be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fittest refrain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why should the dreary pall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round him be flung at all?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did not our hero fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gallantly slain?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Catch the last word of cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dropt from his tongue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the volley's din,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loud be it rung—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"<i>Follow me! follow me!</i>"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soldier, oh! could there be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pæan or dirge for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loftier sung!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bold as the Lion-heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dauntless and brave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knightly as knightliest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bayard could crave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet with all Sidney's grace—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tender as Hampden's face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who—who shall fill the space<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Void by his grave?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis not <i>one</i> broken heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wild with dismay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crazed with her agony,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weeps o'er his clay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! from a thousand eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flow the pure tears that rise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Widowed Virginia lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stricken to-day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet—though that thrilling word—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accent of dread—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Falls like a thunderbolt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bowing each head—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heroes! be battle done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bravelier every one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nerved by the thought alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ashby is dead!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="STONEWALL_JACKSONS_GRAVE" id="STONEWALL_JACKSONS_GRAVE"></a>STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A simple, sodded mound of earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without a line above it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With only daily votive flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To prove that any love it:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The token flag that silently<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each breeze's visit numbers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone keeps martial ward above<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hero's dreamless slumbers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No name?—no record? Ask the world;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world has read his story—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If all its annals can unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A prouder tale of glory:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever merely human life<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath taught diviner moral,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever round a worthier brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was twined a purer laurel!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A twelvemonth only, since his sword<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Went flashing through the battle—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A twelvemonth only, since his ear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heard war's last deadly rattle—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet, have countless pilgrim-feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pilgrim's guerdon paid him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weeping women come to see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The place where they have laid him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Contending armies bring, in turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their meed of praise or honor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Pallas here has paused to bind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cypress wreath upon her:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seems a holy sepulchre,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose sanctities can waken<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alike the love of friend or foe,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Christian or of pagan.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> come to own his high emprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who fled in frantic masses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the glittering bayonet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That triumphed at Manassas:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who witnessed Kernstown's fearful odds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As on their ranks he thundered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Defiant as the storied Greek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid his brave three hundred!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They well recall the tiger spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wise retreat, the rally,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tireless march, the fierce pursuit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through many a mountain valley:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cross Keys unlock new paths to fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Port Republic's story<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrests from his ever-vanquish'd foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strange tributes to his glory.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cold Harbor rises to their view,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Cedars' gloom is o'er them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Antietam's rough and rugged heights,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stretch mockingly before them:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lurid flames of Fredericksburg<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Right grimly they remember,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lit the frozen night's retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wintry-wild December!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The largess of their praise is flung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With bounty, rare and regal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Is it because the vulture fears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No longer the dead eagle?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, rather far accept it thus,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An homage true and tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As soldier unto soldier's worth,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As brave to brave will render,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But who shall weigh the wordless grief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That leaves in tears its traces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As round their leader crowd again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bronzed and veteran faces!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The "Old Brigade" he loved so well—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mountain men, who bound him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bays of their own winning, ere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tardier fame had crowned him;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The legions who had seen his glance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Across the carnage flashing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrilled to catch his ringing "<i>charge</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above the volley crashing;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who oft had watched the lifted hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The inward trust betraying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt their courage grow sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While they beheld him praying!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good knights and true as ever drew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their swords with knightly Roland;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or died at Sobieski's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For love of martyr'd Poland;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or knelt with Cromwell's Ironsides;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or sang with brave Gustavus;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or on the plain of Austerlitz,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breathed out their dying <span class="smcap">aves</span>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rare fame! rare name!—If chanted praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all the world to listen,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If pride that swells a nation's soul,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If foemen's tears that glisten,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If pilgrims' shrining love,—if grief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which nought may soothe or sever,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If <span class="smcap">these</span> can consecrate,—this spot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is sacred ground forever!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> In the month of June the singular spectacle was presented +at Lexington, Va., of two hostile armies, in turn, reverently visiting +Jackson's grave.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WHEN_THE_WAR_IS_OVER" id="WHEN_THE_WAR_IS_OVER"></a>WHEN THE WAR IS OVER.