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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7da4d18 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54211 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54211) diff --git a/old/54211-0.txt b/old/54211-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ce49d6b..0000000 --- a/old/54211-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7671 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of American War Ballads and Lyrics, Vol. 2 (of -2), by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: American War Ballads and Lyrics, Vol. 2 (of 2) - A Collection of the Songs and Ballads of the Colonial Wars, - the Revolutions, the War of 1812-15, the War with Mexico - and the Civil War - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Cary Eggleston - -Release Date: February 19, 2017 [EBook #54211] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN WAR BALLADS, LYRICS, VOL 2 *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - Transcriber's Note: - Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_ - in the original text. - Equal signs "=" before and after a word or phrase indicate =bold= - in the original text. - Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals. - Illustrations have been moved so they do not break up poems. - Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved. - Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other - variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered. - - - - - Knickerbocker Nuggets - - NUGGET--“A diminutive mass of precious metal.” - - 26 VOLS. NOW READY - - For full list see end of this volume - - [Illustration: RUNNING THE BATTERIES.] - - - - - _AMERICAN WAR BALLADS AND LYRICS_ - - _A COLLECTION OF THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF THE - COLONIAL WARS, THE REVOLUTION, THE WAR - OF 1812-15, THE WAR WITH MEXICO - AND THE CIVIL WAR_ - - - _EDITED BY_ - - _GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON_ - - _VOLUME II._ - - - [Illustration] - - - _NEW YORK AND LONDON_ - _G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS_ - The Knickerbocker Press - COPYRIGHT - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - 1889 - - - The Knickerbocker Press, New York - Electrotyped and Printed by - G. P. Putnam’s Sons - -[Illustration] - - - - - CONTENTS. - - PAGE. - THE CIVIL WAR--_Continued_ 1 - LYON 3 - MY MARYLAND 6 - BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 10 - THE PICKET GUARD 12 - THE COUNTERSIGN 14 - JONATHAN TO JOHN 19 - THERE’S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET 26 - NEVER OR NOW 28 - BOY BRITTAN 30 - THE “CUMBERLAND” 35 - ON BOARD THE “CUMBERLAND” 38 - THE SWORD-BEARER 45 - THE OLD SERGEANT 48 - THE “VARUNA” 56 - THE RIVER FIGHT 58 - SHERIDAN’S RIDE 72 - KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES 75 - STONEWALL JACKSON’S WAY 77 - MARCHING ALONG 80 - THE BURIAL OF LATANÉ 82 - TARDY GEORGE 85 - WANTED--A MAN 88 - OVERTURES FROM RICHMOND 91 - BARBARA FRIETCHIE 95 - MUSIC IN CAMP 99 - FREDERICKSBURG 103 - TREASON’S LAST DEVICE 106 - IN LOUISIANA 109 - JOHN PELHAM 113 - THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR 116 - RUNNING THE BATTERIES 120 - KEENAN’S CHARGE 124 - DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON 127 - UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES 129 - STONEWALL JACKSON 131 - THE BLACK REGIMENT 132 - LITTLE GIFFEN OF TENNESSEE 136 - GETTYSBURG 138 - AT GETTYSBURG 147 - JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG 150 - WOMAN’S WAR MISSION 156 - THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE 160 - LEE TO THE REAR 162 - “KEARSARGE” AND “ALABAMA” 167 - THE BAY FIGHT 170 - THE LOYAL FISHER 193 - SHERMAN’S MARCH TO THE SEA 195 - SHERMAN’S MARCH 198 - THE YEAR OF JUBILEE 200 - THE CONQUERED BANNER 203 - SOMEBODY’S DARLING 207 - LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD 209 - DRIVING HOME THE COWS 211 - AFTER ALL 214 - “HE’LL SEE IT WHEN HE WAKES” 216 - THE RÉVEILLE 218 - RÉVEILLE 220 - THE WHITE ROSE 222 - THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 230 - READY 233 - A GEORGIA VOLUNTEER 235 - “HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?” 239 - THE MEN 243 - THE GUERILLAS 245 - WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER 249 - CAVALRY SONG (Stedman) 252 - CAVALRY SONG (Raymond) 254 - THE CAVALRY CHARGE (Taylor) 256 - THE CAVALRY CHARGE (Durivage) 258 - ROLL-CALL 261 - READING THE LIST 263 - A WOMAN OF THE WAR 265 - GLORY HALLELUJAH! OR, JOHN BROWN’S BODY 270 - MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA 273 - THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM 275 - TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP 277 - -[Illustration] - - - - - ILLUSTRATIONS. - - PAGE. - RUNNING THE BATTERIES _Frontispiece_ - THE CIVIL WAR 1 - THE COUNTERSIGN 15 - THE “CUMBERLAND” 35 - SHERIDAN’S RIDE 72 - BARBARA FRIETCHIE 95 - FREDERICKSBURG 103 - IN LOUISIANA 109 - JOHN PELHAM 113 - RUNNING THE BATTERIES 120 - KEENAN’S CHARGE 124 - THE BLACK REGIMENT 132 - GETTYSBURG 138 - JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG 150 - THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE 160 - “KEARSARGE” AND “ALABAMA” 167 - THE BAY FIGHT 170 - THE CONQUERED BANNER 204 - DRIVING HOME THE COWS 211 - AFTER ALL 214 - CAVALRY SONG 252 - -[Illustration] - - -_Typogravures by W. Kurtz._ - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE _CIVIL_ WAR - -PART II. - - -[Illustration] - - - - -LYON. - - -BY HENRY PETERSON. - - Sing, bird, on green Missouri’s plain, - Thy saddest song of sorrow; - Drop tears, O clouds, in gentlest rain - Ye from the winds can borrow; - Breathe out, ye winds, your softest sigh, - Weep, flowers, in dewy splendor, - For him who knew well how to die, - But never to surrender! - - Up rose serene the August sun - Upon that day of glory; - Up curled from musket and from gun - The war-cloud gray and hoary. - It gathered like a funeral pall - Now broken and now blended, - Where rang the bugle’s angry call, - And rank with rank contended. - - Four thousand men, as brave and true - As e’er went forth in daring, - Upon the foe that morning threw - The strength of their despairing. - They feared not death--men bless the field - That patriot soldiers die on-- - Fair Freedom’s cause was sword and shield, - And at their head was Lyon! - - The leader’s troubled soul looked forth - From eyes of troubled brightness; - Sad soul! the burden of the North - Had pressed out all its lightness. - He gazed upon the unequal fight, - His ranks all rent and gory, - And felt the shadows close like night - Round his career of glory. - - “General, come lead us!” loud the cry - From a brave band was ringing-- - “Lead us, and we will stop, or die, - That battery’s awful singing.” - He spurred to where his heroes stood, - Twice wounded--no wound knowing-- - The fire of battle in his blood - And on his forehead glowing. - - Oh, cursed for aye that traitor’s hand, - And cursed that aim so deadly, - Which smote the bravest of the land, - And dyed his bosom redly! - Serene he lay, while past him prest - The battle’s furious billow, - As calmly as a babe may rest - Upon its mother’s pillow. - - So Lyon died! and well may flowers - His place of burial cover, - For never had this land of ours - A more devoted lover. - Living, his country was his pride, - His life he gave her dying; - Life, fortune, love--he naught denied - To her and to her sighing. - - Rest, patriot, in thy hill-side grave, - Beside her form who bore thee! - Long may the land thou diedst to save - Her bannered stars wave o’er thee! - Upon her history’s brightest page, - And on Fame’s glowing portal, - She’ll write thy grand, heroic rage - And grave thy name immortal. - -[Illustration] - - - - -MY MARYLAND. - - -BY JAMES R. RANDALL. - - The despot’s heel is on thy shore, - Maryland! - His torch is at thy temple door, - Maryland! - Avenge the patriotic gore - That flecked the streets of Baltimore, - And be the battle queen of yore, - Maryland, my Maryland! - - Hark to an exiled son’s appeal, - Maryland! - My Mother State, to thee I kneel, - Maryland! - For life or death, for woe or weal, - Thy peerless chivalry reveal, - And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, - Maryland, my Maryland! - - Thou wilt not cower in the dust, - Maryland! - Thy beaming sword shall never rust, - Maryland! - Remember Carroll’s sacred trust, - Remember Howard’s warlike thrust, - And all thy slumberers with the just, - Maryland, my Maryland! - - Come! ’tis the red dawn of the day, - Maryland! - Come with thy panoplied array. - Maryland! - With Ringgold’s spirit for the fray, - With Watson’s blood at Monterey, - With fearless Lowe and dashing May, - Maryland, my Maryland! - - Dear Mother, burst the tyrant’s chain, - Maryland! - Virginia should not call in vain, - Maryland! - She meets her sisters on the plain, - “_Sic semper!_” ’tis the proud refrain - That baffles minions back amain, - Maryland! - Arise in majesty again, - Maryland, my Maryland! - - Come! for thy shield is bright and strong, - Maryland! - Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, - Maryland! - Come to thine own heroic throng - Stalking with liberty along, - And chant thy dauntless slogan-song, - Maryland, my Maryland! - - I see the blush upon thy cheek, - Maryland! - But thou wast ever bravely meek, - Maryland! - But lo! there surges forth a shriek, - From hill to hill, from creek to creek, - Potomac calls to Chesapeake, - Maryland, my Maryland! - - Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, - Maryland! - Thou wilt not crook to his control, - Maryland! - Better the fire upon thee roll, - Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, - Than crucifixion of the soul, - Maryland, my Maryland! - - I hear the distant thunder-hum - Maryland! - The “Old Line’s” bugle, fife, and drum, - Maryland! - She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb; - Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum-- - She breathes! She burns! She’ll come! She’ll come! - Maryland, my Maryland! - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC - - -BY JULIA WARD HOWE. - - Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; - He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath - are stored; - He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: - His truth is marching on. - - I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; - They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; - I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; - His day is marching on. - - I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnish’d rows of steel; - “As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal”; - Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, - Since God is marching on. - - He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; - He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat; - Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! - Our God is marching on. - - In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, - With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: - As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, - While God is marching on. - - November, 1861. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE PICKET GUARD. - - -BY ETHEL LYNN BEERS. - - “All quiet along the Potomac,” they say, - “Except now and then a stray picket - Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, - By a rifleman hid in the thicket. - ’Tis nothing--a private or two, now and then, - Will not count in the news of the battle; - Not an officer lost--only one of the men, - Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.” - - All quiet along the Potomac to-night, - Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; - Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon, - Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. - A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind - Through the forest leaves softly is creeping; - While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, - Keep guard--for the army is sleeping. - - There’s only the sound of the lone sentry’s tread, - As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, - And thinks of the two in the low trundle bed - Far away in the cot on the mountain. - His musket falls slack--his face, dark and grim, - Grows gentle with memories tender, - As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep-- - For their mother--may Heaven defend her! - - The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, - That night, when the love yet unspoken-- - Leaped up to his lips--when low-murmured vows - Were pledged to be ever unbroken. - Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, - He dashes off tears that are welling, - And gathers his gun closer up to its place - As if to keep down the heart-swelling. - - He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree-- - The footstep is lagging and weary; - Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, - Towards the shades of the forest so dreary. - Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves? - Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing? - It looks like a rifle--ah! “Mary, good-bye!” - And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. - - All quiet along the Potomac to-night, - No sound save the rush of the river; - While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead-- - The picket’s off duty forever. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE COUNTERSIGN. - -[In his admirably edited collection of poems of the civil war, entitled -“Bugle Echoes,” Mr. Francis F. Browne introduces this poem with the -following note: - - “There has been no little dispute as to the authorship - of this poem. The _Philadelphia Press_, in 1861, said it - was ‘written by a private in Company G, Stuart’s engineer - regiment, at Camp Lesley, near Washington.’ But it may now - be stated positively that it was written by a Confederate - soldier, still living. The poem is usually printed in a - very imperfect form, with the fourth, fifth, and sixth - stanzas omitted. The third line of the fifth stanza affords - internal evidence of Southern origin.”--EDITOR.] - -[Illustration] - -THE COUNTERSIGN. - - Alas! the weary hours pass slow, - The night is very dark and still; - And in the marshes far below - I hear the bearded whippoorwill; - I scarce can see a yard ahead, - My ears are strained to catch each sound; - I hear the leaves about me shed, - And the spring’s bubbling through the ground. - - Along the beaten path I pace, - Where white rays mark my sentry’s track; - In formless shrubs I seem to trace - The foeman’s form with bending back, - I think I see him crouching low; - I stop and list--I stoop and peer, - Until the neighboring hillocks grow - To groups of soldiers far and near. - - With ready piece I wait and watch, - Until my eyes, familiar grown, - Detect each harmless earthen notch, - And turn guerrillas into stone; - And then, amid the lonely gloom, - Beneath the tall old chestnut trees, - My silent marches I resume, - And think of other times than these. - - Sweet visions through the silent night! - The deep bay windows fringed with vine, - The room within, in softened light, - The tender, milk-white hand in mine; - The timid pressure, and the pause - That often overcame our speech-- - The time when by mysterious laws - We each felt all in all to each. - - And then that bitter, bitter day, - When came the final hour to part; - When, clad in soldier’s honest gray, - I pressed her weeping to my heart; - Too proud of me to bid me stay, - Too fond of me to let me go, - I had to tear myself away, - And left her, stolid in my woe. - - So rose the dream, so passed the night-- - When, distant in the darksome glen, - Approaching up the sombre height - I heard the solid march of men; - Till over stubble, over sward, - And fields where lay the golden sheaf, - I saw the lantern of the guard - Advancing with the night relief. - - “Halt! Who goes there?” my challenge cry, - It rings along the watchful line; - “Relief!” I hear a voice reply; - “Advance, and give the countersign!” - With bayonet at the charge I wait-- - The corporal gives the mystic spell; - With arms aport I charge my mate, - Then onward pass, and all is well. - - But in the tent that night awake, - I ask, if in the fray I fall, - Can I the mystic answer make - When the angelic sentries call? - And pray that Heaven may so ordain, - Whene’er I go, what fate be mine, - Whether in pleasure or in pain, - I still may have the countersign. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -JONATHAN TO JOHN. - - -BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. - - [This poem is a part of the second series of “The - Bigelow Papers,” a work wholly unmatched in the literature - of humor, that has an earnest purpose and well matured - thought for its sources of inspiration. The poem was called - forth by what is known as “the _Trent_ affair.” Captain - Wilkes, commanding the United States man-of-war, _San - Jacinto_, boarded the British mail steamer _Trent_ on the - 8th of November, 1861, and took from her the Confederate - commissioners Mason and Slidell. Great Britain resented - the act, and for a time there was serious apprehension of - war between that country and the United States; but as the - seizure of the commissioners on board a neutral vessel was - deemed to be an act in violation of international law, the - Government at Washington, after inquiry into the facts, - surrendered the prisoners. The version of the poem here - given is a correct one, taken from the collected edition - of Mr. Lowell’s poems. An abridged and otherwise imperfect - version is given in many collections.--EDITOR.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - -JONATHAN TO JOHN. - - It don’t seem hardly right, John, - When both my hands was full, - To stump me to a fight, John,-- - Your cousin, tu, John Bull! - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - We know it now,” sez he, - “The Lion’s paw is all the law, - Accordin’ to J. B., - Thet’s fit for you an’ me!” - - You wonder why we’re hot, John? - Your mark wuz on the guns, - The neutral guns, thet shot, John, - Our brothers an’ our sons: - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - There’s human blood,” sez he, - “By fits an’ starts, in Yankee hearts, - Though ’t may surprise J. B. - More ’n it would you an’ me.” - - Ef _I_ turned mad dogs loose, John, - On _your_ front parlor stairs, - Would it just meet your views, John, - To wait an’ sue their heirs? - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess, - I on’y guess,” sez he, - “Thet ef Vattel on _his_ toes fell, - ’Twould kind o’ rile J. B., - Ez wal ez you an’ me!” - - Who made the law thet hurts, John, - _Heads I win--ditto tails?_ - “J. B.” was on his shirts, John, - Onless my memory fails. - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - (I’m good at thet),” sez he, - “Thet sauce for goose ain’t _jest_ the juice - For ganders with J. B., - No more’n with you or me!” - - When your rights was our wrongs, John, - You didn’t stop for fuss,-- - Brittany’s trident prongs, John, - Was good ’nough law for us. - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess, - Though physic’s good,” sez he, - “It doesn’t foller thet he can swaller - Prescriptions signed ‘_J. B._’ - Put up by you an’ me.” - - We own the ocean, tu, John, - You mus’ n’ take it hard, - Ef we can’t think with you, John, - It’s just your own back yard, - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - Ef _thet’s_ his claim,” sez he, - “The fencin’ stuff’ll cost enough - To bust up friend J. B. - Ez wal ez you an’ me!” - - Why talk so dreffle big, John, - Of honor when it meant - You didn’t care a fig, John, - But jest for _ten per cent_? - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - He’s like the rest,” sez he; - “When all is done, it’s number one - Thet’s nearest to J. B., - Ez wal ez t’ you an’ me!” - - We give the critters back, John, - Cos Abram thought ’twas right; - It warn’t your bullyin’ clack, John, - Provokin’ us to fight. - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - We’ve a hard row,” sez he, - “To hoe just now; but thet, somehow, - May happen to J. B., - Ez wal ez you an’ me!” - - We ain’t so weak an’ poor, John, - With twenty million people, - An’ close to every door, John, - A school house an’ a steeple. - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - It is a fact,” sez he, - “The surest plan to make a Man - Is, think him so, J. B., - Ez much ez you or me!” - - Our folks believe in Law, John; - An’ it’s fer her sake, now, - They’ve left the axe an’ saw, John, - The anvil an’ the plow. - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess, - Ef ’t warn’t fer law,” sez he, - “There ’d be one shindy from here to Indy; - An’ _thet_ don’t suit J. B. - (When ’t ain’t ’twixt you an’ me!)” - - We know we ’ve got a cause, John, - Thet ’s honest, just, an’ true; - We thought ’t would win applause, John, - Ef nowhere else, from you, - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - His love of right,” sez he, - “Hangs by a rotten fibre o’ cotton; - There ’s natur’ in J. B., - Ez wal ez you an’ me!” - - The South says, “_Poor folks down!_” John, - An’ “_All men up!_” say we,-- - White, yaller, black, an’ brown, John; - Now which is your idee? - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - John preaches wal,” sez he; - “But, sermon thru, an’ come to _du_, - Why there’s the old J. B. - A-crowdin’ you an’ me!” - - Shall it be love or hate, John? - It’s you thet ’s to decide; - Ain’t _your_ bonds held by Fate, John, - Like all the world’s beside? - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - Wise men fergive,” sez he, - “But not ferget; an’ some time yet - Thet truth may strike J. B., - Ez wal ez you an’ me!” - - God means to make this land, John, - Clear thru, from sea to sea, - Believe an’ understand, John, - The _wuth_ o’ bein’ free. - Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess - God’s price is high,” sez he; - “But nothin’ else than wut he sells - Wears long, an’ thet J. B. - May larn, like you an’ me!” - -[Illustration] - - - - -THERE’S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET. - - -BY JAMES R. RANDALL. - -[First printed in the _Richmond Examiner_. Written while the author -was in prison.] - - By the blue Patapsco’s billowy dash - The tyrant’s war-shout comes, - Along with cymbal’s fitful clash, - And the growl of his sullen drums. - We hear it, we heed it with vengeful thrills, - And we shall not forgive or forget; - There’s faith in the streams, there’s hope in the hills, - There’s life in the old land yet! - - Minions! we sleep but we are not dead; - We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred; - We crouch--’t is to welcome the triumph tread - Of the peerless Beauregard. - Then woe to your vile, polluting horde, - When the Southern braves are met; - There’s faith in the victor’s stainless sword, - There’s life in the old land yet! - - Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind - With the clank of an iron chain; - The spirit of freedom sings in the wind, - O’er Merriman, Thomas, and Kane; - And we, though we smile not, are not thralls,-- - Are piling a gory debt; - While down by McHenry’s dungeon walls - _There’s life in the old land yet_! - - Our women have hung their harps away, - And they scowl on your brutal bands, - While the nimble poniard dares the day, - In their dear, defiant hands. - They will strip their tresses to string our bows, - Ere the Northern sun is set; - There’s faith in their unrelenting woes, - There’s life in the old land yet! - - There’s life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,-- - ’T is vocal without noise; - It gushed o’er Manassas’ solemn plains, - From the blood of the MARYLAND BOYS! - That blood shall cry aloud, and rise - With an everlasting threat; - By the death of the brave, by the GOD in the skies, - _There’s life in the old land yet_! - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - - - - -NEVER OR NOW. - - -BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. - - Listen, young heroes! your country is calling! - Time strikes the hour for the brave and the true! - Now, while the foremost are fighting and falling, - Fill up the ranks that have opened for you! - - You whom the fathers made free and defended, - Stain not the scroll that emblazons their fame! - You whose fair heritage spotless descended, - Leave not your children a birthright of shame! - - Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping! - Wait not till Honor lies wrapped in his pall! - Brief the lips’ meeting be, swift the hands clasping: - “Off for the wars!” is enough for them all. - - Break from the arms that would fondly caress you! - Hark! ’t is the bugle-blast, sabres are drawn! - Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you, - Maidens shall weep for you when you are gone! - - Never or now! cries the blood of a nation, - Poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom; - Now is the day and the hour of salvation,-- - Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom! - - Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated cannon - Through the black canopy blotting the skies; - Never or now! flaps the shell-blasted pennon - O’er the deep ooze where the _Cumberland_ lies! - - From the foul dens where our brothers are dying, - Aliens and foes in the land of their birth,-- - From the rank swamps where our martyrs are lying, - Pleading in vain for a handful of earth,-- - - From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered, - Furrowed and ridged by the battle-field’s plough, - Comes the loud summons; too long you have slumbered, - Hear the last Angel-trump--Never or Now! - - 1862. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -BOY BRITTAN. - -(Battle of Fort Henry, Tenn., Feb. 6, 1862.) - - -BY FORCEYTHE WILLSON. - - I. - Boy Brittan--only a lad--a fair-haired boy--sixteen, - In his uniform, - Into the storm--into the roaring jaws of grim Fort Henry-- - Boldly bears the Federal flotilla-- - Into the battle storm! - - II. - Boy Brittan is master’s mate aboard of the _Essex_-- - There he stands, buoyant and eager-eyed, - By the brave captain’s side; - Ready to do and dare. Aye, aye, sir! always ready-- - In his country’s uniform. - Boom! Boom! and now the flag-boat sweeps, and now the _Essex_, - Into the battle storm! - - III. - Boom! Boom! till river and fort and field are over-clouded - By battle’s breath; then from the fort a gleam - And a crashing gun, and the _Essex_ is wrapt and shrouded - In a scalding cloud of steam? - - IV. - But victory! victory! - Unto God all praise be ever rendered, - Unto God all praise and glory be! - See, Boy Brittan! see, boy, see! - They strike! Hurrah! the fort has just surrendered! - Shout! Shout! my boy, my warrior boy! - And wave your cap and clap your hands for joy! - Cheer answer cheer and bear the cheer about-- - Hurrah! Hurrah! for the fiery fort is ours; - And “Victory!” “Victory!” “Victory!” - Is the shout. - Shout--for the fiery fort, and the field, and the day are ours-- - The day is ours--thanks to the brave endeavor - Of heroes, boy, like thee! - The day is ours--the day is ours! - Glory and deathless love to all who shared with thee, - And bravely endured and dared with thee-- - The day is ours--the day is ours-- - Forever! - Glory and Love for one and all; but--but--for thee-- - Home! Home! a happy “Welcome--welcome home” for thee! - And kisses of love for thee-- - And a mother’s happy, happy tears, and a virgin’s bridal - wreath of flowers-- - For thee! - - V. - Victory! Victory!... - But suddenly wrecked and wrapt in seething steam, the _Essex_ - Slowly drifted out of the battle’s storm; - Slowly, slowly down--laden with the dead and dying; - And there at the captain’s feet, among the dead and the dying, - The shot-marred form of a beautiful boy is lying-- - There in his uniform! - - VI. - Laurels and tears for thee, boy, - Laurels and tears for thee! - Laurels of light, moist with the precious dew - Of the inmost heart of the nation’s loving heart, - And blest by the balmy breath of the beautiful and the true; - Moist--moist with the luminous breath of the singing spheres - And the nation’s starry tears! - And tremble-touched by the pulse-like gush and start - Of the universal music of the heart, - And all deep sympathy. - Laurels and tears for thee, boy, - Laurels and tears for thee-- - Laurels of light and tears of love forevermore-- - For thee! - - VII. - And laurels of light, and tears of truth, - And the mantle of immortality; - And the flowers of love and immortal youth, - And the tender heart-tokens of all true ruth-- - And the everlasting victory! - And the breath and bliss of Liberty; - And the loving kiss of Liberty; - And the welcoming light of heavenly eyes, - And the over-calm of God’s canopy; - And the infinite love-span of the skies - That cover the valleys of Paradise-- - For all of the brave who rest with thee; - And for one and all who died with thee, - And now sleep side by side with thee; - And for every one who lives and dies, - On the solid land or the heaving sea, - Dear warrior-boy--like thee. - - VIII. - O the victory--the victory - Belongs to thee! - God ever keeps the brightest crown for such as thou-- - He gives it now to thee! - O young and brave, and early and thrice blest-- - Thrice, thrice, thrice blest! - Thy country turns once more to kiss thy youthful brow, - And takes thee--gently--gently to her breast; - And whispers lovingly, “God bless thee--bless thee now-- - My darling, thou shalt rest!” - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE “CUMBERLAND.” - - -BY H. W. LONGFELLOW. - - At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, - On board the _Cumberland_ sloop of war, - And at times from the fortress across the bay - The alarm of drums swept past, - Or a bugle blast - From the camp on shore. - - Then far away to the south uprose - A little feather of snow-white smoke, - And we knew that the iron ship of our foes - Was steadily steering its course - To try the force - Of our ribs of oak. - - Down upon us heavily runs, - Silent and sullen, the floating fort, - Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, - And leaps the terrible death, - With fiery breath, - From each open port. - - We are not idle but send her straight - Defiance back in a full broadside! - As hail rebounds from a roof of slate - Rebounds our heavier hail - From each iron scale - Of the monster’s hide. - - “Strike your flag!” the rebel cries, - In his arrogant old plantation strain. - “Never!” our gallant Morris replies; - “It is better to sink than to yield!” - And the whole air pealed - With the cheers of our men. - - Then like a kraken, huge and black - She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp! - Down went the _Cumberland_ all awrack, - With a sudden shudder of death, - And the cannon’s breath - For her dying gasp. - - Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, - Still floated our flag at the mainmast head. - Lord, how beautiful was Thy day! - Every waft of the air - Was a whisper of prayer, - Or a dirge for the dead. - - Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas, - Ye are at peace in the troubled stream. - Ho! brave land! with hearts like these, - Thy flag, that is rent in twain, - Shall be one again, - And without a seam! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - -ON BOARD THE “CUMBERLAND.” - -(March 8, 1862.) - - -BY GEORGE H. BOKER. - - “Stand to your guns, men!” Morris cried. - Small need to pass the word; - Our men at quarters ranged themselves, - Before the drum was heard. - - And then began the sailors’ jests: - “What thing is that, I say?” - “A ’long-shore meeting-house adrift - Is standing down the bay!” - - A frown came over Morris’ face; - The strange, dark craft he knew; - “That is the iron _Merrimac_, - Manned by a rebel crew. - - “So shot your guns, and point them straight; - Before this day goes by, - We’ll try of what her metal ’s made.” - A cheer was our reply. - - “Remember boys, this flag of ours - Has seldom left its place; - And where it falls, the deck it strikes - Is covered with disgrace. - - “I ask but this: or sink or swim, - Or live or nobly die, - My last sight upon earth may be - To see that ensign fly!” - - Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass - Came moving o’er the wave, - As gloomy as a passing hearse, - As silent as the grave. - - Her ports were closed, from stem to stem - No sign of life appeared. - We wondered, questioned, strained our eyes, - Joked,--every thing but feared. - - She reached our range. Our broadside rang, - Our heavy pivots roared; - And shot and shell, a fire of hell, - Against her sides we poured. - - God’s mercy! from her sloping roof - The iron tempest glanced, - As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch, - And round her leaped and danced; - - Or, when against her dusky hull - We struck a fair, full blow, - The mighty, solid iron globes - Were crumbled up like snow. - - On, on, with fast increasing speed, - The silent monster came; - Though all our starboard battery - Was one long line of flame. - - She heeded not, nor gun she fired, - Straight on our bow she bore; - Through riving plank and crashing frame - Her furious way she tore. - - Alas! our beautiful, keen bow, - That in the fiercest blast - So gently folded back the seas, - They hardly felt we passed! - - Alas! Alas! My _Cumberland_, - That ne’er knew grief before, - To be so gored, to feel so deep - The tusk of that sea-boar! - - Once more she backward drew a space, - Once more our side she rent; - Then, in the wantonness of hate, - Her broadside through us sent. - - The dead and dying round us lay, - But our foeman lay abeam; - Her open portholes maddened us; - We fired with shout and scream. - - We felt our vessel settling fast, - We knew our time was brief; - “The pumps, the pumps!” But they who pumped - And fought not, wept with grief. - - “Oh, keep us but an hour afloat! - Oh, give us only time - To be the instruments of heaven - Against the traitors’ crime!” - - From captain down to powder-boy, - No hand was idle then; - Two soldiers, but by chance aboard, - Fought on like sailor-men. - - And when a gun’s crew lost a hand, - Some bold marine stepped out, - And jerked his braided jacket off, - And hauled the gun about. - - Our forward magazine was drowned; - And up from the sick-bay - Crawled out the wounded, red with blood, - And round us gasping lay. - - Yes, cheering, calling us by name, - Struggling with failing breath, - To keep their shipmates at the port, - While glory strove with death. - - With decks afloat, and powder gone, - The last broadside we gave - From the guns’ heated iron lips - Burst out beneath the wave. - - So sponges, rammers, and handspikes-- - As men-of-war’s men should-- - We placed within their proper racks, - And at our quarters stood. - - “Up to the spar-deck! Save yourselves!” - Cried Selfridge. “Up, my men! - God grant that some of us may live - To fight yon ship again!” - - We turned--we did not like to go; - Yet staying seemed but vain, - Knee-deep in water; so we left; - Some swore, some groaned with pain. - - We reached the deck. Here Randall stood: - “Another turn, men--so!” - Calmly he aimed his pivot-gun: - “Now, Tenney, let her go!” - - It did our sore hearts good to hear - The song our pivot sang, - As rushing on, from wave to wave, - The whirring bomb-shell sprang. - - Brave Randall leaped upon the gun, - And waved his cap in sport; - “Well done! well aimed! I saw that shell - Go through an open port.” - - It was our last, our deadliest shot; - The deck was over-flown: - The poor ship staggered, lurched to port, - And gave a living groan. - - Down, down, as headlong through the waves - Our gallant vessel rushed, - A thousand gurgling, watery sounds - Around my senses gushed. - - Then I remember little more; - One look to heaven I gave, - Where, like an angel’s wing, I saw - Our spotless ensign wave. - - I tried to cheer, I cannot say - Whether I swam or sank; - A blue mist closed around my eyes, - And every thing was blank. - - When I awoke, a soldier-lad, - All dripping from the sea, - With two great tears upon his cheeks, - Was bending over me. - - I tried to speak. He understood - The wish I could not speak. - He turned me. There, thank God! the flag - Still fluttered at the peak! - - And there, while thread shall hang to thread, - O let that ensign fly! - The noblest constellation set - Against our northern sky. - - A sign that we who live may claim - The peerage of the brave; - A monument, that needs no scroll, - For those beneath the wave! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE SWORD-BEARER. - - -BY GEORGE H. BOKER. - - Brave Morris saw the day was lost; - For nothing now remained - On the wrecked and sinking _Cumberland_ - But to save the flag unstained. - - So he swore an oath in the sight of heaven - (If he kept it, the world can tell): - “Before I strike to a rebel flag, - I’ll sink to the gates of hell! - - “Here, take my sword; ’tis in my way; - I shall trip o’er the useless steel: - For I’ll meet the lot that falls to all, - With my shoulder at the wheel.” - - So the little negro took the sword, - And oh! with what reverent care! - Following his master step by step, - He bore it here and there. - - A thought had crept through his sluggish brain, - And shone in his dusky face, - That somehow--he could not tell just how-- - ’Twas the sword of his trampled race. - - And as Morris, great with his lion heart, - Rushed onward from gun to gun, - The little negro slid after him, - Like a shadow in the sun. - - But something of pomp and of curious pride - The sable creature wore, - Which at any time but a time like that - Would have made the ship’s crew roar. - - Over the wounded, dying, and dead, - Like an usher of the rod, - The black page, full of his mighty trust, - With dainty caution trod. - - No heed he gave to the flying ball, - No heed to the bursting shell; - His duty was something more than life, - And he strove to do it well. - - Down, with our starry flag apeak, - In the whirling sea we sank; - And captain and crew and the sword-bearer - Were washed from the bloody plank. - - They picked us up from the hungry waves-- - Alas! not all. And where, - Where is the faithful negro lad? - “Back oars! avast! look there!” - - We looked, and as heaven may save my soul, - I pledge you a sailor’s word, - There, fathoms deep in the sea he lay, - Still grasping his master’s sword. - - We drew him out; and many an hour - We wrought with his rigid form, - Ere the almost smothered spark of life - By slow degrees grew warm. - - The first dull glance that his eyeballs rolled - Was down toward his shrunken hand; - And he smiled, and closed his eyes again, - As they fell on the rescued brand. - - And no one touched the sacred sword, - Till at length, when Morris came, - The little negro stretched it out, - With his eager eyes aflame. - - And if Morris wrung the poor boy’s hand, - And his words seemed hard to speak, - And tears ran down his manly cheeks, - What tongue shall call him weak? - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE OLD SERGEANT. - - -BY FORCEYTHE WILLSON. - - “Come a little nearer, Doctor,--thank you!--let me take the cup: - Draw your chair up,--draw it closer,--just another little sup! - Maybe you may think I’m better; but I’m pretty well used up,-- - Doctor, you’ve done all you could do, but I’m just a going up! - - “Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain’t much use to try--” - “Never say that,” said the surgeon, as he smothered down a sigh; - “It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say die!” - “What you _say_ will make no difference, Doctor, when you - come to die. - - “Doctor, what has been the matter?”--“You were very faint, they say; - You must try to get to sleep now.”--“Doctor, have I been away?” - “Not that anybody knows of!”--“Doctor--Doctor, please to stay! - There is something I must tell you, and you won’t have long to stay! - - “I have got my marching orders, and I’m ready now to go; - Doctor, did you say I fainted!--But it couldn’t ha’ been so,-- - For as sure as I’m a Sergeant, and was wounded at Shiloh, - I’ve this very night been back there, on the old field of Shiloh! - - “This is all that I remember: The last time the lighter came, - And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the same, - He had not been gone five minutes before something called my name: - ’ORDERLY SERGEANT--ROBERT BURTON!’--just that way - it called my name. - - “And I wondered who could call me so distinctly and so slow, - Knew it couldn’t be the lighter,--he could not have spoken so; - And I tried to answer, ‘Here, sir!’ but I couldn’t make it go! - For I couldn’t move a muscle, and I couldn’t make it go! - - “Then I thought: It’s all a nightmare, all a humbug and a bore: - Just another foolish _grapevine_[1]--and it won’t come any more; - But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as before: - ‘ORDERLY SERGEANT--ROBERT BURTON!’ even plainer than before. - - “That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of light, - And I stood beside the river, where we stood that Sunday night, - Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite, - When the river was perdition and all hell was opposite! - - “And the same old palpitation came again in all its power, - And I heard a bugle sounding, as from some celestial tower; - And the same mysterious voice said: ‘IT IS THE ELEVENTH HOUR! - ORDERLY SERGEANT--ROBERT BURTON--IT IS THE ELEVENTH HOUR!’ - - “Doctor Austin!--what _day_ is this?”--“It is Wednesday night, - you know.” - “Yes,--to-morrow will be New Year’s, and a right good time below! - What _time_ is it, Doctor Austin?”--“Nearly twelve.” - “Then don’t you go!” - Can it be that all this happened--all this--not an hour ago! - - “There was where the gun-boats opened on the dark, rebellious host, - And where Webster semi-circled his last guns upon the coast; - There were still the two log-houses, just the same, or else - their ghost,-- - And the same old transport came and took me over--or its ghost! - - “And the old field lay before me all deserted far and wide; - There was where they fell on Prentice,--there McClernand met - the tide; - There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where Hurlbut’s - heroes died,-- - Lower down, where Wallace charged them, and kept charging till - he died. - - “There was where Lew Wallace showed them he was of the canny kin, - There was where old Nelson thundered, and where Rousseau waded in; - Then McCook sent ’em to breakfast and we all began to win-- - There was where the grape-shot took me, just as we began to win. - - “Now, a shroud of snow and silence over every thing was spread; - And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my head, - I should not have even doubted, to this moment I was dead,-- - For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead! - - “Death and silence!--Death and silence! all around me as I sped! - And behold a mighty TOWER, as if builded to the dead,-- - To the Heaven of the heavens, lifted up its mighty head, - Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seemed waving - from its head! - - “Round and mighty-based it towered--up into the infinite-- - And I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft so bright; - For it shone like solid sunshine; and a winding stair of light, - Wound around it and around it till it wound clear out of sight! - - “And, behold, as I approached it--with a rapt and dazzled stare,-- - Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great stair-- - Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of,--‘Halt! and who goes there?’ - ‘I’m a friend,’ I said, ‘if you are.’--‘Then advance, sir, - to the stair!’ - - “I advanced!--that sentry, Doctor, was Elijah Ballantyne!-- - First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed the line: - ‘Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome! welcome by that countersign!’ - And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of mine! - - “As he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only of the grave; - But he smiled and pointed upward, with a bright and bloodless - glaive; - ‘That’s the way, sir, to head-quarters.’--‘What head-quarters?’ - --‘Of the brave.’ - ‘But the great tower?’--‘That was builded of the great deeds - of the brave.’ - - “Then a sudden shame came o’er me at his uniform of light; - At my own so old and tattered, and at his so new and bright; - ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘you have forgotten the new uniform to-night,-- - Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o’clock to-night!’ - - “And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there, and I-- - Doctor--did you hear a footstep? Hark!--God bless you all! Good-bye! - Doctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack when I die, - To my son--my son that’s coming,--he won’t get here till I die! - - “Tell him his old father blessed him as he never did before,-- - And to carry that old musket”--Hark! a knock is at the door!-- - “Till the Union”--See! it opens!--“Father! Father! Speak once more!” - “_Bless you!_”--gasped the old gray Sergeant, and he lay and - said no more. - -[Illustration] - -[1] The troops during the war were accustomed to express their -incredulity, when news could not be traced to a trustworthy source, by -saying that the tidings had been received by “grapevine telegraph.” -Hence a canard was called a “grapevine.”--EDITOR. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE “VARUNA.” - -(Sunk April 24, 1862.) - - -BY GEORGE H. BOKER. - - Who has not heard of the dauntless _Varuna_? - Who has not heard of the deeds she has done? - Who shall not hear, while the brown Mississippi - Rushes along from the snow to the sun? - - Crippled and leaking she entered the battle, - Sinking and burning she fought through the fray; - Crushed were her sides and the waves ran across her, - Ere, like a death wounded lion at bay, - Sternly she closed in the last fatal grapple, - Then in her triumph moved grandly away. - - Five of the rebels, like satellites round her, - Burned in her orbit of splendor and fear; - One, like the pleiad of mystical story, - Shot, terror-stricken, beyond her dread sphere. - - We who are waiting with crowns for the victors, - Though we should offer the wealth of our store, - Load the _Varuna_ from deck down to kelson, - Still would be niggard, such tribute to pour - On courage so boundless. It beggars possession,-- - It knocks for just payment at heaven’s bright door! - - Cherish the heroes who fought the _Varuna_; - Treat them as kings if they honor your way; - Succor and comfort the sick and the wounded; - Oh! for the dead let us all kneel to pray! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE RIVER FIGHT. - - -BY HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. - - [Admiral Farragut was so impressed with this irregular - but spirited description of the river battle below - New Orleans that he sought out the author and their - acquaintance ended in a warm friendship. Brownell having - expressed a desire to witness a naval conflict, Farragut - took him on board the Flagship _Hartford_ at the time of - the storming of the Mobile forts, and the poet repaid the - courtesy with the poem which appears elsewhere in this - collection, called “The Bay Fight.”--EDITOR.] - - Do you know of the dreary land, - If land such region may seem, - Where ’tis neither sea nor strand, - Ocean, nor good, dry land, - But the nightmare marsh of a dream? - Where the Mighty River his death-road takes, - ’Mid pools and windings that coil like snakes, - A hundred leagues of bayous and lakes, - To die in the great Gulf Stream? - - No coast-line clear and true, - Granite and deep-sea blue, - On that dismal shore you pass, - Surf-worn boulder or sandy beach,-- - But ooze-flats as far as the eye can reach, - With shallows of water-grass; - Reedy Savannahs, vast and dun, - Lying dead in the dim March sun; - Huge, rotting trunks and roots that lie - Like the blackened bones of shapes gone by, - And miles of sunken morass. - - No lovely, delicate thing - Of life o’er the waste is seen - But the cayman couched by his weedy spring, - And the pelican, bird unclean, - Or the buzzard, flapping with heavy wing, - Like an evil ghost o’er the desolate scene. - - Ah! many a weary day - With our Leader there we lay. - In the sultry haze and smoke, - Tugging our ships o’er the bar, - Till the spring was wasted far, - Till his brave heart almost broke. - For the sullen river seemed - As if our intent he dreamed,-- - All his sallow mouths did spew and choke. - But ere April fully passed - All ground over at last - And we knew the die was cast,-- - Knew the day drew nigh - To dare to the end one stormy deed, - Might save the land at her sorest need, - Or on the old deck to die! - - Anchored we lay,--and a morn the more, - To his captains and all his men - Thus wrote our old commodore-- - (He wasn’t Admiral then):-- - “GENERAL ORDERS: - Send your to’gallant masts down, - Rig in each flying jib-boom! - Clear all ahead for the loom - Of traitor fortress and town, - Or traitor fleet bearing down - - “In with your canvas high; - We shall want no sail to fly! - Top sail, foresail, spanker, and jib, - (With the heart of oak in the oaken rib,) - Shall serve us to win or die! - - “Trim every sail by the head, - (So shall you spare the lead,) - Lest if she ground, your ship swing round, - Bows in shore, for a wreck. - See your grapnels all clear with pains, - And a solid kedge in your port main-chains, - With a whip to the main yard: - Drop it heavy and hard - When you grappel a traitor deck! - - “On forecastle and on poop - Mount guns, as best you may deem. - If possible, rouse them up - (For still you must bow the stream). - Also hoist and secure with stops - Howitzers firmly in your tops, - To fire on the foe abeam. - - “Look well to your pumps and hose; - Have water tubs fore and aft, - For quenching flame in your craft, - And the gun crew’s fiery thirst. - See planks with felt fitted close, - To plug every shot-hole tight. - Stand ready to meet the worst! - For, if I have reckoned aright, - They will serve us shot, - Both cold and hot, - Freely enough to-night. - - “Mark well each signal I make,-- - (Our life-long service at stake, - And honor that must not lag!) - What e’er the peril and awe, - In the battle’s fieriest flaw, - Let never one ship withdraw - Till the orders come from the flag!” - - * * * * * - - Would you hear of the river fight? - It was two of a soft spring night; - God’s stars looked down on all; - And all was clear and bright - But the low fog’s clinging breath; - Up the River of Death - Sailed the great Admiral. - - On our high poop-deck he stood, - And round him ranged the men - Who have made their birthright good - Of manhood once and again,-- - Lords of helm and of sail, - Tried in tempest and gale, - Bronzed in battle and wreck. - Bell and Bailey grandly led - Each his line of the Blue and Red; - Wainwright stood by our starboard rail; - Thornton fought the deck. - And I mind me of more than they, - Of the youthful, steadfast ones, - That have shown them worthy sons - Of the seamen passed away. - Tyson conned our helm that day; - Watson stood by his guns. - - What thought our Admiral then, - Looking down on his men? - Since the terrible day,-- - (Day of renown and tears!) - When at anchor the _Essex_ lay,-- - Holding her foes at bay,-- - When a boy by Porter’s side he stood, - Till deck and plank-shear were dyed with blood; - ’Tis half a hundred years,-- - Half a hundred years to a day! - - Who could fail with him? - Who reckon of life or limb? - Not a pulse but beat the higher! - There had you seen, by the starlight dim, - Five hundred faces strong and grim: - The Flag is going under fire! - Right up by the fort, - With her helm hard aport, - The _Hartford_ is going under fire! - - The way to our work was plain. - Caldwell had broken the chain - (Two hulks swung down amain - Soon as ’twas sundered). - Under the night’s dark blue, - Steering steady and true, - Ship after ship went through, - Till, as we hove in view, - “Jackson” out-thundered! - - Back echoed “Philip!” ah! then - Could you have seen our men. - How they sprung in the dim night haze, - To their work of toil and of clamor! - How the boarders, with sponge and rammer, - And their captains, with cord and hammer, - Kept every muzzle ablaze. - How the guns, as with cheer and shout-- - Our tackle-men hurled them out-- - Brought up on the water-ways! - - First, as we fired at their flash, - ’Twas lightning and black eclipse, - With a bellowing roll and crash. - But soon, upon either bow, - What with forts and fire-rafts and ships, - (The whole fleet was hard at it now,) - All pounding away!--and Porter - Still thundering with shell and mortar,-- - ’Twas the mighty sound and form! - - (Such you see in the far South, - After long heat and drought, - As day draws nigh to even, - Arching from north to south, - Blinding the tropic sun, - The great black bow comes on, - Till the thunder-veil is riven,-- - When all is crash and levin, - And the cannonade of heaven - Rolls down the Amazon!) - - But, as we worked along higher, - Just where the river enlarges, - Down came a pyramid of fire,-- - It was one of your long coal barges. - (We had often had the like before.) - ’Twas coming down on us to larboard, - Well in with the eastern shore; - And our pilot, to let it pass round, - (You may guess we never stopped to sound) - Giving us a rank sheer to starboard, - Ran the Flag hard and fast aground! - - ’Twas nigh abreast of the Upper Fort, - And straightway a rascal ram - (She was shaped like the Devil’s dam) - Puffed away for us, with a snort, - And shoved it, with spiteful strength, - Right alongside of us to port. - It was all of our ship’s length,-- - A huge, crackling Cradle of the Pit! - Pitch-pine knots to the brim, - Belching flame red and grim, - What a roar came up from it! - - Well, for a little it looked bad: - But these things are, somehow, shorter, - In the acting than in the telling; - There was no singing out or yelling, - Or any fussing and fretting, - No stampede, in short; - But there we were, my lad, - All afire on our port quarter, - Hammocks ablaze in the netting, - Flames spouting in at every port, - Our fourth cutter burning at the davit - (No chance to lower away and save it). - - In a twinkling, the flames had risen - Half way to main-top and mizzen, - Darting up the shrouds like snakes! - Ah, how we clanked at the brakes, - And the deep, steaming pumps throbbed under, - Sending a ceaseless flow. - - Our topmen, a dauntless crowd, - Swarmed in rigging and shroud: - There, (’twas a wonder!) - The burning ratlines and strands - They quenched with their bare, hard hands; - But the great guns below - Never silenced their thunder. - - At last, by backing and sounding, - When we were clear of grounding, - And under headway once more, - The whole rebel fleet came rounding - The point. If we had it hot before, - ’Twas now from shore to shore, - One long, loud, thundering roar,-- - Such crashing, splintering, and pounding, - And smashing as you never heard before! - - But that we fought foul wrong to wreck, - And to save the land we loved so well, - You might have deemed our long gun-deck - Two hundred feet of hell! - - For above all was battle, - Broadside, and blaze, and rattle, - Smoke and thunder alone; - (But, down in the sick-bay, - Where our wounded and dying lay, - There was scarce a sob or a moan). - - And at last, when the dim day broke, - And the sullen sun awoke, - Drearily blinking - O’er the haze and the cannon smoke, - That ever such morning dulls,-- - There were thirteen traitor hulls - On fire and sinking! - - Now, up the river!