</h2> + +<h3>A CHRISTMAS LAY.</h3> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! the happy Christmas times!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Times we all remember;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Times that flung a ruddy glow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the gray December;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will they never come again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With their song and story?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never wear a remnant more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of their olden glory?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must the little children miss<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still the festal token?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must their realm of young romance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All be marred and broken?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must the mother promise on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While her smiles dissemble,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she speaks right quietly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lest her voice should tremble:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Darlings! wait till father comes—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wait—and we'll discover<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never were such Christmas times,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the war is over!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Underneath the midnight sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright with starry beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad, the shivering sentinel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Treads his round of duty:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For his thoughts are far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far from strife and battle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he listens dreamingly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To his baby's prattle;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he clasps his sobbing wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wild with sudden gladness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kisses all her tears away—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chides her looks of sadness—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Talks of Christmas nights to come,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And his step grows lighter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispering, while his stiffening hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grasps his musket tighter:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Patience, love!—keep heart! keep hope!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To your weary rover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a home our home will be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the war is over!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the twilight Christmas fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All her senses laden<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a weight of tenderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sits the musing maiden:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the parlor's cheerful blaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far her visions wander,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the white tent gleaming bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the hill-side yonder.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buoyant in her brave, young love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flushed with patriot honour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No misgiving, no fond fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flings its shade upon her.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though no mortal soul can know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half the love she bears him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proudly, for her country's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From her heart she spares him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—God be thanked!—she does not dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That her gallant lover<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will be in a soldier's grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the war is over!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Midst the turmoil and the strife<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the war-tide's rushing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every heart its separate woe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In its depths is hushing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who has time for tears, when blood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All the land is steeping?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—In our poverty we grudge<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even the waste of weeping!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when quiet comes again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the bands, long broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gather round the hearth, and breathe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Names now seldom spoken—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Then</i> we'll miss the precious links—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mourn the empty places—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Read the hopeless "<i>Nevermore</i>,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In each other's faces!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—Oh! what aching, anguish'd hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er lone graves will hover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a new, fresh sense of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the war is over!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>V.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stern endurance, bitterer still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sharp with self-denial,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fraught with loftier sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fuller far of trial—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strews our flinty path of thorns—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Marks our bloody story—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fits us for the victor's palm—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weaves our robe of glory!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall we faint with God above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And His strong arm under—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the cold world gazing on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a maze of wonder?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No! with more resistless march,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More resolved endeavor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Press we onward—struggle still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fight and win forever!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—Holy peace will heal all ills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Joy all losses cover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raptures rend our Southern skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the war is over!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIRGINIA_CAPTA" id="VIRGINIA_CAPTA"></a>VIRGINIA CAPTA.</h2> + +<h3>APRIL 9<span class="smcap">th</span>, 1865.</h3> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unconquered captive!—close thine eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And draw the ashen sackcloth o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in thy speechless woe deplore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fate that would not let thee die!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The arm that wore the shield, strip bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hand that held the martial rein,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hurled the spear on many a plain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretch—till they clasp the shackles there!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The foot that once could crush the crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must drag the fetters, till it bleed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath their weight:—thou dost not need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It now, to tread the tyrant down.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou thought'st him vanquish'd—boastful trust!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">—His lance, in twain—his sword, a wreck—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But with his heel upon thy neck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He holds <i>thee</i> prostrate in the dust!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>V.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bend though thou must, beneath his will,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let not one abject moan have place;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But with majestic, silent grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maintain thy regal bearing still.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Look back through all thy storied past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sit erect in conscious pride:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No grander heroes ever died—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sterner, battled to the last!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Weep, if thou wilt, with proud, sad mein,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy blasted hopes—thy peace undone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet brave, live on,—nor seek to shun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy fate, like Egypt's conquer'd Queen.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though forced a captive's place to fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the triumphal train,—yet there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Superbly, like Zenobia, wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy chains,—<i>Virginia Victrix</i> still!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beechenbrook, by Margaret J. 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