--through mad Chalmette - Sputters a vain resistance yet, - Small helm we gave her our course to steer,-- - ’Twas nicer work then you well would dream, - With cant and sheer to keep her clear - Of the burning wrecks that cumbered the stream, - The _Louisiana_, hurled on high, - Mounts in thunder to meet the sky! - Then down to the depths of the turbid flood,-- - Fifty fathom of rebel mud! - The _Mississippi_ comes floating down, - A mighty bonfire from off the town; - And along the river, on stocks and ways, - A half-hatched devil’s brood is ablaze,-- - The great _Anglo-Norman_ is all in flames, - (Hark to the roar of her trembling frames!) - And the smaller fry that Treason would spawn - Are lighting Algiers like an angry dawn! - - From stem to stern, how the pirates burn, - Fired by the furious hands that built! - So to ashes forever turn - The suicide wrecks of wrong and guilt! - - But as we neared the city, - By field and vast plantation, - (Ah! millstone of our nation!) - With wonder and with pity, - What crowds we there espied - Of dark and wistful faces, - Mute in their toiling places, - Strangely and sadly eyed, - Haply ’mid doubt and fear, - Deeming deliverance near, - (One gave the ghost of a cheer!) - - And on that dolorous strand, - To greet the victor brave, - One flag did welcome wave-- - Raised, ah me! by a wretched hand, - All outworn on our cruel land,-- - The withered hand of a slave! - - But all along the levee, - In a dark and drenching rain, - (By this ’twas pouring heavy,) - Stood a fierce and sullen train, - A strange and frenzied time! - There were scowling rage and pain, - Curses, howls, and hisses, - Out of Hate’s black abysses,-- - Their courage and their crime - All in vain--all in vain! - - For from the hour that the Rebel Stream - With the Crescent City lying abeam, - Shuddered under our keel, - Smit to the heart with self-struck sting, - Slavery died in her scorpion-ring - And Murder fell on his steel. - - ’Tis well to do and dare; - But ever may grateful prayer - Follow, as aye it ought, - When the good fight is fought, - When the true deed is done. - Aloft in heaven’s pure light, - (Deep azure crossed on white,) - Our fair Church pennant waves - O’er a thousand thankful braves, - Bareheaded in God’s bright sun. - - Lord of mercy and frown, - Ruling o’er sea and shore, - Send us such scene once more! - All in line of battle - When the black ships bear down - On tyrant fort and town, - ’Mid cannon cloud and rattle; - And the great guns once more - Thunder back the roar - Of the traitor walls ashore, - And the traitor flags come down. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -SHERIDAN’S RIDE. - - -BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. - - Up from the south, at break of day, - Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, - The affrighted air with a shudder bore, - Like a herald in haste to the chieftain’s door, - The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, - Telling the battle was on once more, - And Sheridan twenty miles away. - - And wider still those billows of war - Thunder’d along the horizon’s bar; - And louder yet into Winchester roll’d - The roar of that red sea uncontroll’d, - Making the blood of the listener cold, - As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, - With Sheridan twenty miles away. - - But there is a road from Winchester town, - A good broad highway leading down: - And there, through the flush of the morning light, - A steed as black as the steeds of night - Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, - As if he knew the terrible need - He stretch’d away with his utmost speed; - Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, - With Sheridan fifteen miles away. - - Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south, - The dust like smoke from the cannon’s mouth, - Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, - Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. - The heart of the steed and the heart of the master - Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, - Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; - Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, - With Sheridan only ten miles away. - - Under his spurning feet, the road, - Like an arrowy Alpine river flow’d - And the landscape sped away behind - Like an ocean flying before the wind; - And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, - Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. - But, lo! he is nearing his heart’s desire; - He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, - With Sheridan only five miles away. - - The first that the general saw were the groups - Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; - What was done? what to do? a glance told him both. - Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, - He dash’d down the line, ’mid a storm of huzzas, - And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because - The sight of the master compell’d it to pause. - With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; - By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril’s play, - He seem’d to the whole great army to say: - “I have brought you Sheridan all the way - From Winchester down to save the day.” - - Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! - Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! - And when their statues are placed on high, - Under the dome of the Union sky, - The American soldier’s Temple of Fame, - There with the glorious general’s name - Be it said, in letters both bold and bright: - “Here is the steed that saved the day - By carrying Sheridan into the fight, - From Winchester,--twenty miles away!” - -[Illustration] - - - - -KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES. - - -BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. - - So that soldierly legend is still on its journey-- - That story of Kearney who knew not to yield! - ’Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and Birney, - Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. - Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest, - Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine, - Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest, - No charge like Phil Kearney’s along the whole line. - - When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, - Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground, - He rode down the length of the withering column, - And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound. - He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder,-- - His sword waved us on, and we answered the sign; - Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder: - “There’s the devil’s own fun, boys, along the whole line!” - - How he strode his brown steed! How we saw his blade brighten - In the one hand still left--and the reins in his teeth! - He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, - But a soldier’s glance shot from his visor beneath. - Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, - Asking where to go in--through the clearing or pine? - “Oh, anywhere! Forward! ’Tis all the same, Colonel: - You’ll find lovely fighting along the whole line!” - - Oh, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, - That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried! - Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, - The flower of our knighthood, the whole army’s pride! - Yet we dream that he still--in that shadowy region - Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer’s sign-- - Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion, - And the word still is Forward! along the whole line. - -[Illustration] - - - - -STONEWALL JACKSON’S WAY. - - -BY J. W. PALMER. - - [Mr. William Gilmore Simms tells us that this poem, - stained with blood, was found on the person of a dead - soldier of the Stonewall brigade after one of Jackson’s - battles in the Shenandoah Valley. Its authorship, - long unknown, has been discovered by Mr. Francis F. - Browne.--EDITOR.] - - Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails, - Stir up the camp-fire bright; - No growling if the canteen fails, - We’ll make a roaring night, - Here Shenandoah brawls along, - There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, - To swell the brigade’s rousing song - Of “Stonewall Jackson’s way.” - - We see him now--the queer slouched hat - Cocked o’er his eye askew; - The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat, - So calm, so blunt, so true. - The “Blue-light Elder” knows ’em well; - Says he, “That’s Bank’s--he’s fond of shell; - Lord save his soul! we’ll give him--” well! - That’s “Stonewall Jackson’s way.” - - Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! - Old Blue Light’s goin’ to pray. - Strangle the fool that dares to scoff! - Attention! it’s his way. - Appealing from his native sod, - In _forma pauperïs_ to God: - “Lay bare Thine arm; stretch forth Thy rod! - Amen!” That’s “Stonewall’s way.” - - He’s in the saddle now. Fall in! - Steady! the whole brigade! - Hill’s at the ford, cut off; we’ll win - His way out, ball and blade! - What matter if our shoes are worn? - What matter if our feet are torn? - “Quick step! we’re with him before morn!” - That’s “Stonewall Jackson’s way.” - - The sun’s bright lances rout the mists - Of morning, and, by George! - Here’s Longstreet, struggling in the lists, - Hemmed in an ugly gorge. - Pope and his Dutchmen, whipped before; - “Bay’nets and grape!” hear Stonewall roar; - “Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby’s score!” - In “Stonewall Jackson’s way.” - - Ah! Maiden, wait and watch and yearn - For news of Stonewall’s band! - Ah! Widow, read, with eyes that burn, - That ring upon thy hand. - Ah! Wife, sew on, pray on, hope on; - Thy life shall not be all forlorn; - The foe had better ne’er been born - That gets in “Stonewall’s way.” - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -MARCHING ALONG. - - -BY WILLIAM B. BRADBURY. - - [During the Civil War this song was frequently sung upon - the march by the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac. - Except “When this Cruel War is Over” and the doggerel about - “John Brown’s Body,” there was scarcely any song so often - heard. The name of the leader was changed, from time to - time, to accord with the facts.--EDITOR.] - - The army is gathering from near and from far; - The trumpet is sounding the call for the war; - McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong; - We’ll gird on our armor and be marching along. - - _Chorus._--Marching along, we are marching along, - Gird on the armor and be marching along; - McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong; - For God and our country we are marching along. - - The foe is before us in battle array, - But let us not waver, or turn from the way; - The Lord is our strength, and the Union’s our song; - With courage and faith we are marching along. - - _Chorus._--Marching along, etc. - - Our wives and our children we leave in your care; - We feel you will help them with sorrow to bear: - ’Tis hard thus to part, but we hope ’twon’t be long: - We’ll keep up our heart as we’re marching along. - - _Chorus._--Marching along, etc. - - We sigh for our country, we mourn for our dead; - For them now our last drop of blood we will shed; - Our cause is the right one--our foe’s in the wrong; - Then gladly we’ll sing as we’re marching along. - - _Chorus._--Marching along, etc. - - The flag of our country is floating on high; - We’ll stand by that flag till we conquer or die; - McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong; - We’ll gird on our armor and be marching along. - - _Chorus._--Marching along, etc. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BURIAL OF LATANÉ. - - -BY JOHN R. THOMPSON. - - [Captain Latané, of Stuart’s Confederate cavalry was - killed during the Pamunkey expedition in 1862. He was - buried by a company of women, one of whom read the service - for the dead, while a little girl strewed flowers on the - grave.--EDITOR.] - - The combat raged not long, but ours the day; - And, through the hosts that compassed us around, - Our little band rode proudly on its way, - Leaving one gallant comrade, glory-crowned, - Unburied on the field he died to gain-- - Single of all his men, amid the hostile slain. - - One moment on the battle’s edge he stood-- - Hope’s halo, like a helmet, round his hair; - The next beheld him, dabbled in his blood, - Prostrate in death--and yet, in death how fair! - Even thus he passed through the red gates of strife, - From earthly crowns and palms, to an immortal life. - - A brother bore his body from the field, - And gave it unto strangers’ hands, that closed - The calm blue eyes, on earth forever sealed, - And tenderly the slender limbs composed: - Strangers, yet sisters, who, with Mary’s love, - Sat by the open tomb, and, weeping, looked above. - - A little child strewed roses on his bier-- - Pale roses, not more stainless than his soul, - Nor yet more fragrant than his life sincere, - That blossomed with good actions--brief, but whole; - The aged matron and the faithful slave - Approached with reverent feet the hero’s lowly grave. - - No man of God might say the burial rite - Above the “rebel”--thus declared the foe - That blanched before him in the deadly fight; - But woman’s voice, with accents soft and low, - Trembling with pity--touched with pathos--read - Over his hallowed dust the ritual for the dead. - - “’Tis sown in weakness, it is raised in power!” - Softly the promise floated on the air, - While the low breathings of the sunset hour - Came back responsive to the mourner’s prayer. - Gently they laid him underneath the sod, - And left him with his fame, his country, and his God! - - Let us not weep for him, whose deeds endure! - So young, so brave, so beautiful! He died - As he had wished to die; the past is sure; - Whatever yet of sorrow may betide - Those who still linger by the stormy shore, - Change cannot harm him now, nor fortune touch him more. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -TARDY GEORGE. - - - [This poem was written at a time when the impatience of - the Northern people with the delay of McClellan to make use - of the means so lavishly provided for him, was scarcely - to be restrained. For many months McClellan had been in - command of a vast army, perfectly equipped and thoroughly - disciplined, yet month after month went by with nothing - done and nothing attempted. The discontent of the people - found much angrier expression than was given to it in these - stanzas, but this is one of the best metrical protests that - appeared.--EDITOR.] - - What are you waiting for, George, I pray? - To scour your cross-belts with fresh pipe-clay? - To burnish your buttons, to brighten your guns; - Or wait you for May-day and warm-spring suns? - Are you blowing your fingers because they are cold, - Or catching your breath ere you take a hold? - Is the mud knee-deep in valley and gorge? - What are you waiting for, tardy George? - - Want you a thousand more cannon made, - To add to the thousand now arrayed? - Want you more men, more money to pay? - Are not two millions enough per day? - Wait you for gold and credit to go, - Before we shall see your martial show; - Till Treasury Notes will not pay to forge? - What are you waiting for, tardy George? - - Are you waiting for your hair to turn, - Your heart to soften, your bowels to yearn - A little more toward “our Southern friends,” - As at home and abroad they work their ends? - “Our Southern friends!” whom you hold so dear - That you do no harm and give no fear, - As you tenderly take them by the gorge-- - What are you waiting for, tardy George? - - Now that you’ve marshalled your whole command, - Planned what you would, and changed what you planned, - Practised with shot and practised with shell, - Know to a hair where every one fell, - Made signs by day and signals by night; - Was it all done to keep out of a fight? - Is the whole matter too heavy a charge? - What are you waiting for, tardy George? - - Shall we have more speeches, more reviews? - Or are you waiting to hear the news; - To hold up your hands in mute surprise, - When France and England shall “recognize”? - Are you too grand to fight traitors small? - Must you have a nation to cope withal? - Well, hammer the anvil and blow the forge-- - You’ll soon have a dozen, tardy George. - - Suppose for a moment, George, my friend-- - Just for a moment--you condescend - To use the means that are in your hands, - The eager muskets and guns and brands; - Take one bold step on the Southern sod, - And leave the issue to watchful God! - For now the nation raises its gorge, - Waiting and watching you, tardy George. - - I should not much wonder, George, my boy, - If Stanton get in his head a toy, - And some fine morning, ere you are out, - He send you all “to the right about”-- - You and Jomini, and all the crew - Who think that war is nothing to do - But to drill and cipher, and hammer and forge-- - What are you waiting for, tardy George? - - January, 1862. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WANTED--A MAN. - - -BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. - - [This virile cry for a fit leader for the Army of the - Potomac was inspired by an editorial article of Henry J. - Raymond in the _New York Times_. It was written in 1862, - when the popular feeling of chagrin and humiliation over - McClellan’s failure and Pope’s disaster at Manassas was - most intense. Mr. Lincoln was so strongly impressed by the - poem that he read it to his Cabinet.--EDITOR.] - - Back from the trebly crimsoned field - Terrible words are thunder-tost; - Full of the wrath that will not yield, - Full of revenge for battles lost! - Hark to their echo, as it crost - The Capital, making faces wan: - “End this murderous holocaust; - Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN! - - “Give us a man of God’s own mould, - Born to marshal his fellow-men; - One whose fame is not bought and sold - At the stroke of a politician’s pen; - Give us the man of thousands ten, - Fit to do as well as to plan; - Give us a rallying-cry, and then, - Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN! - - “No leader to shirk the boasting foe, - And to march and countermarch our brave, - Till they fall like ghosts in the marshes low, - And swamp-grass covers each nameless grave; - Nor another, whose fatal banners wave - Aye in disaster’s shameful van; - Nor another, to bluster, and lie, and rave,-- - Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN! - - “Hearts are mourning in the North, - While the sister rivers seek the main, - Red with our life-blood flowing forth-- - Who shall gather it up again? - Though we march to the battle-plain - Firmly as when the strife began, - Shall all our offering be in vain?-- - Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN! - - “Is there never one in all the land, - One on whose might the Cause may lean? - Are all the common ones so grand, - And all the titled ones so mean? - What if your failure may have been - In trying to make good bread from bran, - From worthless metal a weapon keen?-- - Abraham Lincoln, find us a MAN! - - “Oh, we will follow him to the death, - Where the foeman’s fiercest columns are! - Oh, we will use our latest breath, - Cheering for every sacred star! - His to marshal us high and far; - Ours to battle, as patriots can - When a hero leads the Holy War!-- - Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!” - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -OVERTURES FROM RICHMOND. - -A NEW LILLIBULERO. - - -BY F. J. CHILD. - - “Well, Uncle Sam,” says Jefferson D., - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “You’ll have to join my Confed’racy,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, that don’t appear O, that don’t appear,” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, that don’t appear,” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “So, Uncle Sam, just lay down your arms,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “Then you shall hear my reas’nable terms,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, I’d like to hear O, I’d like to hear,” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, I’d like to hear,” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “First, you must own I’ve beat you in fight,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “Then, that I always have been in the right,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, rather severe O, rather severe,” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, rather severe,” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “Then you must pay my national debts,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “No questions asked about my assets,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, that’s very dear O, that’s very dear,” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, that’s very dear,” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “Also, some few I. O. U.’s and bets,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “Mine and Bob Toombs’s and Slidell’s and Rhett’s,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, that leaves me zero, that leaves me zero,” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, that leaves me zero,” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “And, by the way, one little thing more,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “You’re to refund the cost of the war,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, just what I fear O, just what I fear,” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, just what I fear,” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “Next, you must own our cavalier blood!” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “And that your Puritans sprang from the mud!” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, that mud is clear O, that mud is clear,” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, that mud is clear,” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “Slavery’s of course the chief corner-stone,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “Of our NEW CIV-IL-I-ZA-TION!” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, that’s quite sincere O, that’s quite sincere,” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, that’s quite sincere,” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “You’ll understand, my recreant tool,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “You’re to submit, and we are to rule,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, aren’t you a hero! aren’t you a hero!” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, aren’t you a hero!” - Says old Uncle Sam. - - “If to these terms you fully consent,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, - “I’ll be perpetual King-President,” - Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. - “Lero, lero, take your sombrero, off to your swamps!” - Says old Uncle Sam, - “Lero, lero, fillibustero, cut, double-quick!” - Says old Uncle Sam. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -BARBARA FRIETCHIE. - - -BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. - - Up from the meadows rich with corn, - Clear in the cool September morn, - - The cluster’d spires of Frederick stand - Green-wall’d by the hills of Maryland. - - Round about them orchards sweep, - Apple- and peach-trees fruited deep. - - Fair as the garden of the Lord - To the eyes of the famish’d rebel horde, - - On that pleasant morn of the early fall, - When Lee march’d over the mountain-wall,-- - - Over the mountains winding down, - Horse and foot, into Frederick town. - - Forty flags with their silver stars, - Forty flags with their crimson bars, - - Flapp’d in the morning wind: the sun - Of noon look’d down, and saw not one. - - Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, - Bow’d with her fourscore years and ten; - - Bravest of all in Frederick town, - She took up the flag the men haul’d down; - - In her attic window the staff she set, - To show that one heart was loyal yet. - - Up the street came the rebel tread, - Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. - - Under his slouch’d hat left and right - He glanced: the old flag met his sight. - - “Halt!”--the dust-brown ranks stood fast - “Fire!”--out blazed the rifle blast. - - It shiver’d the window, pane and sash; - It rent the banner with seam and gash. - - Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, - Dame Barbara snatch’d the silken scarf. - - She lean’d far out on the window-sill, - And shook it forth with a royal will. - - “Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, - But spare your country’s flag,” she said. - - A shade of sadness, a blush of shame - Over the face of the leader came. - - The nobler nature within him stirr’d - To life at that woman’s deed and word: - - “Who touches a hair of yon gray head - Dies like a dog! March on!” he said. - - All day long through Frederick street - Sounded the tread of marching feet: - - All day long that free flag tost - Over the heads of the rebel host. - - Ever its torn folds rose and fell - On the loyal winds that loved it well; - - And through the hill-gaps sunset light - Shone over it with a warm good-night. - - Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er, - And the rebel rides on his raids no more, - - Honor to her! and let a tear - Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier. - - Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave, - Flag of Freedom and Union, wave! - - Peace and order and beauty draw - Round thy symbol of light and law; - - And ever the stars above look down - On thy stars below in Frederick town! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -MUSIC IN CAMP. - - -BY JOHN R. THOMPSON. - - Two armies covered hill and plain, - Where Rappahannock’s waters - Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain - Of battle’s recent slaughters. - - The summer clouds lay pitched like tents - In meads of heavenly azure; - And each dread gun of the elements - Slept in its high embrasure. - - The breeze so softly blew, it made - No forest leaf to quiver; - And the smoke of the random cannonade - Rolled slowly from the river. - - And now where circling hills looked down - With cannon grimly planted, - O’er listless camp and silent town - The golden sunset slanted. - - When on the fervid air there came - A strain, now rich, now tender; - The music seemed itself aflame - With day’s departing splendor. - - A Federal band, which eve and morn - Played measures brave and nimble, - Had just struck up with flute and horn - And lively clash of cymbal. - - Down flocked the soldiers to the banks; - Till, margined by its pebbles, - One wooded shore was blue with “Yanks,” - And one was gray with “Rebels.” - - Then all was still; and then the band, - With movement light and tricksy, - Made stream and forest, hill and strand, - Reverberate with “Dixie.” - - The conscious stream, with burnished glow, - Went proudly o’er its pebbles, - But thrilled throughout its deepest flow - With yelling of the Rebels. - - Again a pause; and then again - The trumpet pealed sonorous, - And “Yankee Doodle” was the strain - To which the shore gave chorus. - - The laughing ripple shoreward flew - To kiss the shining pebbles; - Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue - Defiance to the Rebels. - - And yet once more the bugle sang - Above the stormy riot; - No shout upon the evening rang-- - There reigned a holy quiet. - - The sad, slow stream, its noiseless flood - Poured o’er the glistening pebbles; - All silent now the Yankees stood, - All silent stood the Rebels. - - No unresponsive soul had heard - That plaintive note’s appealing, - So deeply “Home, Sweet Home” had stirred - The hidden founts of feeling. - - Or Blue, or Gray, the soldier sees, - As by the wand of fairy, - The cottage ’neath the live oak trees, - The cabin by the prairie. - - Or cold, or warm, his native skies - Bend in their beauty o’er him; - Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes, - His loved ones stand before him. - - As fades the iris after rain - In April’s tearful weather, - The vision vanished as the strain - And daylight died together. - - But Memory, waked by Music’s art, - Expressed in simple numbers, - Subdued the sternest Yankee’s heart, - Made light the Rebel’s slumbers. - - And fair the form of Music shines-- - That bright celestial creature-- - Who still ’mid War’s embattled lines - Gave this one touch of Nature. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -FREDERICKSBURG. - -(December, 1862.) - - -BY W. F. W. - - Eighteen hundred and sixty-two,-- - That is the number of wounded men - Who, if the telegraph’s tale be true, - Reached Washington City but yestere’en. - - And it is but a handful, the telegrams add, - To those who are coming by boats and by cars, - Weary and wounded, dying and sad; - Covered--but only in front--with scars. - - Some are wounded by Minie shot, - Others are torn by the hissing shell, - As it burst upon them as fierce and as hot - As a demon spawned in a traitor’s hell. - - Some are pierced by the sharp bayonet, - Others are crushed by the horses’ hoof, - Or fell ’neath the shower of iron which met - Them as hail beats down on an open roof. - - Shall I tell what they did to meet this fate? - Why was this living death their doom? - Why did they fall to this piteous state - Neath the rifle’s crack and the cannon’s boom? - - Orders arrived, and the river they crossed; - Built the bridge in the enemy’s face; - No matter how many were shot and lost, - And floated--sad corpses--away from the place. - - Orders they heard, and they scaled the height, - Climbing right “into the jaws of death”; - Each man grasping his rifle-piece tight, - Scarcely pausing to draw his breath. - - Sudden flashed on them a sheet of flame - From hidden fence and from ambuscade; - A moment more--(they say this is fame)-- - A thousand dead men on the grass were laid. - - Fifteen thousand in wounded and killed, - At least, is “our loss,” the newspapers say. - This loss to our army must surely be filled - Against another great battle day. - - “Our loss!” Whose loss? Let demagogues say - That the Cabinet, President, all are in wrong: - What do the orphans and widows pray? - What is the burden of their sad song? - - ’Tis _their_ loss! but the tears in their weeping eyes - Hide Cabinet, President, Generals,--all; - And they only can see a cold form that lies - On the hill-side slope, by that fatal wall. - - They cannot discriminate men or means,-- - They only demand that this blundering cease. - In their frenzied grief they would end such scenes, - Though that end be--even with traitors--peace. - - Is thy face from thy people turned, O God? - Is thy arm for the nation no longer strong? - We cry from our homes--the dead cry from the sod-- - How long, oh, our righteous God! how long? - -[Illustration] - - - - -TREASON’S LAST DEVICE. - - -BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. - - [Certain politicians proposed, as a means of ending the - war, that a new confederacy or union should be formed, from - which the New England States should be excluded because of - their implacable hostility to slavery and their consequent - obnoxiousness to the South. There were many spirited - replies to this proposal, the best of which is this - poem.--EDITOR.] - - “Who deserves greatness - Deserves your hate ... - Yon common cry of curs, whose breath I loathe - As reek o’ the rotten fens.” - _Coriolanus._ - - “Hark! hark! the dogs do bark.” - _Nursery Rhyme._ - - - Sons of New England in the fray, - Do you hear the clamor behind your back? - Do you hear the yelping of Blanche and Tray? - Sweetheart, and all the mongrel pack? - Girded well with her ocean crags, - Little our mother heeds their noise; - Her eyes are fixed on crimson flags: - But you--do you hear it, Yankee boys? - - Do you hear them say that the patriot fire - Burns on her altars too pure and bright, - To the darkened heavens leaping higher, - Though drenched with the blood of every fight? - That in the light of its searching flame - Treason and tyrants stand revealed, - And the yielding craven is put to shame - On Capitol floor or foughten field? - - Do you hear the hissing voice which saith - That she--who bore through all the land - The lyre of Freedom, the torch of Faith, - And young Invention’s mystic wand-- - Should gather her skirts and dwell apart, - With not one of her sisters to share her fate,-- - A Hagar, wandering sick at heart? - A pariah bearing the nation’s hate? - - Sons, who have peopled the gorgeous West, - And planted the Pilgrim arm anew, - Where by a richer soil caressed, - It grows as ever its parent grew,-- - Say, do you hear--while the very bells - Of your churches ring with her ancient voice, - And the song of your children sweetly tells - How true was the land of your fathers’ choice-- - - Do you hear the traitors who bid you speak - The word that shall sever the sacred tie? - And ye who dwell by the golden peak, - Has the subtle whisper glided by? - Has it crossed the immemorial plains - To coasts where the gray Pacific roars, - And the Pilgrim blood in the people’s veins - Is pure as the wealth of their mountain ores? - - Spirits of sons who side by side - In a hundred battles fought and fell, - Whom now no East and West divide, - In the isles where the shades of heroes dwell,-- - Say, has it reached your glorious rest, - And ruffled the calm which crowns you there? - The shame that recreants have confest - The plot that floats in the troubled air? - - Sons of New England, here and there, - Wherever men are still holding by - The honor our fathers left so fair,-- - Say, do you hear the cowards’ cry? - Crouching amongst her grand old crags, - Lightly our mother heeds their noise, - With her fond eyes fixed on distant flags; - But you--do you hear it, Yankee boys? - - January 19, 1863. - -[Illustration] - - - - -IN LOUISIANA. - - -BY J. W. DE FOREST. - - Without a hillock stretched the plain; - For months we had not seen a hill; - The endless, flat Savannahs still - Wearied our eyes with waving cane. - - One tangled cane-field lay before - The ambush of the cautious foe; - Behind a black bayou, with low - Reed-hidden, miry, treacherous shore; - - A sullen swamp along the right, - Where alligators slept and crawled, - And moss-robed cypress giants sprawled - Athwart the noontide’s blistering light. - - Quick, angry spite of musketry - Proclaimed our skirmishers at work; - We saw their crouching figures lurk - Through thickets firing from the knee. - - Our Parrotts felt the distant wood - With humming, shrieking, growling shell; - When suddenly the mouth of hell - Gaped fiercely for its human food. - - A long and low blue roll of smoke - Curled up a hundred yards ahead, - And deadly storms of driving lead - From rifle-pits and cane-fields broke. - - Then, while the bullets whistled thick, - And hidden batteries boomed and shelled, - “Charge bayonets!” the colonel yelled; - “Battalion forward,--double quick!” - - With even slopes of bayonets - Advanced--a dazzling, threatening crest-- - Right toward the rebels’ hidden nest, - The dark blue, living billow sets. - - The color-guard was at my side; - I heard the color-sergeant groan; - I heard the bullet crush the bone; - I might have touched him as he died. - - The life-blood spouted from his mouth - And sanctified the wicked land; - Of martyred saviors what a band - Has suffered to redeem the South! - - I had no malice in my mind; - I only cried: “Close up! guide right!” - My single purpose in the fight - Was steady march with eyes aligned. - - I glanced along the martial rows, - And marked the soldiers’ eyeballs burn; - Their eager faces hot and stern,-- - The wrathful triumph on their brows. - - The traitors saw; they reeled and fled: - Fear-stricken, gray-clad multitudes - Streamed wildly toward the covering woods, - And left us victory and their dead. - - Once more the march, the tiresome plain, - The Father River fringed with dykes, - Gray cypresses, palmetto spikes, - Bayous and swamps and yellowing canes; - - With here and there plantations rolled - In flowers, bananas, orange groves, - Where laugh the sauntering negro droves, - Reposing from the task of old; - - And rarer, half-deserted towns, - Devoid of men, where women scowl, - Avoiding us as lepers foul - With sidling gait and flouting gowns. - - Thibodeaux, La., March, 1863. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -JOHN PELHAM. - - -BY JAMES R. RANDALL. - - [In most of the collections this poem is printed - under the title of “The Dead Cannoneer,” but the author - assures the present editor that the only title he ever - gave it is the name of the boy general, “John Pelham,” - who was killed at Kelly’s Ford, Virginia, 17th March, - 1863.--EDITOR.] - - Just as the spring came laughing through the strife, - With all its gorgeous cheer, - In the bright April of historic life, - Fell the great cannoneer. - - The wondrous lulling of a hero’s breath - His bleeding country weeps; - Hushed in the alabaster arms of Death, - Our young Marcellus sleeps. - - Nobler and grander than the Child of Rome - Curbing his chariot steeds, - The knightly scion of a Southern home - Dazzled the land with deeds. - - Gentlest and bravest in the battle-brunt, - The champion of the truth, - He bore his banner to the very front - Of our immortal youth. - - A clang of sabres ’mid Virginian snow, - The fiery pang of shells,-- - And there’s a wail of immemorial woe - In Alabama dells. - - The pennon drops that led the sacred band - Along the crimson field; - The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand - Over the spotless shield. - - We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face; - While round the lips and eyes, - Couched in their marble slumber, flashed the grace - Of a divine surprise. - - O mother of a blessed soul on high! - Thy tears may soon be shed; - Think of thy boy with princes of the sky, - Among the Southern dead! - - How must he smile on this dull world beneath, - Fevered with swift renown,-- - He, with the martyr’s amaranthine wreath - Twining the victor’s crown! - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR. - -(Bombardment of Fort Sumter by the fleet, 7th April, 1863.) - - -BY PAUL H. HAYNE. - - I. - Two hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe April day, - The Northmen’s mailed “Invincibles” steamed up fair Charleston Bay; - They came in sullen file and slow, low-breasted on the wave, - Black as a midnight front of storm, and silent as the grave. - - II. - A thousand warrior-hearts beat high as those dread monsters drew - More closely to the game of death across the breezeless blue, - And twice ten thousand hearts of those who watched the scene afar, - Thrill in the awful hush that bides the battle’s broadening star. - - III. - Each gunner, moveless by his gun, with rigid aspect stands, - The ready lanyards firmly grasped in bold, untrembling hands, - So moveless in their marbled calm, their stern heroic guise, - They looked like forms of statued stone with burning human eyes! - - IV. - Our banners on the outmost walls, with stately rustling fold, - Flash back from arch and parapet the sunlight’s ruddy gold,-- - They mount to the deep roll of drums, and widely echoing cheers, - And then--once more, dark, breathless, hushed, wait the grim - cannoneers. - - V. - Onward--in sullen file and slow, low glooming on the wave, - Near, nearer still, the haughty fleet glides silent as the grave, - When sudden, shivering up the calm, o’er startled flood and shore, - Burst from the sacred Island Fort the thunder-wrath of yore! - - VI. - Ha! brutal Corsairs! though ye come thrice-cased in iron mail, - Beware the storm that’s opening now, God’s vengeance guides - the hail! - Ye strive, the ruffian types of Might, ’gainst law and truth - and Right; - Now quail beneath a sturdier Power, and own a mightier Might! - - VII. - No empty boast! for while we speak, more furious, wilder, higher, - Dart from the circling batteries a hundred tongues of fire; - The waves gleam red, the lurid vault of heaven seems rent above; - Fight on, O knightly gentlemen! for faith and home and love! - - VIII. - There’s not in all that line of flame, one soul that would not rise - To seize the victor’s wreath of blood, though death must give - the prize-- - There’s not in all this anxious crowd that throngs the ancient town - A maid who does not yearn for power to strike one despot down. - - IX. - The strife grows fiercer! ship by ship the proud armada sweeps, - Where hot from Sumter’s raging breast the volleyed lightning leaps; - And ship by ship, raked, overborne, ere burned the sunset light, - Crawls in the gloom of baffled hate beyond the field of fight! - - X. - O glorious Empress of the Main! from out thy storied spires - Thou well mayst peal thy bells of joy, and light thy festal fires,-- - Since Heaven this day hath striven for thee, hath nerved thy - dauntless sons, - And thou in clear-eyed faith hast seen God’s angels near the guns! - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -RUNNING THE BATTERIES. - -(As observed from the anchorage above Vicksburg, April, 1863.) - - -BY HERMAN MELVILLE. - - A moonless night--a friendly one; - A haze dimmed the shadowy shore - As the first lampless boat slid silent on; - Hist! and we spake no more; - We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw. - - We felt the dew, and seemed to feel - The secret like a burden laid. - The first boat melts; and a second keel - Is blent with the foliaged shade-- - Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made? - - Unspied as yet. A third--a fourth-- - Gunboat and transport in Indian file - Upon the war-path, smooth from the North; - But the watch may they hope to beguile? - The manned river-batteries stretch far mile on mile. - - A flame leaps out; they are seen; - Another and another gun roars; - We tell the course of the boats through the screen - By each further fort that pours, - And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores. - - Converging fires. We speak, though low: - “That blastful furnace can they thread?” - “Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego - Came out all right, we read; - The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.” - - How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun - A golden growing flame appears-- - Confirms to a silvery steadfast one: - “The town is afire!” crows Hugh; “three cheers!” - Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.” - - A purposed light; it shows our fleet; - Yet a little late in its searching ray, - So far and strong, that in phantom cheat - Lank on the deck our shadows lay; - The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play. - - How dread to mark her near the glare - And glade of death the beacon throws - Athwart the racing waters there; - One by one each plainer grows, - Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes. - - The impartial cresset lights as well - The fixed forts to the boats that run; - And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell - Back to each fortress dun: - Ponderous words speaks every monster gun. - - Fearless they flash through gates of flame, - The salamanders hard to hit, - Though vivid shows each bulky frame; - And never the batteries intermit, - Nor the boat’s huge guns; they fire and flit. - - Anon a lull. The beacon dies. - “Are they out of that strait accurst?” - But other flames now dawning rise, - Not mellowly brilliant like the first, - But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst. - - A baleful brand, a hurrying torch - Whereby anew the boats are seen-- - A burning transport all alurch! - Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean - Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean. - - The effulgence takes an amber glow - Which bathes the hill-side villas far; - Affrighted ladies mark the show - Painting the pale magnolia-- - The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War. - - The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one, - Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly. - But the gauntlet now is nearly run, - The spleenful forts by fits reply, - And the burning boat dies down in morning’s sky. - - All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs! - Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun. - So burst we through their barriers - And menaces every one; - So Porter proves himself a brave man’s son. - -[Illustration] - - - - -KEENAN’S CHARGE - - -BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP. - - By the shrouded gleam of the western skies, - Brave Keenan looked in Pleasanton’s eyes - For an instant--clear, and cool, and still; - Then, with a smile, he said: “I will.” - - “Cavalry, charge!” Not a man of them shrank; - Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, - Rose joyously, with a willing breath-- - Rose like a greeting hail to death. - Then forward they sprang, and spurred, and clashed; - Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed; - Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, - In their faded coats of the blue and yellow; - And above in the air, with an instinct true, - Like a bird of war their pennon flew. - - With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds, - And blades that shine like sunlit reeds, - And strong brown faces bravely pale, - For fear their proud attempt shall fail, - Three hundred Pennsylvanians close - On twice ten thousand gallant foes. - - Line after line the troopers came - To the edge of the wood that was ring’d with flame; - Rode in and sabred and shot--and fell: - Nor came one back his wounds to tell. - And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall - In the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall, - While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung - ’Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung. - Line after line, ay, whole platoons, - Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons - By the maddened horses were onward borne - And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn; - As Keenan fought with his men, side by side. - - So they rode, till there were no more to ride. - - But over them lying there, shattered and mute, - What deep echo rolls? ’Tis a death salute - From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved - Your fate not in vain: the army was saved! - Over them now--year following year-- - Over their graves the pine-cones fall, - And the whippoorwill chants his spectre-call; - But they stir not again; they raise no cheer: - They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease, - Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace. - The rush of their charge is resounding still, - That saved the army at Chancellorsville. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON. - - -BY HARRY L. FLASH. - - Not ’mid the lightning of the stormy fight, - Not in the rush upon the vandal foe, - Did kingly Death, with his resistless might, - Lay the great leader low. - - His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke - In the full sunshine of a peaceful town; - When all the storm was hushed, the trusty oak - That propped our cause went down. - - Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground, - Recording all his grand, heroic deeds, - Freedom herself is writhing with the wound, - And all the country bleeds. - - He entered not the Nation’s Promised Land - At the red belching of the cannon’s mouth; - But broke the House of Bondage with his hand-- - The Moses of the South! - - O gracious God! not gainless is the loss: - A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest frown; - And while his country staggers with the Cross, - He rises with the Crown. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES. - - -BY MARGARET J. PRESTON. - -[The last words of Stonewall Jackson were: “Let us cross the river and -rest under the shade of the trees.”--_Editor._] - - What are the thoughts that are stirring his breast? - What is the mystical vision he sees? - --“Let us pass over the river, and rest - Under the shade of the trees.” - - Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks? - Sighs the worn spirit for respite or ease? - Is it a moment’s cool halt that he asks - Under the shade of the trees? - - Is it the gurgle of waters whose flow - Ofttime has come to him, borne on the breeze, - Memory listens to, lapsing so low, - Under the shade of the trees? - - Nay--though the rasp of the flesh was so sore, - Faith, that had yearnings far keener than these, - Saw the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore - Under the shade of the trees;-- - - Caught the high psalms of ecstatic delight-- - Heard the harps harping, like soundings of seas-- - Watched earth’s assoilèd ones walking in white - Under the shade of the trees. - - Oh, was it strange he should pine for release, - Touched to the soul with such transports as these,-- - He who so needed the balsam of peace, - Under the shade of the trees? - - Yea, it was noblest for him--it was best - (Questioning naught of our Father’s decrees), - There to pass over the river and rest - Under the shade of the trees! - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -STONEWALL JACKSON. - -(Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville, May, 1863.) - - -BY HERMAN MELVILLE. - - The Man who fiercest charged in fight, - Whose sword and prayer were long-- - Stonewall! - Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, - How can we praise? Yet coming days - Shall not forget him with this song. - - Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, - Vainly he died and set his seal-- - Stonewall! - Earnest in error, as we feel; - True to the thing he deemed was due, - True as John Brown or steel. - - Relentlessly he routed us; - But _we_ relent, for he is low-- - Stonewall! - Justly his fame we outlaw; so - We drop a tear on the bold Virginia’s bier, - Because no wreath we owe. - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Black Regiment - - -BY GEORGE H. BOKER. - - Dark as the clouds of even, - Ranked in the western heaven, - Waiting the breath that lifts - All the dead mass, and drifts - Tempest and falling brand - Over a ruined land,-- - So still and orderly, - Arm to arm, knee to knee, - Waiting the great event, - Stands the black regiment. - - Down the long dusky line - Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; - And the bright bayonet, - Bristling and firmly set, - Flashed with a purpose grand, - Long ere the sharp command - Of the fierce rolling drum - Told them their time had come, - Told them what work was sent - For the black regiment. - - “Now,” the flag-sergeant cried, - “Though death and hell betide, - Let the whole nation see - If we are fit to be - Free in this land; or bound - Down, like the whining hound,-- - Bound with red stripes of pain - In our cold chains again!” - Oh, what a shout there went - From the black regiment! - - “Charge!” trump and drum awoke; - Onward the bondsmen broke; - Bayonet and sabre-stroke - Vainly opposed their rush. - Through the wild battle’s crush, - With but one thought aflush, - Driving their lords like chaff, - In the gun’s mouth they laugh; - Or at the slippery brands, - Leaping with open hands, - Down they tear man and horse, - Down in their awful course; - Trampling with bloody heel - Over the crushing steel,-- - All their eyes forward bent, - Rushed the black regiment. - - “Freedom!” their battle-cry,-- - “Freedom! or leave to die!” - Ah! and they meant the word, - Not as with us ’tis heard, - Not a mere party shout; - They gave their spirits out, - Trusted the end to God, - And on the gory sod - Rolled in triumphant blood. - Glad to strike one free blow, - Whether for weal or woe; - Glad to breathe one free breath, - Though on the lips of death; - Praying,--alas! in vain! - That they might fall again, - So they could once more see - That burst to liberty! - This was what “freedom” lent - To the black regiment. - - Hundreds on hundreds fell; - But they are resting well; - Scourges, and shackles strong - Never shall do them wrong. - Oh, to the living few, - Soldiers, be just and true! - Hail them as comrades tried; - Fight with them side by side. - Never, in field or tent, - Scorn the black regiment! - - May 27, 1863. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -LITTLE GIFFEN OF TENNESSEE. - - -BY FRANCIS O. TICKNOR. - - Out of the focal and foremost fire, - Out of the hospital walls as dire, - Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene, - (Eighteenth battle, and he sixteen!) - Spectre such as we seldom see, - Little Giffen of Tennessee! - - “Take him--and welcome!” the surgeon said; - “Much your doctor can help the dead!” - And so we took him and brought him where - The balm was sweet on the summer air; - And we laid him down on a wholesome bed-- - Utter Lazarus, heel to head! - - Weary war with the bated breath, - Skeleton boy against skeleton Death, - Months of torture, how many such! - Weary weeks of the stick and crutch! - Still a glint in the steel-blue eye - Spoke of the spirit that would not die, - And didn’t nay, more! in death’s despite - The crippled skeleton learned to write! - “Dear mother,” at first, of course; and then, - “Dear captain”--inquiring about “the men.” - Captain’s answer--“Of eighty and five, - Giffen and I are left alive!” - - “Johnston’s pressed at the front, they say!” - Little Giffen was up and away. - A tear, his first, as he bade good-by, - Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye; - “I’ll write, if spared.” There was news of a fight, - But none of Giffen. He did not write! - - I sometimes fancy that were I king - Of the princely knights of the Golden Ring, - With the song of the minstrel in mine ear, - And the tender legend that trembles here, - I’d give the best, on his bended knee, - The whitest soul of my chivalry, - For Little Giffen of Tennessee! - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -GETTYSBURG - -(July 1, 2, 3, 1863.) - - -BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. - - Wave, wave your glorious battle-flags, brave soldiers of the North, - And from the fields your arms have won to-day go proudly forth! - For now, O comrades dear and leal--from whom no ills could part, - Through the long years of hopes and fears, the nation’s constant - heart-- - Men who have driven so oft the foe, so oft have striven in vain, - Yet ever in the perilous hour have crossed his path again,-- - At last we have our heart’s desire, from them we met have wrung - A victory that round the world shall long be told and sung! - It was the memory of the past that bore us through the fray, - That gave the grand old army strength to conquer on this day! - - Oh, now forget how dark and red Virginia’s rivers flow, - The Rappahannock’s tangled wilds, the glory and the woe; - The fever-hung encampments, where our dying knew full sore - How sweet the north-wind to the cheek it soon shall cool no more; - The fields we fought, and gained, and lost; the lowland sun and rain - That wasted us, that bleached the bones of our unburied slain! - There was no lack of foes to meet, of deaths to die no lack, - And all the hawks of heaven learned to follow on our track; - But henceforth, hovering southward, their flight shall mark afar - The paths of yon retreating host that shun the northern star. - - At night before the closing fray, when all the front was still, - We lay in bivouac along the cannon-crested hill. - Ours was the dauntless Second Corps; and many a soldier knew - How sped the fight, and sternly thought of what was yet to do. - Guarding the centre there, we lay, and talked with bated breath - Of Buford’s stand beyond the town, of gallant Reynolds’ death, - Of cruel retreats through pent-up streets by murderous volleys - swept,-- - How well the Stone, the Iron, brigades their bloody outposts kept: - ’Twas for the Union, for the Flag, they perished, heroes all, - And we swore to conquer in the end, or even like them to fall. - - And passed from mouth to mouth the tale of what grim day just done, - The fight by Round Top’s craggy spur--of all the deadliest one; - It saved the left: but on the right they pressed us back too well, - And like a field in spring the ground was ploughed with shot and - shell. - There was the ancient graveyard, its hummocks crushed and red. - And there, between them, side by side, the wounded and the dead: - The mangled corpses fallen above--the peaceful dead below, - Laid in their graves, to slumber here, a score of years ago; - It seemed their waking, wandering shades were asking of our slain, - What brought such hideous tumult now where they so still had lain! - - Bright rose the sun of Gettysburg that morrow morningtide, - And call of trump and roll of drum from height to height replied. - Hark! from the east already goes up the rattling din; - The Twelfth Corps, winning back their ground, right well the day - begin! - They whirl fierce Ewell from their front! Now we of the Second pray, - As right and left the brunt have borne, the centre might to-day. - But all was still from hill to hill for many a breathless hour, - While for the coming battle-shock Lee gathered in his power; - And back and forth our leaders rode, who knew not rest or fear, - And along the lines, where’er they came, went up the ringing cheer. - - ’Twas past the hour of nooning; the summer skies were blue; - Behind the covering timber the foe was hid from view; - So fair and sweet with waving wheat the pleasant valley lay, - It brought to mind our Northern homes and meadows far away; - When the whole western ridge at once was fringed with fire - and smoke, - Against our lines from seven-score guns the dreadful tempest broke! - Then loud our batteries answer, and far along the crest, - And to and fro the roaring bolts are driven east and west; - Heavy and dark around us glooms the stifling sulphur-cloud, - And the cries of mangled men and horse go up beneath its shroud. - - The guns are still: the end is nigh: we grasp our arms anew; - Oh, now let every heart be stanch and every aim be true! - For look! from yonder wood that skirts the valley’s further marge, - The flower of all the Southern host move to the final charge. - By heaven! it is a fearful sight to see their double rank - Come with a hundred battle-flags--a mile from flank to flank! - Tramping the grain to earth, they come, ten thousand men abreast; - Their standards wave--their hearts are brave--they hasten not, nor - rest, - But close the gaps our cannon make, and onward press, and nigher, - And, yelling at our very front, again pour in their fire. - - Now burst our sheeted lightnings forth, now all our wrath has vent! - They die, they wither; through and through their wavering lines are - rent. - But these are gallant, desperate men, of our own race and land, - Who charge anew, and welcome death, and fight us hand to hand: - Vain, vain! give way, as well ye may--the crimson die is cast! - Their bravest leaders bite the dust, their strength is failing fast; - They yield, they turn, they fly the field: we smite them as - they run; - Their arms, their colors, are our spoil; the furious fight is done! - Across the plain we follow far and backward push the fray: - Cheer! cheer! the grand old Army at last has won the day! - - Hurrah! the day has won the cause! No gray-clad host henceforth - Shall come with fire and sword to tread the highways of the North! - ’Twas such a flood as when ye see, along the Atlantic shore, - The great spring-tide roll grandly in with swelling surge and roar: - It seems no wall can stay its leap or balk its wild desire - Beyond the bound that Heaven hath fixed to higher mount, and higher; - But now, when whitest lifts its crest, most loud its billows call, - Touched by the Power that led them on, they fall, and fall, - and fall. - Even thus, unstayed upon his course, to Gettysburg the foe - His legions led, and fought, and fled, and might no further go. - - Full many a dark-eyed Southern girl shall weep her lover dead; - But with a price the fight was ours--we too have tears to shed! - The bells that peal our triumph forth anon shall toll the brave, - Above whose heads the cross must stand, the hill-side grasses wave! - Alas! alas! the trampled grass shall thrive another year, - The blossoms on the apple-boughs with each new spring appear, - But when our patriot-soldiers fall, Earth gives them up to God; - Though their souls rise in clearer skies, their forms are as - the sod; - Only their names and deeds are ours--but, for a century yet, - The dead who fell at Gettysburg the land shall not forget. - - God send us peace! and where for aye the loved and lost recline - Let fall, O South, your leaves of palm--O North, your sprigs - of pine! - But when, with every ripened year, we keep the harvest-home, - And to the dear Thanksgiving-feast our sons and daughters come-- - When children’s children throng the board in the old homestead - spread, - And the bent soldier of these wars is seated at the head, - Long, long the lads shall listen to hear the gray-beard tell - Of those who fought at Gettysburg and stood their ground so well: - “’Twas for the Union and the Flag,” the veteran shall say, - “Our grand old Army held the ridge, and won that glorious day!” - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -AT GETTYSBURG. - - - Like a furnace of fire blazed the midsummer sun, - When to saddle we leaped at the order, - Spurred on by the boom of the deep-throated gun - That told of the foe on our border. - A mist in our rear lay Antietam’s dark plain, - And thoughts of its carnage came o’er us; - But smiling beyond surged the fields of ripe grain, - And we swore none should reap it before us. - - That night, with the ensign who rode by my side, - On the camp’s dreary edge I stood picket, - Our ears intent lest every wind-rustle hide - A foe’s stealthy tread in the thicket; - And there, while we watched the first arrows of dawn - Through the veil of the rising mists quiver, - He told how the foeman had closed in upon - His home by the Tennessee River. - - He spoke of a sire in his weakness cut down, - With his last breath the traitor-flag scorning; - And his brow with the memory grew dark with a frown - That paled the red light of the morning. - For days he had followed the cowardly band; - And, when one lagged to forage or trifle, - Had seared in his forehead the deep Minié brand, - And scored a fresh notch in his rifle. - - But one of the rangers had cheated his fate-- - For him he would search the world over: - Such cool-plotting passion, such keenness of hate, - Ne’er saw I in woman-scorned lover. - Oh, who would have thought that beneath those dark curls - Lurked vengeance as sure as death-rattle; - Or fancied those dreamy eyes, soft as a girl’s, - Could light with the fury of battle? - - To horse! pealed the bugle, while grape-shot and shell - Overhead through the forest were crashing; - A cheer for the flag--and the summer light fell - On the blades from a thousand sheaths flashing. - As mad ocean-waves to the storm-revel flock, - So on we dashed, heedless of dangers; - A moment our long line surged back at the shock, - Then swept through the ranks of the Rangers. - - I looked for the ensign. Ahead of his troop, - Pressing on through the conflict infernal, - His torn flag furled round him in festoon and loop, - He spurred to the side of his colonel. - And his clear voice rang out, as I saw his bright sword - Through shako and gaudy plume shiver, - With, “This for the last of the murderous horde!” - And, “This for the home by the river!” - - At evening, returned from pursuit of the foe, - By a shell-shattered caisson we found him; - And we buried him there in the sunset’s red glow, - With the dear old flag knotted around him. - Yet how could we mourn, when each drum’s muffled strain - Told of foemen hurled back in disorder,-- - When we knew the North reaped her rich harvest of grain, - Unharmed by a foe on her border! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. - - -BY BRET HARTE. - - [A Union officer who was with the Eleventh Corps in - the battle of Gettysburg says: “During the first day’s - fight, an old man, in a swallow-tailed coat and battered - cylinder hat, came stalking across the fields from the - town, and made his appearance at Colonel Stone’s position. - With a musket in his hand and ammunition in his pocket, - this venerable citizen asked Colonel Wister’s permission - to fight. Wister directed him to go over to the Iron - Brigade, where he would be sheltered by the woods; but the - old man insisted on going forward to the skirmish line. - He was allowed to do so, and continued firing until the - skirmishers retired, when he was the last man to leave. - He afterwards fought with the Iron Brigade, where he was - three times wounded. This patriotic and heroic citizen - was Constable John Burns of Gettysburg.”--AUTHOR’S - NOTE.] - - Have you heard the story that gossips tell - Of Burns of Gettysburg? No? Ah, well: - Brief is the glory that hero earns, - Briefer the story of poor John Burns; - He was the fellow who won renown-- - The only man who didn’t back down - When the rebels rode through his native town; - But held his own in the fight next day, - When all his townsfolk ran away. - That was in July, sixty-three,-- - The very day that General Lee, - Flower of Southern chivalry, - Baffled and beaten, backward reeled - From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. - - I might tell how, but the day before, - John Burns stood at his cottage-door, - Looking down the village street, - Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine, - He heard the low of his gathered kine, - And felt their breath with incense sweet; - Or, I might say, when the sunset burned - The old farm gable, he thought it turned - The milk that fell like a babbling flood - Into the milk-pail, red as blood; - Or, how he fancied the hum of bees - Were bullets buzzing among the trees. - But all such fanciful thoughts as these - Were strange to a practical man like Burns, - Who minded only his own concerns, - Troubled no more by fancies fine - Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine,-- - Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, - Slow to argue, but quick to act. - That was the reason, as some folk say, - He fought so well on that terrible day. - - And it was terrible. On the right - Raged for hours the heady fight, - Thundered the battery’s double bass-- - Difficult music for men to face; - While on the left--where now the graves - Undulate like the living waves - That all the day unceasing swept - Up to the pits the rebels kept-- - Round-shot ploughed the upland glades, - Sown with bullets, reaped with blades; - Shattered fences here and there, - Tossed their splinters in the air; - The very trees were stripped and bare; - The barns that once held yellow grain - Were heaped with harvests of the slain; - The cattle bellowed on the plain, - The turkeys screamed with might and main, - And brooding barn-fowl left their rest - With strange shells bursting in each nest. - - Just where the tide of battle turns, - Erect and lonely, stood old John Burns. - How do you think the man was dressed? - He wore an ancient, long buff vest, - Yellow as saffron--but his best; - And buttoned over his manly breast - Was a bright-blue coat with a rolling collar, - And large gilt buttons--size of a dollar,-- - With tails that the country-folk called “swaller.” - He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat, - White as the locks on which it sat. - Never had such a sight been seen - For forty years on the village green, - Since old John Burns was a country beau, - And went to the “quiltings” long ago. - - Close at his elbows all that day, - Veterans of the Peninsula, - Sunburnt and bearded, charged away; - And striplings, downy of lip and chin,-- - Clerks that the Home-Guard mustered in,-- - Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore, - Then at the rifle his right hand bore; - And hailed him, from out their youthful lore, - With scraps of a slangy repertoire: - “How are you, White Hat?” “Put her through!” - “Your head’s level!” and “Bully for you!” - Called him “Daddy,”--begged he’d disclose - The name of the tailor who made his clothes, - And what was the value he set on those; - While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, - Stood there picking the rebels off-- - With his long brown rifle, and bell-crowned hat, - And the swallow-tails they were laughing at. - - ’Twas but a moment, for that respect - Which clothes all courage their voices checked; - And something the wildest could understand - Spake in the old man’s strong right hand, - And his corded throat, and the lurking frown - Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown; - Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe - Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, - In the antique vestments and long white hair, - The Past of the Nation in battle there; - And some of the soldiers since declare - That the gleam of his old white hat afar, - Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, - That day was their oriflamme of war. - - Thus raged the battle. You know the rest; - How the rebels, beaten, and backward pressed, - Broke at the final charge and ran. - At which John Burns-a practical man-- - Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, - And then went back to his bees and cows. - - That is the story of old John Burns; - This is the moral the reader learns: - In fighting the battle, the question’s whether - You’ll show a hat that’s white, or a feather. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -WOMAN’S WAR MISSION. - - - Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses, - Turn the key on your jewels to-day, - And the wealth of your tendril-like tresses - Braid back, in a serious way: - No more delicate gloves, no more laces, - No more trifling in boudoir and bower; - But come with your souls in your faces-- - To meet the stern needs of the hour! - - Look around! By the torchlight unsteady, - The dead and the dying seem one. - What! paling and trembling already, - Before your dear mission’s begun? - These wounds are more precious than ghastly; - Fame presses her lips to each scar, - As she chants of a glory which vastly - Transcends all the horrors of war. - - Pause here by this bedside--how mellow - The light showers down on that brow! - Such a brave, brawny visage!--Poor fellow! - Some homestead is missing him now. - Some wife shades her eyes in the clearing, - Some mother sits moaning, distressed,-- - While the loved one lies faint, but unfearing, - With the enemy’s ball in his breast. - - Here’s another: a lad--a mere stripling-- - Picked up from the field, almost dead; - With the blood through his sunny hair rippling - From a horrible gash in the head. - They say he was first in the action, - Gay-hearted, quick-handed, and witty; - He fought till he fell with exhaustion, - At the gates of our fair Southern city. - - Fought and fell ’neath the guns of that city, - With a spirit transcending his years; - Lift him up in your large-hearted pity, - And touch his pale lips with your tears. - Touch him gently--most sacred the duty - Of dressing that poor shattered hand! - God spare him to rise in his beauty, - And battle once more for the land! - - Who groaned? What a passionate murmur-- - “_In thy mercy, O God, let me die!_” - Ha! surgeon, your hand must be firmer, - That grape-shot has shattered his thigh. - Fling the light on those poor furrowed features, - Gray-haired and unknown--bless the brother! - O God! that one of _thy_ creatures - Should e’er work such woe on another! - - Wipe the sweat from his brow with your kerchief; - Let the stain tattered collar go wide, - See! he stretches out blindly to search if - The surgeon still stands at his side. - “_My son’s over yonder! he’s wounded--_ - _Oh! this ball that has broken my thigh!_” - And again he burst out, all a-tremble,-- - “_In thy mercy, O God! let me die!_” - - Pass on! It is useless to linger - While others are claiming your care; - There is need of your delicate finger, - For your womanly sympathy, there! - There are sick ones athirst for caressing-- - There are dying ones raving for home-- - There are wounds to be bound with a blessing-- - And shrouds to make ready for some. - - They have gathered about you the harvest - Of death, in its ghastliest view; - The nearest as well as the farthest - Is here with the traitor and true! - And crowned with your beautiful patience, - Made sunny with love at the heart, - You must balsam the wounds of a nation, - Nor falter, nor shrink from your part! - - Up and down through the wards, where the fever - Stalks noisome, and gaunt and impure, - You must go with your steadfast endeavor - To comfort, to counsel, to cure! - I grant that the task’s superhuman, - But strength will be given to you - To do for these dear ones what woman - Alone in her pity can do. - - And the lips of the mothers will bless you - As angels sweet visaged and pale! - And the little ones run to caress you, - While the wives and the sisters cry “Hail!” - But e’en if you drop down unheeded, - What matter? God’s ways are the best; - You’ve poured out your life where ’twas needed, - And He will take care of the rest. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE. - - - We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more, - From Mississippi’s winding stream and from New England’s shore; - We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear, - With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear; - We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before: - We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! - - If you look across the hill-tops that meet the northern sky, - Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry; - And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside, - And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride, - And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour: - We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! - - If you look all up our valleys where the growing harvests shine, - You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast forming into line; - And children from their mother’s knees are pulling at the weeds, - And learning how to reap and sow against their country’s needs; - And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door: - We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! - - You have called us, and we’re coming, by Richmond’s bloody tide - To lay us down, for Freedom’s sake, our brothers’ bones beside, - Or from foul treason’s savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade, - And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade. - Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before: - We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! - -[Illustration] - - - - -LEE TO THE REAR. - - -BY JOHN R. THOMPSON. - - [During the battles in the Wilderness at the beginning of - the campaign of 1864, General Robert E. Lee, impressed with - the desperate necessity of carrying a certain peculiarly - difficult position, seized the colors of a Texas regiment - and undertook to lead the perilous assault in person. The - troops and their colonel remonstrated with vehemence, the - colonel, in his men’s behalf, pledging the regiment to - carry the position if General Lee would retire. The troops - advanced to the charge shouting “Lee to the Rear!” as a - sort of battle cry.--EDITOR.] - - Dawn of a pleasant morning in May - Broke through the Wilderness cool and gray; - While perched in the tallest tree-tops, the birds - Were carolling Mendelssohn’s “Songs without Words.” - - Far from the haunts of men remote, - The brook brawled on with a liquid note; - And Nature, all tranquil and lovely, wore - The smile of the spring, as in Eden of yore. - - Little by little, as daylight increased, - And deepened the roseate flush in the East-- - Little by little did morning reveal - Two long glittering lines of steel; - - Where two hundred thousand bayonets gleam, - Tipped with the light of the earliest beam, - And the faces are sullen and grim to see - In the hostile armies of Grant and Lee. - - All of a sudden, ere rose the sun, - Pealed on the silence the opening gun-- - A little white puff of smoke there came, - And anon the valley was wreathed in flame. - - Down on the left of the Rebel lines, - Where a breastwork stands in a copse of pines, - Before the Rebels their ranks can form, - The Yankees have carried the place by storm. - - Stars and Stripes on the salient wave, - Where many a hero has found a grave, - And the gallant Confederates strive in vain - The ground they have drenched with their blood, to regain. - - Yet louder the thunder of battle roared-- - Yet a deadlier fire on the columns poured; - Slaughter infernal rode with Despair, - Furies twain, through the murky air. - - Not far off, in the saddle there sat - A gray-bearded man in a black slouched hat; - Not much moved by the fire was he, - Calm and resolute Robert Lee. - - Quick and watchful he kept his eye - On the bold Rebel brigades close by,-- - Reserves that were standing (and dying) at ease, - While the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees. - - For still with their loud, deep, bull-dog bay, - The Yankee batteries blazed away, - And with every murderous second that sped - A dozen brave fellows, alas! fell dead. - - The grand old gray-beard rode to the space - Where Death and his victims stood face to face, - And silently waved his old slouched hat-- - A world of meaning there was in that! - - “Follow me! Steady! We’ll save the day!” - This was what he seemed to say; - And to the light of his glorious eye - The bold brigades thus made reply: - - “We’ll go forward, but you must go back”-- - And they moved not an inch in the perilous track: - “Go to the rear, and we’ll send them to hell!” - And the sound of the battle was lost in their yell. - - Turning his bridle, Robert Lee - Rode to the rear. Like waves of the sea, - Bursting the dikes in their overflow, - Madly his veterans dashed on the foe. - - And backward in terror that foe was driven, - Their banners rent and their columns riven, - Wherever the tide of battle rolled - Over the Wilderness, wood and wold. - - Sunset out of a crimson sky - Streamed o’er a field of ruddier dye, - And the brook ran on with a purple stain, - From the blood of ten thousand foemen slain. - - Seasons have passed since that day and year-- - Again o’er its pebbles the brook runs clear, - And the field in a richer green is drest - Where the dead of a terrible conflict rest. - - Hushed is the roll of the Rebel drum, - The sabres are sheathed, and the cannon are dumb; - And Fate, with his pitiless hand, has furled - The flag that once challenged the gaze of the world; - - But the fame of the Wilderness fight abides; - And down into history grandly rides, - Calm and unmoved as in battle he sat, - The gray-bearded man in the black slouched hat. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -Kearsarge and Alabama - -(Action of 19 June, 1864.) - - - It was early Sunday morning, in the year of sixty-four, - The _Alabama_ she steam’d out along the Frenchman’s shore. - Long time she cruised about, - Long time she held her sway, - But now beneath the Frenchman’s shore she lies off Cherbourg Bay. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave - Over the Union, the home of the brave. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave, - God bless America, the home of the brave! - - The Yankee cruiser hove in view, the _Kearsarge_ was her name, - It ought to be engraved in full upon the scroll of fame; - Her timbers made of Yankee oak, - And her crew of Yankee tars, - And o’er her mizzen peak she floats the glorious stripes and stars. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave - Over the Union, the home of the brave. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave, - God bless America, the home of the brave! - - A challenge unto Captain Semmes, bold Winslow he did send! - “Bring on your _Alabama_, and to her we will attend, - For we think your boasting privateer - Is not so hard to whip; - And we’ll show you that the _Kearsarge_ is not a merchant ship.” - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave - Over the Union, the home of the brave. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave, - God bless America, the home of the brave! - - It was early Sunday morning, in the year of sixty-four, - The _Alabama_ she stood out and cannons loud did roar; - The _Kearsarge_ stood undaunted, and quickly she replied - And let a Yankee ’leven-inch shell go tearing through her side. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave - Over the Union, the home of the brave. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave, - God bless America, the home of the brave! - - The _Kearsarge_ then she wore around and broadside on did bear, - With shot and shell and right good-will, her timbers she did tear; - When they found that they were sinking, down came the stars - and bars, - For the rebel gunners could not stand the glorious stripes - and stars. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave - Over the Union, the home of the brave! - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave, - God bless America, the home of the brave! - - The _Alabama_ she is gone, she’ll cruise the seas no more, - She met the fate she well deserved along the Frenchman’s shore; - Then here is luck to the _Kearsarge_ we know what she can do, - Likewise to Captain Winslow and his brave and gallant crew. - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave - Over the Union, the home of the brave! - Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave, - God bless America, the home of the brave! - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BAY FIGHT - -(Mobile Harbor, August 8, 1864.) - - -BY HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. - - Three days through sapphire seas we sailed, - The steady Trade blew strong and free, - The Northern Light his banners paled, - The Ocean Stream our channels wet, - We rounded low Canaveral’s lee, - And passed the isles of emerald set - In blue Bahama’s turquoise sea. - - By reef and shoal obscurely mapped, - And hauntings of the gray sea-wolf, - The palmy Western Key lay lapped - In the warm washing of the Gulf. - - But weary to the hearts of all - The burning glare, the barren reach - Of Santa Rosa’s withered beach, - And Pensacola’s ruined wall. - - And weary was the long patrol, - The thousand miles of shapeless strand, - From Brazos to San Blas that roll - Their drifting dunes of desert sand. - - Yet coastwise as we cruised or lay, - The land-breeze still at nightfall bore, - By beach and fortress-guarded bay, - Sweet odors from the enemy’s shore, - - Fresh from the forest solitudes, - Unchallenged of his sentry lines,-- - The bursting of his cypress buds, - And the warm fragrance of his pines. - - Ah, never braver bark and crew, - Nor bolder Flag a foe to dare, - Had left a wake on ocean blue - Since Lion-Heart sailed Trenc-le-mer! - - But little gain by that dark ground - Was ours, save, sometime, freer breath - For friend or brother strangely found, - ’Scaped from the drear domain of death. - - And little venture for the bold, - Or laurel for our valiant Chief, - Save some blockaded British thief, - Full fraught with murder in his hold, - - Caught unawares at ebb or flood, - Or dull bombardment, day by day, - With fort and earthwork, far away, - Low couched in sullen leagues of mud. - - A weary time,--but to the strong - The day at last, as ever, came; - And the volcano, laid so long, - Leaped forth in thunder and in flame! - - “_Man your starboard battery!_” - Kimberly shouted;-- - The ship, with her hearts of oak, - Was going, ’mid roar and smoke, - On to victory; - None of us doubted, - No, not our dying-- - Farragut’s Flag was flying! - - Gaines growled low on our left, - Morgan roared on our right; - Before us, gloomy and fell, - With breath like the fume of hell, - Lay the dragon of iron shell, - Driven at last to the fight! - - Ha, old ship! do they thrill, - The brave two hundred scars - You got in the River-Wars? - That were leeched with clamorous skill, - (Surgery savage and hard,) - Splinted with bolt and beam, - Probed in scarfing and seam, - Rudely linted and tarred - With oakum and boiling pitch, - And sutured with splice and hitch, - At the Brooklyn Navy-Yard! - - Our lofty spars were down, - To bide the battle’s frown - (Wont of old renown)-- - But every ship was drest - In her bravest and her best, - As if for a July day; - Sixty flags and three, - As we floated up the bay-- - At every peak and mast-head flew - The brave Red, White, and Blue,-- - We were eighteen ships that day. - - With hawsers strong and taut, - The weaker lashed to port, - On we sailed two by two-- - That if either a bolt should feel - Crash through caldron or wheel, - Fin of bronze, or sinew of steel, - Her mate might bear her through. - - Forging boldly ahead, - The great Flag-Ship led, - Grandest of sights! - On her lofty mizzen flew - Our leader’s dauntless Blue, - That had waved o’er twenty fights - So we went with the first of the tide, - Slowly, ’mid the roar - Of the rebel guns ashore - And the thunder of each full broadside. - - Ah, how poor the prate - Of statute and state - We once held these fellows! - Here on the flood’s pale-green, - Hark how he bellows, - Each bluff old Sea-Lawyer! - Talk to them, Dahlgren, - Parrott, and Sawyer! - - On, in the whirling shade - Of the cannon’s sulphury breath, - We drew to the Line of Death - That our devilish Foe had laid,-- - Meshed in a horrible net, - And baited villainous well, - Right in our path were set - Three hundred traps of hell! - - And there, O sight forlorn! - There, while the cannon - Hurtled and thundered,-- - (Ah, what ill raven - Flapped o’er the ship that morn!)-- - Caught by the under-death, - In the drawing of a breath - Down went dauntless Craven, - He and his hundred! - - A moment we saw her turret, - A little heel she gave, - And a thin white spray went o’er her, - Like the crest of a breaking wave;-- - In that great iron coffin, - The channel for their grave, - The fort their monument, - (Seen afar in the offing), - Ten fathom deep lie Craven - And the bravest of our brave. - - Then in that deadly track - A little the ships held back, - Closing up in their stations;-- - There are minutes that fix the fate - Of battles and of nations, - (Christening the generations,) - When valor were all too late, - If a moment’s doubt be harbored;-- - From the main-top, bold and brief, - Came the word of our grand old chief: - “_Go on!_”--’twas all he said,-- - Oar helm was put to starboard, - And the _Hartford_ passed ahead. - - Ahead lay the _Tennessee_, - On our starboard bow he lay, - With his mail-clad consorts three - (The rest had run up the bay); - There he was, belching flame from his bow, - And the steam from his throat’s abyss - Was a Dragon’s maddened hiss; - In sooth a most cursed craft!-- - In a sullen ring, at bay, - By the Middle-Ground they lay, - Raking us fore and aft. - - Trust me, our berth was hot, - Ah, wickedly well they shot-- - How their death-bolts howled and stung! - And the water-batteries played - With their deadly cannonade - Till the air around us rung; - So the battle raged and roared;-- - Ah, had you been aboard - To have seen the fight we made! - How they leapt, the tongues of flame, - From the cannon’s fiery lip! - How the broadsides, deck and frame, - Shook the great ship! - - And how the enemy’s shell - Came crashing, heavy and oft, - Clouds of splinters flying aloft - And falling in oaken showers;-- - But ah, the pluck of the crew! - Had you stood on that deck of ours, - You had seen what men may do. - - Still, as the fray grew louder, - Boldly they worked and well-- - Steadily came the powder, - Steadily came the shell. - And if tackle or truck found hurt, - Quickly they cleared the wreck-- - And the dead were laid to port, - All a-row, on our deck. - - Never a nerve that failed, - Never a cheek that paled, - Not a tinge of gloom or pallor;-- - There was bold Kentucky’s grit, - And the old Virginian valor, - And the daring Yankee wit. - - There were blue eyes from turfy Shannon, - There were black orbs from palmy Niger,-- - But there alongside the cannon, - Each man fought like a tiger! - - A little, once, it looked ill, - Our consort began to burn-- - They quenched the flames with a will, - But our men were falling still, - And still the fleet were astern. - - Right abreast of the Fort - In an awful shroud they lay, - Broadsides thundering away, - And lightning from every port; - Scene of glory and dread! - A storm-cloud all aglow - With flashes of fiery red, - The thunder raging below, - And the forest of flags o’erhead! - - So grand the hurly and roar, - So fiercely their broadsides blazed, - The regiments fighting ashore - Forgot to fire as they gazed. - - There, to silence the foe, - Moving grimly and slow, - They loomed in that deadly wreath, - Where the darkest batteries frowned,-- - Death in the air all round, - And the black torpedoes beneath! - - And now, as we looked ahead, - All for’ard, the long white deck - Was growing a strange dull red,-- - But soon, as once and again - Fore and aft we sped, - (The firing to guide or check,) - You could hardly choose but tread - On the ghastly human wreck, - (Dreadful gobbet and shred - That a minute ago were men!) - Red, from mainmast to bitts! - Red, on bulwark and wale, - Red, by combing and hatch, - Red, o’er netting and vail! - - And ever, with steady con, - The ship forged slowly by,-- - And ever the crew fought on, - And their cheers rang loud and high. - - Grand was the sight to see - How by their guns they stood, - Right in front of our dead, - Fighting square abreast-- - Each brawny arm and chest - All spotted with black and red, - Chrism of fire and blood! - - Worth our watch, dull and sterile, - Worth all the weary time, - Worth the woe and the peril, - To stand in that strait sublime! - - Fear? A forgotten form! - Death? A dream of the eyes! - We were atoms in God’s great storm - That roared through the angry skies. - - One only doubt was ours, - One only dread we knew,-- - Could the day that dawned so well - Go down for the Darker Powers? - _Would_ the fleet get through? - And ever the shot and shell - Came with the howl of hell, - The splinter-clouds rose and fell, - And the long line of corpses grew,-- - _Would_ the fleet win through? - - They are men that never will fail, - (How aforetime they’ve fought!) - But Murder may yet prevail,-- - They may sink as Craven sank. - - Therewith one hard fierce thought, - Burning on heart and lip, - Ran like fire through the ship; - _Fight_ her, to the last plank! - - A dimmer renown might strike - If Death lay square alongside,-- - But the old Flag has no like, - She must fight, whatever betide;-- - When the War is a tale of old, - And this day’s story is told, - They shall hear how the _Hartford_ died! - - But as we ranged ahead, - And the leading ships worked in, - Losing their hope to win, - The enemy turned and fled-- - And one seeks a shallow reach! - And another, winged in her flight, - Our mate, brave Jouett, brings in;-- - And one, all torn in the fight, - Runs for a wreck on the beach, - Where her flames soon fire the night. - - And the Ram, when well up the Bay, - And we looked that our stems should meet, - (He had us fair for a prey,) - Shifting his helm midway, - Sheered off, and ran for the fleet; - There, without skulking or sham, - He fought them gun for gun; - And ever he sought to ram, - But could finish never a one. - - From the first of the iron shower - Till we sent our parting shell, - ’Twas just one savage hour - Of the roar and the rage of hell. - - With the lessening smoke and thunder, - Our glasses around we aim,-- - What is that burning yonder? - Our _Philippi_--aground and in flame! - - Below, ’twas still all a-roar, - As the ships went by the shore, - But the fire of the Fort had slacked, - (So fierce their volleys had been,)-- - And now with a mighty din, - The whole fleet came grandly in, - Though sorely battered and wracked. - - So, up the Bay we ran, - The Flag to port and ahead,-- - And a pitying rain began - To wash the lips of our dead. - - A league from the Fort we lay, - And deemed that the end must lag,-- - When lo! looking down the Bay, - There flaunted the Rebel Rag:-- - The Ram is again under way - And heading dead for the Flag! - - Steering up with the stream, - Boldly his course he lay, - Though the fleet all answered his fire, - And, as he still drew nigher, - Ever on bow and beam - Our Monitors pounded away; - How the _Chickasaw_ hammered away! - - Quickly breasting the wave, - Eager the prize to win, - First of us all the brave - _Monongahela_ went in - Under full head of steam;-- - Twice she struck him abeam, - Till her stem was a sorry work, - (She might have run on a crag!) - The _Lackawanna_ hit fair, - He flung her aside like cork, - And still he held for the Flag. - - High in the mizzen shroud, - (Lest the smoke his sight o’erwhelm,) - Our Admiral’s voice rang loud; - “Hard-a-starboard your helm! - _Starboard, and run him down!_” - Starboard it was,--and so, - Like a black squall’s lifting frown, - Our mighty bow bore down - On the iron beak of the Foe. - - We stood on the deck together, - Men that had looked on death - In battle and stormy weather; - Yet a little we held our breath, - When, with the hush of death, - The great ships drew together. - - Our Captain strode to the bow, - Drayton, courtly and wise, - Kindly cynic, and wise, - (You hardly had known him now, - The flame of fight in his eyes!)-- - His brave heart eager to feel - How the oak would tell on the steel! - - But, as the space grew short, - A little he seemed to shun us; - Out peered a form grim and lanky, - And a voice yelled, “_Hard-a-port!_ - _Hard-a-port!--here’s the damned Yankee_ - _Coming right down on us!_” - - He sheered, but the ships ran foul - With a gnarring shudder and growl: - He gave us a deadly gun; - But as he passed in his pride, - (Rasping right alongside!) - The old Flag, in thunder-tones - Poured in her port broadside, - Rattling his iron hide - And cracking his timber-bones! - - Just then, at speed on the Foe, - With her bow all weathered and brown, - The great _Lackawanna_ came down - Full tilt, for another blow;-- - We were forging ahead, - She reversed--but, for all our pains, - Rammed the old _Hartford_, instead, - Just for’ard the mizzen chains! - - Ah! how the masts did buckle and bend, - And the stout hull ring and reel, - As she took us right on end! - (Vain were engine and wheel, - She was under full steam,)-- - With the roar of a thunder-stroke - Her two thousand tons of oak - Brought up on us, right abeam! - - A wreck, as it looked, we lay,-- - (Rib and plank shear gave way - To the stroke of that giant wedge!) - Here, after all, we go-- - The old ship is gone!--ah, no, - But cut to the water’s edge. - - Never mind then,--at him again! - His flurry now can’t last long; - He’ll never again see land,-- - Try that on _him_, Marchand! - On him again, brave Strong! - - Heading square at the hulk, - Full on his beam we bore; - But the spine of the huge Sea-Hog - Lay on the tide like a log, - He vomited flame no more. - - By this, he had found it hot;-- - Half the fleet, in an angry ring, - Closed round the hideous thing, - Hammering with solid shot, - And bearing down, bow on bow; - He has but a minute to choose,-- - Life or renown?--which now - Will the Rebel Admiral lose? - - Cruel, haughty, and cold, - He ever was strong and bold; - Shall he shrink from a wooden stem? - He will think of that brave band - He sank in the _Cumberland_; - Ay, he will sink like them. - - Nothing left but to fight - Boldly his last sea-fight! - Can he strike? By Heaven, ’tis true! - Down comes the traitor Blue, - And up goes the captive White! - - Up went the White! Ah, then - The hurrahs that once and again - Rang from three thousand men - All flushed and savage with fight! - Our dead lay cold and stark; - But our dying, down in the dark, - Answered as best they might, - Lifting their poor lost arms, - And cheering for God and Right! - - Ended the mighty noise, - Thunder of forts and ships. - Down we went to the hold, - Oh, our dear dying boys! - How we pressed their poor brave lips - (Ah, so pallid and cold!) - And held their hands to the last, - (Those who had hands to hold). - - Still thee, O woman heart! - (So strong an hour ago;) - If the idle tears must start, - ’Tis not in vain they flow. - - They died, our children dear. - On the drear berth-deck they died,-- - Do not think of them here-- - Even now their footsteps near - The immortal, tender sphere-- - (Land of love and cheer! - Home of the Crucified!). - - And the glorious deed survives; - Our threescore, quiet and cold, - Lie thus, for a myriad lives - And treasure--millions untold,-- - (Labor of poor men’s lives, - Hunger of weans and wives, - Such is war-wasted gold). - - Our ship and her fame to-day - Shall float on the storied Stream - When mast and shroud have crumbled away, - And her long white deck is a dream. - - One daring leap in the dark, - Three mortal hours, at the most,-- - And hell lies stiff and stark - On a hundred leagues of coast. - - For the mighty Gulf is ours,-- - The bay is lost and won, - An Empire is lost and won! - Land, if thou yet hast flowers, - Twine them in one more wreath - Of tenderest white and red, - (Twin buds of glory and death!) - For the brows of our brave dead, - For thy Navy’s noblest son. - - Joy, O Land, for thy sons, - Victors by flood and field! - The traitor walls and guns - Have nothing left but to yield; - (Even now they surrender!) - - And the ships shall sail once more, - And the cloud of war sweep on - To break on the cruel shore;-- - But Craven is gone, - He and his hundred are gone. - - The flags flutter up and down - At sunrise and twilight dim, - The cannons menace and frown,-- - But never again for him, - Him and the hundred. - - The Dahlgrens are dumb, - Dumb are the mortars; - Never more shall the drum - Beat to colors and quarters,-- - The great guns are silent. - - O brave heart and loyal! - Let all your colors dip;-- - Mourn him proud ship! - From main deck to royal. - God rest our Captain, - Rest our lost hundred! - - Droop, flag and pennant! - What is your pride for? - Heaven, that he died for, - Rest our Lieutenant, - Rest our brave threescore! - - * * * * * - - O Mother Land! this weary life - We led, we lead, is ’long of thee; - Thine the strong agony of strife, - And thine the lonely sea. - - Thine the long decks all slaughter-sprent, - The weary rows of cots that lie - With wrecks of strong men, marred and rent, - ’Neath Pensacola’s sky. - - And thine the iron caves and dens - Wherein the flame our war-fleet drives; - The fiery vaults, whose breath is men’s - Most dear and precious lives! - - Ah, ever when with storm sublime - Dread Nature clears our murky air, - Thus in the crash of falling crime - Some lesser guilt must share. - - Full red the furnace fires must glow - That melt the ore of mortal kind; - The mills of God are grinding slow, - But ah, how close they grind! - - To-day the Dahlgren and the drum - Are dread Apostles of His Name; - His kingdom here can only come - By chrism of blood and flame. - - Be strong: already slants the gold - Athwart these wild and stormy skies; - From out this blackened waste, behold - What happy homes shall rise! - - But see thou well no traitor gloze, - No striking hands with Death and Shame, - Betray the sacred blood that flows - So freely for thy name. - - And never fear a victor foe-- - Thy children’s hearts are strong and high; - Nor mourn too fondly; well they know - On deck or field to die. - - Nor shalt thou want one willing breath, - Though, ever smiling round the brave, - The blue sea bear us on to death, - The green were one wide grave. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE LOYAL FISHER. - - - The wife in the cot is lonely - Since the fisher went away, - And the sun-burnt child it hath not smil’d - This many and many a day. - And the schools of mack’rel come unscared - To the shoals of the inner bay. - - For the fisherman said one spring-time: - “Dear wife, I have set my sail - These twenty years to the northern meres, - The icebergs, the mist and gale, - And my country hath paid the shot, good wife, - However I chanced to fail.” - - “Yes, paid for my sailor’s knowledge, - And the skill of my ready hand; - And the blue on my arm, as a sacred charm, - Is the flag that guards the land. - The time has come to pay that debt, - Tho’ my life it should demand.” - - So bravely the loyal fisher - Sailed for the southern sea, - Never a hook nor a bait he took - For the deadly fishery; - But the staunchest man at the straining rope - In the northerner was he. - - On the bloody deck of the _Hartford_ - At last the fisher lay, - The azure charm pricked on his arm - Was striped with red that day; - And his debt of twenty years was paid - With a life in Mobile Bay. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -SHERMAN’S MARCH TO THE SEA. - - -BY SAMUEL H. M. BYERS. - - [General Sherman, in a recent conversation with the - editor of this collection, declared that it was this poem - with its phrase, “march to the sea,” that threw a glamour - of romance over the campaign which it celebrates. Said - General Sherman: “The thing was nothing more or less - than a change of base, an operation perfectly familiar - to every military man, but a poet got hold of it, gave - it the captivating label, ‘The March to the Sea,’ and - the unmilitary public made a romance out of it.” It may - be remarked that the General’s modesty overlooks the - important fact that the romance lay really in his own deed - of derring-do; the poet merely recorded it, or at most - interpreted it to the popular intelligence. The glory of - the great campaign was Sherman’s and his army’s; the joy of - celebrating it was the poet’s; the admiring memory of it is - the people’s.--EDITOR.] - -[Illustration] - -SHERMAN’S MARCH TO THE SEA. - - Our camp-fires shone bright on the mountain - That frowned on the river below, - As we stood by our guns in the morning, - And eagerly watched for the foe; - When a rider came out of the darkness - That hung over mountain and tree, - And shouted: “Boys, up and be ready! - For Sherman will march to the sea.” - - Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman - Went up from each valley and glen, - And the bugles re-echoed the music - That came from the lips of the men; - For we knew that the stars in our banner - More bright in their splendor would be, - And that blessings from Northland would greet us - When Sherman marched down to the sea. - - Then forward, boys! forward to battle! - We marched on our wearisome way, - We stormed the wild hills of Resaca, - God bless those who fell on that day! - Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory, - Frowned down on the flag of the free, - But the East and the West bore our standard - And Sherman marched on to the sea. - - Still onward we pressed till our banners - Swept out from Atlanta’s grim walls, - And the blood of the patriot dampened - The soil where the traitor flag falls. - We paused not to weep for the fallen, - Who slept by each river and tree. - Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel - As Sherman marched down to the sea. - - Oh, proud was our army that morning, - That stood where the pine darkly towers, - When Sherman said: “Boys, you are weary, - But to-day fair Savannah is ours!” - Then sang we the song of our chieftain, - That echoed o’er river and lea, - And the stars in our banner shone brighter - When Sherman marched down to the sea. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -SHERMAN’S MARCH - - -BY A SOLDIER. - - Their lips are still as the lips of the dead, - The gaze of their eyes is straight ahead; - The tramp, tramp, tramp of ten thousand feet - Keep time to that muffled, monotonous beat,-- - Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! - - Ten thousand more! and still they come - To fight a battle for Christendom! - With cannon and caissons, and flags unfurled, - The foremost men in all the world! - Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! - - The foe is entrenched on the frowning hill,-- - A natural fortress, strengthened by skill; - But vain are the walls to those who face - The champions of the human race! - Rub a dub dub; rub a dub dub! - - “By regiment! Forward into line!” - Then sabres and guns and bayonets shine. - Oh ye, who feel your fate at last, - Repeat the old prayer as your hearts beat fast! - Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! - - Oh, ye who waited and prayed so long - That Right might have a fair fight with Wrong, - No more in fruitless marches shall plod, - But smite the foe with the wrath of God! - Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! - - O Death! what a charge that carried the hill! - That carried, and kept, and holds it still! - The foe is broken and flying with fear, - While far on their route our drummers I hear,-- - Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE YEAR OF JUBILEE. - - - [A body of negro troops entered Richmond singing - this song when the Union forces took possession of - the Confederate capital. It is an interesting fact, - illustrative of the elasticity of spirit shown by the - losers in the great contest, that the song, which might - have been supposed to be peculiarly offensive to their - wounded pride and completely out of harmony with their deep - depression and chagrin, became at once a favorite among - them, and was sung, with applause, by young men and maidens - in wellnigh every house in Virginia.--EDITOR.] - - Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa, - Wid de muffstash on he face, - Go long de road some time dis mornin’, - Like he gwine leabe de place? - He see de smoke way up de ribber - Whar de Lincum gunboats lay; - He took he hat an’ leff berry sudden, - And I spose he’s runned away. - De massa run, ha, ha! - De darkey stay, ho, ho! - It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’, - An’ de yar ob jubilo. - - He six foot one way an’ two foot todder, - An’ he weigh six hundred poun’; - His coat so big he couldn’t pay de tailor, - An’ it won’t reach half way roun’; - He drill so much dey calls him cap’n, - An he git so mighty tanned, - I spec he’ll try to fool dem Yankees, - For to tink he contraband. - De massa run, ha, ha! - De darkey stay, ho, ho! - It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’, - An’ de yar ob jubilo. - - De darkeys got so lonesome libb’n - In de log hut on de lawn, - Dey moved dere tings into massa’s parlor - For to keep it while he gone. - Dar’s wine an’ cider in de kitchin, - An’ de darkeys dey hab some, - I spec it will be all fiscated, - When de Lincum sojers come. - De massa run, ha, ha! - De darkey stay, ho, ho! - It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’, - An’ de yar ob jubilo. - - De oberseer he makes us trubble, - An’ he dribe us roun’ a spell, - We lock him up in de smoke-house cellar, - Wid de key flung in de well. - De whip am lost, de han’-cuff broke, - But de massy hab his pay; - He big an’ ole enough for to know better - Dan to went an’ run away. - De massa run, ha, ha! - De darkey stay, ho, ho! - It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’, - An’ de yar ob jubilo. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CONQUERED BANNER. - - -BY ABRAM J. RYAN. - - [This poem appeared very soon after the surrender of - the Confederate armies, and was probably the first, as it - is the finest, poetical expression of reverent regret for - the Lost Cause, without any touch of bitterness in its - loss. The author was a Catholic priest, who wrote a number - of poems of merit, though none that appealed so strongly - as this one does to the generous sympathy of the victor - with the sorrow of the vanquished. The author was born in - Norfolk, Va., August 15, 1839, and died in Louisville, Ky., - April 22, 1886.--EDITOR.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CONQUERED BANNER. - - - Furl that Banner, for ’tis weary, - Round its staff ’tis drooping dreary: - Furl it, fold it,--it is best; - For there’s not a man to wave it, - And there’s not a sword to save it, - And there’s not one left to lave it - In the blood which heroes gave it, - And its foes now scorn and brave it: - Furl it, hide it,--let it rest! - - Take the Banner down! ’tis tattered; - Broken is its staff and shattered, - And the valiant hosts are scattered - Over whom it floated high. - Oh, ’tis hard for us to fold it, - Hard to think there’s none to hold it, - Hard that those who once unrolled it - Now must furl it with a sigh! - - Furl that Banner--furl it sadly; - Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, - And ten thousands wildly, madly - Swore it should forever wave-- - Swore that foemen’s sword could never - Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, - And that flag should float forever - O’er their freedom, or their grave! - - Furl it!--for the hands that grasped it, - And the hearts that fondly clasped it, - Cold and dead are lying low; - And the Banner--it is trailing, - While around it sounds the wailing, - Of its people in their woe; - - For though conquered, they adore it-- - Love the cold dead hands that bore it, - Weep for those who fell before it, - Pardon those who trailed and tore it; - And, oh, wildly they deplore it, - Now to furl and fold it so! - - Furl that Banner! True, ’tis gory, - Yet ’tis wreathed around with glory, - And ’twill live in song and story - Though its folds are in the dust! - For its fame on brightest pages, - Penned by poets and by sages, - Shall go sounding down the ages-- - Furl its folds though now we must! - - Furl that Banner, softly, slowly; - Treat it gently--it is holy, - For it droops above the dead; - Touch it not--unfold it never; - Let it droop there, furled forever,-- - For its people’s hopes are fled. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - - - - -SOMEBODY’S DARLING. - - -BY MARIA LA CONTE. - - Into a ward of the whitewashed halls - Where the dead and the dying lay, - Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, - Somebody’s darling was borne one day-- - Somebody’s darling, so young and brave; - Wearing yet on his sweet pale face-- - Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave-- - The lingering light of his boyhood’s grace. - - Matted and damp are the curls of gold - Kissing the snow of that fair young brow, - Pale are the lips of delicate mould-- - Somebody’s darling is dying now. - Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow - Brush his wandering waves of gold; - Cross his hands on his bosom now-- - Somebody’s darling is still and cold. - - Kiss him once for somebody’s sake, - Murmur a prayer soft and low; - One bright curl from its fair mates take-- - They were somebody’s pride, you know. - Somebody’s hand hath rested here-- - Was it a mother’s, soft and white? - Or have the lips of a sister fair - Been baptized in their waves of light? - - God knows best. He has somebody’s love, - Somebody’s heart enshrined him there, - Somebody wafts his name above, - Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. - Somebody wept when he marched away, - Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; - Somebody’s kiss on his forehead lay, - Somebody clung to his parting hand. - - Somebody’s watching and waiting for him, - Yearning to hold him again to her heart; - And there he lies with his blue eyes dim, - And the smiling, childlike lips apart. - Tenderly bury the fair young dead-- - Pausing to drop on his grave a tear. - Carve on the wooden slab o’er his head: - “Somebody’s darling slumbers here.” - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - - - - -LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. - - -BY SARAH T. BOLTON. - - What, was it a dream? am I all alone - In the dreary night and the drizzling rain? - Hist!--ah, it was only the river’s moan; - They have left me behind with the mangled slain. - - Yes, now I remember it all too well! - We met, from the battling ranks apart; - Together our weapons flashed and fell, - And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart. - - In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done, - It was all too dark to see his face; - But I heard his death groans, one by one, - And he holds me still in a cold embrace. - - He spoke but once, and I could not hear - The words he said, for the cannon’s roar; - But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear,-- - O God! I had heard that voice before! - - Had heard it before at our mother’s knee, - When we lisped the words of our evening prayer! - My brother! would I had died for thee,-- - This burden is more than my soul can bear! - - I pressed my lips to his death-cold cheek, - And begged him to show me by word or sign, - That he knew and forgave me; he could not speak, - But he nestled his poor cold face to mine. - - The blood flowed fast from my wounded side, - And then for a while I forgot my pain, - And over the lakelet we seemed to glide - In our little boat, two boys again. - - And then, in my dream, we stood alone - On a forest path where the shadows fell; - And I heard again the tremulous tone - And the tender words of his last farewell. - - But that parting was years, long years ago, - He wandered away to a foreign land; - And our dear old mother will never know - That he died to-night by his brother’s hand. - - * * * * * - - The soldiers who buried the dead away - Disturbed not the clasp of that last embrace, - But laid them to sleep till the judgment day, - Heart folded to heart, and face to face. - -[Illustration] - - - - -DRIVING HOME THE COWS. - - -BY KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD. - - Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass, - He turned them into the river-lane; - One after another he let them pass, - Then fastened the meadow bars again. - - Under the willows, and over the hill, - He patiently followed their sober pace; - The merry whistle for once was still, - And something shadowed the sunny face. - - Only a boy! and his father had said - He never could let his youngest go; - Two already were lying dead - Under the feet of the trampling foe. - - But after the evening work was done, - And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp, - Over his shoulder he slung his gun, - And stealthily followed the foot-path damp. - - Across the clover and through the wheat, - With resolute heart and purpose grim, - Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, - And the blind bat’s flitting startled him. - - Thrice since then had the lanes been white, - And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom; - And now when the cows came back at night, - The feeble father drove them home. - - For news had come to the lonely farm - That three were lying where two had lain; - And the old man’s tremulous, palsied arm - Could never lean on a son’s again. - - The summer day grew cold and late, - He went for the cows when the work was done; - But down the lane, as he opened the gate, - He saw them coming, one by one,-- - - Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, - Shaking their horns in the evening wind; - Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,-- - But who was it following close behind? - - Loosely swung in the idle air - The empty sleeve of army blue; - And worn and pale from the crisping hair - Looked out a face that the father knew. - - For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn, - And yield their dead unto life again; - And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn - In golden glory at last may wane. - - The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes; - For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb; - And under the silent evening skies, - Together they followed the cattle home. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -AFTER ALL. - - -BY WILLIAM WINTER - - The apples are ripe in the orchard, - The work of the reaper is done, - And the golden woodlands redden - In the blood of the dying sun. - - At the cottage door the grandsire - Sits pale in his easy-chair, - While the gentle wind of twilight - Plays with his silver hair. - - A woman is kneeling beside him; - A fair young head is pressed, - In the first wild passion of sorrow, - Against his agéd breast. - - And far from over the distance - The faltering echoes come - Of the flying blast of trumpet - And the rattling roll of the drum. - - And the grandsire speaks in a whisper: - “The end, no man can see; - But we gave him to his country, - And we give our prayers to thee.” - - The violets star the meadows, - The rosebuds fringe the door, - And over the grassy orchard - The pink-white blossoms pour. - - But the grandsire’s chair is empty, - The cottage is dark and still; - There’s a nameless grave in the battle-field, - And a new one under the hill. - - And a pallid, tearless woman - By the cold hearth sits alone, - And the old clock in the corner - Ticks on with a steady drone. - -[Illustration] - - - - -“HE’LL SEE IT WHEN HE WAKES.” - - -BY FRANK LEE. - - [In “Bugle Echoes” Mr. Francis F. Browne introduces this - poem with the following note: “In one of the battles in - Virginia, a gallant young Mississippian had fallen, and - at night, just before burying him, there came a letter - from his betrothed. One of the burial group took the - letter and laid it upon the breast of the dead soldier, - with the words: ‘Bury it with him. He’ll see it when he - wakes.’”--EDITOR.] - - Amid the clouds of battle-smoke - The sun had died away, - And where the storm of battle broke - A thousand warriors lay. - A band of friends upon the field - Stood round a youthful form - Who, when the war-cloud’s thunder pealed, - Had perished in the storm. - Upon his forehead, on his hair, - The coming moonlight breaks, - And each dear brother standing there - A tender farewell takes. - - But ere they laid him in his home - There came a comrade near, - And gave a token that had come - From her the dead held dear. - A moment’s doubt upon them pressed, - Then one the letter takes, - And lays it low upon his breast-- - “He’ll see it when he wakes.” - O thou who dost in sorrow wait, - Whose heart with anguish breaks, - Though thy dear message came too late, - “He’ll see it when he wakes.” - - No more amid the fiery storm - Shall his strong arm be seen; - No more his young and manly form - Tread Mississippi’s green; - And e’en thy tender words of love-- - The words affection speaks-- - Came all too late; but oh! thy love - “Will see them when he wakes.” - No jars disturb his gentle rest, - No noise his slumber breaks, - But thy words sleep upon his breast-- - “He’ll see them when he wakes.” - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE RÉVEILLE. - - -BY BRET HARTE. - - Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands, - And of arméd men the hum; - Lo! a nation’s hosts have gathered - Round the quick-alarming drum-- - Saying: “Come, - Freemen, come! - Ere your heritage be wasted,” said the quick-alarming drum. - - “Let me of my heart take counsel: - War is not of life the sum; - Who shall stay and reap the harvest - When the autumn days shall come?” - But the drum - Echoed: “Come! - Death shall reap the braver harvest,” said the solemn-sounding drum. - - “But when won the coming battle, - What of profit springs therefrom? - What if conquest, subjugation, - Even greater ills become?” - But the drum - Answered: “Come! - You must do the sum to prove it,” said the Yankee-answering drum. - - “What if, ’mid the cannon’s thunder, - Whistling shot and bursting bomb, - When my brothers fall around me, - Should my heart grow cold and numb?” - But the drum - Answered: “Come! - Better there in death united than in life a recreant--Come!” - - Thus they answered--hoping, fearing, - Some in faith and doubting some, - Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, - Said: “My chosen people, come!” - Then the drum, - Lo! was dumb; - For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered: - “Lord, we come!” - -[Illustration] - - - - -RÉVEILLE. - - -BY MICHAEL O’CONNOR. - - [The author of this poem was a sergeant in the 140th - regiment of New York volunteers, who died at the age - of 25 years, at Potomac Station, Va., December 28, - 1862.--EDITOR.] - - The morning is cheery, my boys, arouse! - The dew shines bright on the chestnut boughs, - And the sleepy mist on the river lies, - Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes. - Awake! awake! awake! - O’er field and wood and brake, - With glories newly born, - Comes on the blushing morn. - Awake! awake! - - You have dreamed of your homes and friends all night; - You have basked in your sweethearts’ smiles so bright; - Come, part with them all for a while again,-- - Be lovers in dreams; when awake, be men, - Turn out! turn out! turn out! - You have dreamed full long, I know. - Turn out! turn out! turn out! - The east is all aglow. - Turn out! turn out! - - From every valley and hill they come - The clamoring voices of fife and drum; - And out in the fresh, cool morning air - The soldiers are swarming everywhere. - Fall in! fall in! fall in! - Every man in his place - Fall in! fall in! fall in! - Each with a cheerful face. - Fall in! fall in! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE WHITE ROSE. - - -BY JOSEPH O’CONNOR. - - It is a withered rose, - That like a rose’s corpse, full dry and wan, - Finds here its last repose, - Its lustre dulled, its form and softness crushed, - The tender life with which its petals flushed, - And all its soul of subtle fragrance gone; - A primal rose that bloomed - Among the kindling brands, as white as frost, - Where Zillah stood undoomed, - Or from Mahomet’s forehead fluttered fair - To earth, when Al Borak cleft through the air - In flight to heaven, might leave so frail a ghost. - - The poet moralist - Has ever taken sombre joy to sing - Upon a theme so trist, - And write in dust of roses lessons grim-- - That pleasures must be snatched ere they grow dim, - For germs of death in folds of beauty cling; - - That since the roses die, - No mortal loveliness may long endure; - No joy outlast a sigh; - No passion’s thrill, no labor’s work remain - Beyond a season; that Decay doth reign;-- - Though in the tyrant’s very riot, sure, - Some pledge of hope is found - That all the universe is not a grave - And life sits somewhere crowned. - Not Tasso’s soft persuasion unto sin - I find, dear rose, thy withered leaves within, - Nor any precept Epicurus gave; - To me thou dost not breathe - A thought of festivals, or memory - Of woven, wine-dipped wreath, - Or kisses on ripe lips, or fond regret - For bounds by time to fleeting pleasures set, - Or wish to bring thy beauty back to thee. - - To kiss thy leaves I bend, - And lo! The crash of cannon fills mine ears; - I see the banners blend - Into the battle smoke; and the long lines - Of marching men where glint of bayonet shines - Through clouds of dust; the hopes, the hates, the fears - Of old thrill through my heart; - Again the myriad ghosts of the great war - From out their cerements start; - Again the nation in the contest strains - Its every nerve; again the deep refrains - Of groan and cheer break on us from afar! - - What mystery of power - To fill the mind with visions such as these - Lies in this scentless flower? - ’Tis three and twenty years this very June, - Since first it opened to the southern noon - And swung in languor to a southern breeze; - And on the stalwart breast - Of one that wore the blue, while yet in bloom, - ’Twas set in gallant jest; - In the long march’s dust it drooped its head - And in the smoke of Gettysburg lay dead, - With many a life more precious finding doom. - - Beside a farmer’s home - In shade and shine this rose of battle grew, - What time the rolling drum - Announced the crisis of the war at hand, - As Meade pressed swiftly north through Maryland, - And ever closer to Lee’s columns drew; - On that grim, weary march - Rain seldom fell; the June sun fiercely glowed - And seemed all things to parch; - The winds grew still, nor in their motion swung - The dust that round the lithe battalions clung - For miles, on many a winding country road. - - The women stood in groups - And watched with tear-wet eyes and smiling lips - The marching of the troops; - The smiles came at the sight of manhood stern - Moving to sacrifice with unconcern; - The tears were for the battle’s drear eclipse - That was so soon to fall - On many a home where then the sunshine slept-- - The shadow of a pall; - And though their hopes went with the stripes and stars, - Or lingered far away with stars and bars, - Yet they were women still--and smiled and wept! - - And where this rosebud lush - Had blossomed into innocence and peace - Upon its modest bush, - A column halted for a rest at noon - And the tired soldiers, glad of such a boon, - Flung knapsacks off, stacked arms, and took their ease. - - And there to one that quaffed - From the deep farmhouse well, with careless zest, - A luscious draught, - A fair girl said, scorn lurking round her mouth: - “Dare these men meet the veterans of the South?” - Half earnestly she spoke, and half in jest. - The soldier’s serious eyes - An instant flashed, and then grew soft again, - While yet the quick surprise - Was flushing his bronzed cheek; but he was born - To reverence womanhood, and not to scorn; - And so disdained to wound her with disdain. - He spoke with quiet grace - In even tones, a smile both quaint and grave - Upon his firm, strong face: - “To wear in the next battle give to me - A rose,” he said, “and then the rose will see!” - In sobered mood she plucked this flower and gave. - - It seems another age - When things like these were done; the rose’s bloom - He took as battle gage, - And with his laughing comrades went his way, - Well knowing that the columns wide astray - Were fast converging for the day of doom! - - O streams of rippling steel - That northward flowed with current ever true! - In thought we watched you wheel - Among the hills, a winding to and fro, - The weapons sparkling o’er the men below - Like glancing foam above the waves of blue! - We knew your end and source, - And that your torrents, crowned with portents dire, - Would keep their onward course - Till in the battle’s plunge, with thunder’s roar, - And scorching flames, your cleansing tides should pour - Abroad, and save the nation as by fire! - - The first day of July, - Just north of Gettysburg, the fight began - Whose memory will not die. - There lay along the outskirts of a wood - A regiment busy in the work of blood; - And he that wore the rose watched every man, - Alert, unvexed, intense, - And kept the firing cool, and fierce, and fast; - In front in column dense - Stern Southern valor stormed, and would not flinch, - Nor be denied, yet could not win an inch-- - Till far outflanked our lines gave way at last. - - Behind the frightened town, - On Cemetery Hill the rout was stayed; - And there the men lay down - And slept content among the graves that night; - And there this pallid rose, in soft moonlight, - Upon its wearer’s heaving bosom swayed. - The gathering armies clashed, - And on the circling hills the second day, - Incessant cannon crashed; - And shot and shell tore up each reverent mound, - And flung the tombstones’ shattered fragments round-- - Poor rose, that heard the din of such a fray! - - On the third day, behold! - It saw the climax of the battle come; - When calm, and stern, and bold - The great Virginians charged and could not win, - Though manhood’s flower, as they have ever been - In field, and hall, and by the hearth of home. - How proud their column moved, - Up the long slope of death with stubborn tread, - Obeying him they loved! - And still against the storm of fire that scourged - Supporting squadrons backward as it surged, - How fierce they held their way unwearièd! - Mayhap with other foes - They might have won; but ever slow to yield - And ever prompt to close - Were Hancock’s men; and the Virginian shaft - That pierced our lines was shattered, head and haft, - Within the wound!--And Lee had lost the field. - - Amid the eddied smoke, - The groans of dying men, and the glad cheer - Of victory that broke - From hill to hill, this thing of beauty died; - And he that wore and had forgot it, sighed - And thought of it again as something dear; - So from his breast he took - The rose and sent it home to have it set - Within this simple book, - The favorite of a girl he loved and lost, - And ’mid the leaves it lingers like a ghost-- - Though they be gone, the flower abideth yet! - - And often when I gaze - Into its folds and see these visions fair, - Mine eyes are filled with haze - Of tears for him that wore it, true and brave; - Almost I turn to fling it on his grave - Beside the little flag that flutters there!-- - Then sigh for power to close - Within the amber clear of poetry - This pale and withered rose - That else must pass and crumble into dust - And squander in some wild and windy gust - The essence I would set in melody-- - The feelings of the time - When first it bloomed; the deeds of sacrifice, - The thoughts and acts sublime, - The scenes of battle with their woe and scaith, - The courtesy and courage, love and faith-- - That I can read within it with mine eyes! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. - - -BY FRANCIS MILES FINCH. - - [Suggested by the fact that the women of Columbus, - Miss., on their decoration day strewed flowers, with - impartial hands, upon the graves of northern and southern - soldiers.--EDITOR.] - - By the flow of the inland river, - Whence the fleets of the iron have fled, - Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, - Asleep are the ranks of the dead; - Under the sod and the dew, - Waiting the judgment-day; - Under the one, the Blue; - Under the other, the Gray. - - These in the robings of glory, - Those in the gloom of defeat: - All with the battle-blood gory, - In the dusk of eternity meet; - Under the sod and the dew, - Waiting the judgment-day; - Under the laurel, the Blue; - Under the willow, the Gray. - - From the silence of sorrowful hours, - The desolate mourners go, - Lovingly laden with flowers, - Alike for the friends and the foe; - Under the sod and the dew, - Waiting the judgment-day; - Under the roses, the Blue; - Under the lilies, the Gray. - - So, with an equal splendor, - The morning sun-rays fall, - With a touch impartially tender, - On the blossoms blooming for all - Under the sod and the dew, - Waiting the judgment-day; - Broidered with gold, the Blue, - Mellowed with gold, the Gray. - - So, when the summer calleth, - On forest and field of grain, - With an equal murmur falleth, - The cooling drip of the rain; - Under the sod and the dew, - Waiting the judgment-day; - Wet with the rain, the Blue; - Wet with the rain, the Gray. - - Sadly, but not with upbraiding, - The generous deed was done; - In the storm of the years that are fading, - No braver battle was won; - Under the sod and the dew, - Waiting the judgment-day, - Under the blossoms, the Blue; - Under the garlands, the Gray. - - No more shall the war-cry sever, - Or the winding rivers be red; - They banish our anger forever, - When they laurel the graves of our dead. - Under the sod and the dew, - Waiting the judgment-day; - Love and tears for the Blue; - Tears and love for the Gray. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -READY. - - -BY PHOEBE CARY. - - Loaded with gallant soldiers, - A boat shot in to the land, - And lay at the right of Rodman’s Point, - With her keel upon the sand. - - Lightly, gayly, they came to shore, - And never a man afraid; - When sudden the enemy opened fire - From his deadly ambuscade. - - Each man fell flat on the bottom - Of the boat; and the captain said: - “If we lie here, we all are captured’ - And the first who moves is dead!” - - Then out spoke a negro sailor, - No slavish soul had he: - “Somebody’s got to die, boys, - And it might as well be me!” - - Firmly he rose, and fearlessly - Stepped out into the tide; - He pushed the vessel safely off, - Then fell across her side: - - Fell, pierced by a dozen bullets, - As the boat swung clear and free; - But there wasn’t a man of them there that day - Who was fitter to die than he! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -A GEORGIA VOLUNTEER. - - -BY MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. - - Far up the lonely mountain-side - My wandering footsteps led; - The moss lay thick beneath my feet, - The pine sighed overhead. - The trace of a dismantled fort - Lay in the forest nave, - And in the shadow near my path - I saw a soldier’s grave. - - The bramble wrestled with the weed - Upon the lowly mound, - The simple head-board, rudely writ, - Had rotted to the ground; - I raised it with a reverent hand, - From dust its words to clear; - But time had blotted all but these: - “A Georgia Volunteer.” - - I saw the toad and scaly snake - From tangled covert start, - And hide themselves among the weeds - Above the dead man’s heart; - But undisturbed, in sleep profound, - Unheeding, there he lay; - His coffin but the mountain soil, - His shroud, Confederate gray. - - I heard the Shenandoah roll - Along the vale below, - I saw the Alleghanies rise - Toward the realms of snow. - The “Valley Campaign” rose to mind-- - Its leader’s name--and then - I knew the sleeper had been one - Of Stonewall Jackson’s men. - - Yet whence he came, what lip shall say-- - Whose tongue will ever tell - What desolated hearths and hearts - Have been because he fell? - What sad-eyed maiden braids her hair-- - Her hair which he held dear? - One lock of which, perchance lies with - The Georgia Volunteer! - - What mother, with long-watching eyes - And white lips cold and dumb, - Waits with appalling patience for - Her darling boy to come? - Her boy! whose mountain grave swells up - But one of many a scar - Cut on the face of our fair land - By gory-handed war. - - What fights he fought, what wounds he wore, - Are all unknown to fame; - Remember, on his lonely grave - There is not even a name! - That he fought well and bravely too, - And held his country dear, - We know, else he had never been - A Georgia Volunteer. - - He sleeps--what need to question now - If he were wrong or right? - He knows, e’er this, whose cause was just - In God the Father’s sight. - He wields no warlike weapons now, - Returns no foeman’s thrust; - Who but a coward would revile - An honest soldier’s dust? - - Roll, Shenandoah, proudly roll - Adown thy rocky glen; - Above thee lies the grave of one - Of Stonewall Jackson’s men. - Beneath the cedar and the pine, - In solitude austere, - Unknown, unnamed, forgotten, lies - A Georgia Volunteer. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -“HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?” - - -BY BRET HARTE. - - [There is nothing in the history of the Civil War - worthier of celebration in verse, or more to be honored - in the remembrance, than the organization and work of the - United States Sanitary Commission. When the conditions - created by the stress of the war became apparent, the - compassion of kindly men and women in the North was deeply - stirred by the thought that there was suffering among the - soldiers which the government could not relieve, and that - there were wants which could not be supplied by military - agencies. The generous desire to minister to these wants - and to relieve this suffering was quickly organized into - action with that business-like sagacity which distinguishes - the American character. The Sanitary Commission was formed - as the agent and almoner of the popular generosity. It was - supported entirely by voluntary contributions. It was as - thoroughly organized as the army commissariat itself, and - wherever there was a comfort needed, or a wounded or sick - man to be cared for, its supply wagons, its appliances, - and its trained nurses were found. The affectionate - gratitude of the troops toward the beneficent association - is reflected in this poem.--EDITOR.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - -“HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?” - - Down the picket-guarded lane - Rolled the comfort-laden wain, - Cheered by shouts that shook the plain, - Soldier-like and merry: - Phrases such as camps may teach, - Sabre-cuts of Saxon speech, - Such as “Bully!” “Them’s the peach!” - “Wade in, Sanitary!” - - Right and left the caissons drew - As the car went lumbering through, - Quick succeeding in review - Squadrons military; - Sunburnt men with beards like frieze, - Smooth-faced boys, and cries like these: - “U. S. San. Com.” “That’s the cheese!” - “Pass in, Sanitary!” - - In such cheer it struggled on - Till the battle front was won; - Then the car, its journey done, - Lo! was stationary; - And where bullets whistling fly - Came the sadder, fainter cry: - “Help us, brothers, ere we die!-- - Save us, Sanitary!” - - Such the work. The phantom flies, - Wrapped in battle-clouds that rise; - But the brave--whose dying eyes, - Veiled and visionary, - See the jasper gates swung wide, - See the parted throng outside-- - Hears the voice to those who ride: - “Pass in, Sanitary!” - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE MEN. - - -BY MAURICE BELL. - - In the dusk of the forest shade - A sallow and dusty group reclined; - Gallops a horseman up the glade-- - “Where will I your leader find? - Tidings I bring from the morning’s scout-- - I’ve borne them o’er mound and moor and fen.” - “Well, sir, stay not hereabout, - Here are only a few of ‘the men.’ - - “Here no collar has bar or star, - No rich lacing adorns the sleeve; - Further on our officers are, - Let them your report receive. - Higher up on the hill up there, - Overlooking this shady glen, - There are their quarters--don’t stop here, - We are only some of ‘the men.’ - - “Yet stay, courier, if you bear - Tidings that a fight is near; - Tell them we’re ready, and that where - They wish us to be we’ll soon appear; - Tell them only to let us know - Where to form our ranks and when; - And we’ll teach the vaunting foe - That they’ve met with some of ‘the men.’ - - “We’re _the men_, though our clothes are worn-- - We’re _the men_, though we wear no lace-- - We’re _the men_, who the foe have torn, - And scattered their ranks in dire disgrace-- - We’re the men who have triumphed before-- - We’re the men who will triumph again; - For the dust and the smoke and the cannon’s roar, - And the clashing bayonets--‘we’re the men.’ - - “Ye who sneer at the battle-scars, - Of garments faded and soiled and bare, - Yet who have for the ‘stars and bars’ - Praise and homage and dainty fare; - Mock the wearers and pass them on, - Refuse them kindly word--and then - Know if your freedom is ever won - By human agents--these are the men!” - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE GUERILLAS. - - -BY S. TEACKLE WALLIS. - - Awake! and to horse my brothers, - For the dawn is glimmering gray, - And hark! in the crackling brushwood, - There are feet that tread this way. - - “Who cometh?” “A friend.” “What tidings?“ - “O God! I sicken to tell, - For the earth seems earth no longer, - And its sights are the sights of hell. - - “There’s rapine and fire and slaughter, - From the mountain down to the shore, - There’s blood on the trampled harvest, - And blood on the homestead floor. - - “From the far-off conquered cities, - Comes the voice of a stifled wail, - And the shrieks and moans of the homeless - Ring like the dirge of a gale. - - “I have seen from the smoking village, - Our mothers and daughters fly, - I’ve seen where the little children, - Sank down in the furrows to die. - - “On the banks of the battle-stained river, - I stood as the moonlight shone, - And it glared on the face of my brother, - As the sad wave swept him on. - - “Where my home was glad, are ashes, - And horror and shame had been there, - For I found on the fallen lintel, - This tress of my wife’s torn hair. - - “They are turning the slave upon us, - And with more than the fiend’s worst art. - Have uncovered the fires of the savage, - That slept in his untaught heart. - - “The ties to our hearts that bound him, - They have rent with curses away, - And madden him in their madness - To be almost as brutal as they. - - “With halter and torch and Bible, - And hymns to the sound of the drum, - They preach the gospel of murder, - And pray for lust’s kingdom to come. - - “To saddle! my brothers! to saddle! - Look up to the rising sun, - And ask of the God who shines there, - Whether deeds like these shall be done. - - “Whither the vandal cometh, - Press home to his heart with your steel, - And where’er at his bosom ye cannot, - Like the serpent, go strike at his heel. - - “Through thicket and wood go hunt him, - Creep up to his camp-fire side, - And let ten of his corpses blacken, - Where one of our brothers hath died. - - “In his fainting footsore marches, - In his flight from the stricken fray, - In the snare of the lonely ambush, - The debts that we owe him, pay. - - “In God’s hands alone is vengeance, - But he strikes with the hands of men, - And his blight would wither our manhood, - If we smote not the smiter again. - - “By the graves where our fathers slumber, - By the shrines where our mothers prayed, - By our homes and hopes of freedom, - Let every man swear by his blade.-- - - “That he will not sheathe nor stay it, - Till from point to hilt it glow, - With the flush of Almighty justice, - In the blood of the cruel foe.” - - They swore; and the answering sunlight - Leapt from their lifted swords, - And the hate in their hearts made echo, - To the wrath of their burning words. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER. - - - [There is nothing in this sentimental song that enables - one to read the riddle of its remarkable popularity during - the Civil War. It has no poetic merit; its rhythm is - commonplace, and the tune to which it was sung was of the - flimsiest musical structure, without even a trick of melody - to commend it. Yet the song was more frequently sung, on - both sides, than any other, the Southern soldiers inserting - “gray” for “blue” in the sixth line of the first stanza, - with cheerful recklessness of the effect upon the rhyme. - The thing was heard in every camp every day and many times - every day. Men chanted it on the march, and women sang - it to piano accompaniment in all houses. A song which so - strongly appealed to two great armies and to an entire - people is worthy of a place in all collections of war - poetry, even though criticism is baffled in the attempt to - discover the reason of its popularity.--EDITOR.] - -[Illustration] - - - - -WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER. - - - Dearest love, do you remember - When we last did meet, - How you told me that you loved me - Kneeling at my feet? - Oh, how proud you stood before me - In your suit of blue, - When you vowed to me and country - Ever to be true. - _Chorus._--Weeping, sad and lonely, - Hopes and fears, how vain; - Yet praying - When this cruel war is over, - Praying that we meet again. - - When the summer breeze is sighing - Mournfully along, - Or when autumn leaves are falling, - Sadly breathes the song. - Oft in dreams I see thee lying - On the battle plain, - Lonely, wounded, even dying, - Calling, but in vain. - _Chorus._--Weeping, sad, etc. - - If, amid the din of battle, - Nobly you should fall, - Far away from those who love you, - None to hear you call, - Who would whisper words of comfort? - Who would soothe your pain? - Ah, the many cruel fancies - Ever in my brain! - _Chorus._--Weeping, sad, etc. - - But our country called you, darling, - Angels cheer your way! - While our nation’s sons are fighting, - We can only pray. - Nobly strike for God and country, - Let all nations see - How we love the starry banner, - Emblem of the free. - _Chorus._--Weeping, sad, etc. - -[Illustration] - - - - -CAVALRY Song - - -BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. - - Our good steeds snuff the evening air, - Our pulses with their purpose tingle; - The foeman’s fires are twinkling there; - He leaps to hear our sabres jingle! - Halt! - Each carbine sends its whizzing ball; - Now, cling! clang! forward all, - Into the fight! - - Dash on beneath the smoking dome; - Through level lightnings gallop nearer! - One look to heaven! No thoughts of home: - The guidons that we bear are dearer. - Charge! - Cling! clang! forward all, - Heaven help those whose horses fall! - Cut left and right! - - They flee before our fierce attack! - They fall! they spread in broken surges! - Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, - And leave the foeman to his dirges. - Wheel! - The bugles sound the swift recall; - Cling! clang! backward all! - Home, and good-night! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -CAVALRY SONG. - - -BY ROSSITER W. RAYMOND. - - Our bugles sound gayly. To horse and away! - And over the mountains breaks the day; - Then ho! brothers, ho! for the ride or the fight, - There are deeds to be done ere we slumber to-night! - And whether we fight or whether we fall - By sabre-stroke or rifle-ball, - The hearts of the free will remember us yet, - And our country, our country will never forget! - - Then mount and away! let the coward delight - To be lazy all day and safe all night; - Our joy is a charger, flecked with foam, - And the earth is our bed and the saddle our home; - And whether we fight, etc. - - See yonder the ranks of the traitorous foe, - And bright in the sunshine bayonets glow! - Breathe a prayer, but no sigh; think for what you would fight; - Then charge! with a will, boys, and God for the right! - And whether we fight, etc. - - We have gathered again the red laurels of war; - We have followed the traitors fast and far; - But some who rose gayly this morn with the sun - Lie bleeding and pale on the field they have won! - But whether we fight, etc. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CAVALRY CHARGE. - - -BY BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR. - - Hark! the rattling roll of the musketeers, - And the ruffled drums, and the rallying cheers, - And the rifles burn with a keen desire - Like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire, - And the singing shot and the shrieking shell - And the splintered fire on the shattered hell, - And the great white breaths of the cannon smoke - As the growling guns by batteries spoke; - And the ragged gaps in the walls of blue - Where the iron surge rolled heavily through, - That the Colonel builds with a breath again - As he cleaves the din with his “_Close up, men!_” - And the groan torn out from the blackened lips, - And the prayer doled slow with the crimsoned drips, - And the beaming look in the dying eye - As under the cloud the stars go by, - “_But his soul marched on!_” the Captain said, - For the Boy in Blue can never be dead! - - And the troopers sit in their saddles all - Like statues carved in an ancient hall, - And they watch the whirl from their breathless ranks, - And their spurs are close to the horses’ flanks, - And the fingers work of the sabre hand-- - Oh, to bid them live, and to make them grand! - And the bugle sounds to the charge at last, - And away they plunge, and the front is passed! - And the jackets blue grow red as they ride, - And the scabbards too, that clank by their side, - And the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod - As they gallop right on o’er the plashy red sod-- - Right into the cloud all spectral and dim, - Right up to the guns black-throated and grim, - Right down on the hedges bordered with steel, - Right through the dense columns--then “_Right about wheel!_” - Hurrah! a new swath through the harvest again! - Hurrah for the Flag! To the battle, Amen! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CAVALRY CHARGE. - - -BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. - - With bray of the trumpet - And roll of the drum, - And keen ring of bugle, - The cavalry come. - Sharp clank the steel scabbards, - The bridle-chains ring, - And foam from red nostrils - The wild chargers fling. - - Tramp! tramp! o’er the greensward - That quivers below, - Scarce held by the curb-bit - The fierce horses go! - And the grim-visaged colonel, - With ear-rending shout, - Peals forth to the squadrons - The order: “_Trot out!_” - - One hand on the sabre, - And one on the rein, - The troopers move forward - In line on the plain. - As rings the word “_Gallop!_” - The steel scabbards clank, - And each rowel is pressed - To a horse’s hot flank: - And swift is their rush - As the wild torrent’s flow, - When it pours from the crag - On the valley below. - - “_Charge!_” thunders the leader: - Like shaft from the bow - Each mad horse is hurled - On the wavering foe. - A thousand bright sabres - Are gleaming in air: - A thousand dark horses - Are dashed on the square. - Resistless and reckless - Of aught may betide, - Like demons, not mortals, - The wild troopers ride. - Cut right! and cut left!-- - For the parry who needs? - The bayonets shiver - Like wind-scattered reeds. - - Vain--vain the red volley - That bursts from the square,-- - The random-shot bullets - Are wasted in air. - Triumphant, remorseless, - Unerring as death,-- - No sabre that’s stainless - Returns to its sheath. - - The wounds that are dealt - By that murderous steel - Will never yield case - For the surgeon to heal. - Hurrah! they are broken-- - Hurrah! boys, they fly! - None linger save those - Who but linger to die. - - Rein up your hot horses - And call in your men,-- - The trumpet sounds “_Rally_ - _To colors!_” again. - Some saddles are empty, - Some comrades are slain, - And some noble horses - Lie stark on the plain; - But war’s a chance game, boys, - And weeping is vain. - -[Illustration] - - - - -ROLL-CALL. - - -BY N. G. SHEPHERD. - - “Corporal Green!” the Orderly cried; - “Here!” was the answer, loud and clear, - From the lips of the soldier who stood near,-- - And “Here!” was the word the next replied. - - “Cyrus Drew!”--then a silence fell: - This time no answer followed the call; - Only his rear-man had seen him fall: - Killed or wounded--he could not tell. - - There they stood in the failing light, - These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, - As plain to be read as open books, - While slowly gathered the shades of night. - - The fern on the hill-sides was splashed with blood, - And down in the corn where the poppies grew - Were redder stains than the poppies knew; - And crimson-dyed was the river’s flood. - - For the foe had crossed from the other side - That day, in the face of a murderous fire - That swept them down in its terrible ire, - And their life-blood went to color the tide. - - “Herbert Kline!” At the call there came - Two stalwart soldiers into the line, - Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, - Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. - - “Ezra Kerr!”--and a voice answered, “Here!” - “Hiram Kerr!”--but no man replied. - They were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed, - And a shudder crept through the cornfield near. - - “Ephraim Deane!”--then a soldier spoke: - “Deane carried our regiment’s colors,” he said; - “Where our ensign was shot I left him dead, - Just after the enemy wavered and broke. - - “Close to the road-side his body lies; - I paused a moment and gave him a drink; - He murmured his mother’s name, I think, - And Death came with it, and closed his eyes.” - - ’Twas a victory; yes, but it cost us dear,-- - For that company’s roll, when called at night, - Of a hundred men who went into the fight, - Numbered but twenty that answered “Here!” - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - - - - -READING THE LIST. - - - “Is there any news of the war?” she said. - “Only a list of the wounded and dead,” - Was the man’s reply, - Without lifting his eye - To the face of the woman standing by. - “’Tis the very thing I want,” she said; - “Read me a list of the wounded and dead.” - He read the list--’twas a sad array - Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray. - - In the very midst, was a pause to tell - Of a gallant youth who fought so well - That his comrades asked: “Who is he, pray?” - “The only son of the Widow Gray,” - Was the proud reply - Of his captain nigh-- - What ails the woman standing near? - Her face has the ashen hue of fear! - - “Well, well, read on; is he wounded? Quick! - O God! but my heart is sorrow-sick! - Is he wounded?” “No; he fell, they say, - Killed outright on that fatal day!” - But see, the woman has swooned away! - - Sadly she opened her eyes to the light; - Slowly recalled the events of the fight; - Faintly she murmured: “Killed outright! - It has cost me the life of my only son; - But the battle is fought, and the victory won; - The will of the Lord, let it be done!” - - God pity the cheerless Widow Gray, - And send from the halls of eternal day - The light of his peace to illumine her way. - - [Southern.] - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -A WOMAN OF THE WAR. - - -BY ROSSITER JOHNSON. - - [The tenderly pathetic story told in this poem is true. - Its heroine was Margaret Augusta Peterson, a volunteer - nurse in St. Mary’s Hospital at Rochester, New York. She - died in the manner related, on the first of September, - 1864, and lies buried in Mount Hope Cemetery, Rochester, as - does also the young surgeon, her lover.--EDITOR.] - - Through the sombre arch of that gateway tower - Where my humblest townsman rides at last, - You may spy the bells of a nodding flower, - On a double mound that is thickly grassed. - - And between the spring and the summer time, - Or ever the lilac’s bloom is shed, - When they come with banners and wreaths and rhyme, - To deck the tombs of the nation’s dead, - - They find there a little flag in the grass, - And fling a handful of roses down, - And pause a moment before they pass - To the captain’s grave with the gilded crown. - - But if perchance they seek to recall - What name, what deeds, these honors declare, - They cannot tell, they are silent all - As the noiseless harebell nodding there. - - She was tall, with an almost manly grace, - And young, with strange wisdom for one so young, - And fair with more than a woman’s face; - With dark, deep eyes, and a mirthful tongue. - - The poor and the fatherless knew her smile; - The friend in sorrow had seen her tears; - She had studied the ways of the rough world’s guile, - And read the romance of historic years. - - What she might have been in these times of ours, - At once it is easy and hard to guess; - For always a riddle are half-used powers, - And always a power is lovingness. - - But her fortunes fell upon evil days-- - If days are evil when evil dies,-- - And she was not one who could stand at gaze - Where the hopes of humanity fall and rise. - - Nor could she dance to the viol’s tune, - When the drum was throbbing throughout the land, - Or dream in the light of the summer moon - When Treason was clenching his mailèd hand. - - Through the long gray hospital’s corridor - She journeyed many a mournful league, - And her light foot fell on the oaken floor - As if it never could know fatigue. - - She stood by the good old surgeon’s side, - And the sufferers smiled as they saw her stand; - She wrote, and the mothers marvelled and cried - At their darling soldiers’ feminine hand. - - She was last in the ward when the lights burned low, - And sleep called a truce to his foeman Pain; - At the midnight cry she was first to go, - To bind up the bleeding wound again. - - For sometimes the wreck of a man would rise, - Weird and gaunt in the watch-lamp’s gleam, - And tear away bandage and splints and ties, - Fighting the battle all o’er in his dream. - - No wonder the youngest surgeon felt - A charm in the presence of that brave soul, - Through weary weeks, as she nightly knelt - With the letter from home or the doctor’s dole. - - He heard her called, and he heard her blessed, - With many a patriot’s parting breath; - And ere his soul to itself confessed, - Love leaped to life in those vigils of death. - - “Oh, fly to your home!” came a whisper dread, - “For now the pestilence walks by night.” - “The greater the need of me here,” she said, - And bared her arm for the lancet’s bite. - - Was there death, green death, in the atmosphere? - Was the bright steel poisoned? Who can tell! - Her weeping friends gathered beside her bier, - And the clergyman told them all was well. - - Well--alas that it should be so! - When a nation’s debt reaches reckoning-day-- - Well for it to be able, but woe - To the generation that’s called to pay! - - Down from the long gray hospital came - Every boy in blue who could walk the floor; - The sick and the wounded, the blind and the lame, - Formed two long files from her father’s door. - - There was grief in many a manly breast, - While men’s tears fell as the coffin passed; - And thus she went to the world of rest, - Martial and maidenly up to the last. - - And that youngest surgeon, was he to blame?-- - He held the lancet--Heaven only knows. - No matter; his heart broke all the same, - And he laid him down, and never arose. - - So Death received, in his greedy hand, - Two precious coins of the awful price - That purchased freedom for this dear land-- - For master and bondman--yea, bought it twice. - - Such fates too often such women are for! - God grant the Republic a large increase, - To match the heroes in time of war, - And mother the children in time of peace. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -GLORY HALLELUJAH! OR, JOHN BROWN’S BODY. - - - [The strong hold which this song and the three which - follow it (“Marching thro’ Georgia,” “The Battle-Cry of - Freedom” and “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp”) had upon the favor - of the Union soldiers during the war entitles them to - insertion here in spite of their lack of poetic merit. - The critics, from the time of Mr. Richard Grant White’s - collection until now, have condemned them as doggerel, but - songs that were sung with enthusiasm by all the soldiers of - the republic during the dark years of the Civil War cannot - be denied the possession of merit, whether criticism is - able to recognize it or not.--EDITOR.] - -[Illustration] - -GLORY HALLELUJAH! OR JOHN BROWN’S BODY. - - John Brown’s body lies a-mould’ring in the grave, - John Brown’s body lies a-mould’ring in the grave, - John Brown’s body lies a-mould’ring in the grave, - His soul is marching on! - - _Chorus_.--Glory! Glory Hallelujah! - Glory! Glory Hallelujah! - Glory! Glory Hallelujah! - His soul is marching on. - - He’s gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord! - He’s gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord! - He’s gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord! - His soul is marching on.--_Chorus._ - - John Brown’s knapsack is strapped upon his back. - His soul is marching on.--_Chorus._ - - His pet lambs will meet him on the way, - And they’ll go marching on.--_Chorus._ - - They’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree, - As they go marching on.--_Chorus._ - - Now for the Union let’s give three rousing cheers, - As we go marching on. - Hip, hip, hip, hip, Hurrah! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA. - - - Bring the good old bugle, boys! we’ll sing another song-- - Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along-- - Sing it as we used to sing it fifty thousand strong, - While we were marching through Georgia. - - _Chorus._--“Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the jubilee! - Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!” - So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, - - How the darkeys shouted when they heard the joyful sound! - How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary found! - How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground, - While we were marching through Georgia.--_Chorus_. - - Yes, and there were Union men who wept with joyful tears, - When they saw the honor’d flag they had not seen for years; - Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers, - While we were marching through Georgia.--_Chorus._ - - “Sherman’s dashing Yankee boys will never reach the coast!” - So the saucy rebels said--and ’twas a handsome boast, - Had they not forgot, alas! to reckon on a host, - While we were marching through Georgia.--_Chorus._ - - So we made a thoroughfare for Freedom and her train, - Sixty miles in latitude--three hundred to the main; - Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain, - While we were marching through Georgia.--_Chorus._ - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM. - - - Yes, we’ll rally round the flag, boys, we’ll rally once again, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, - We will rally from the hill-side, we’ll gather from the plain, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. - - _Chorus._--The Union forever, hurrah! boys, hurrah, - Down with the traitor, up with the star, - While we rally round the flag, boys, rally once again, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. - - We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, - And we’ll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.--_Chorus._ - - We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true, and brave, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, - And altho’ they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.--_Chorus._ - - So we’re springing to the call from the East and from the West, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, - And we’ll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love the best, - Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.--_Chorus._ - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP. - - - In the prison cell I sit, - Thinking, mother dear, of you, - And our bright and happy home so far away, - And the tears they fill my eyes, - Spite of all that I can do, - Tho’ I try to cheer my comrades and be gay. - - _Chorus._--Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching, - Oh, cheer up, comrades, they will come, - And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe - the air again, - Of freedom in our own beloved home. - - In the battle front we stood - When the fiercest charge they made, - And they swept us off a hundred men or more, - But before we reached their lines - They were beaten back dismayed, - And we heard the cry of vict’ry o’er and o’er.--_Chorus._ - - So within the prison cell - We are waiting for the day - That shall come to open wide the iron door, - And the hollow eye grows bright, - And the poor heart almost gay. - As we think of seeing friends and home once more.--_Chorus._ - -END OF VOL. II. - -[Illustration] - - - - -Knickerbocker Nuggets. - - -NUGGET--“A diminutive mass of precious metal.” - - -“Little gems of bookmaking.”--_Commercial Gazette_, Cincinnati. - -“For many a long day nothing has been thought out or worked out so sure -to prove entirely pleasing to cultured book-lovers.”--_The Bookmaker._ - -I--=Gesta Romanorum.= Tales of the old monks. Edited by C. 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PRENTICE. - - - _In Preparation._ - -=American War Ballads.= A selection of the more noteworthy of -the Ballads and Lyrics which were produced during the Revolution, -the War of 1812, and the Civil War. Edited, with notes, -by GEO. CARY EGGLESTON. With original illustrations. - -=French Ballads.= Printed in the original text, selected and -edited, with notes, by Prof. T. F. CRANE. - -=German Ballads.= Printed in the original text. - - - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, PUBLISHERS - New York and London - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of American War Ballads and Lyrics, Vol. -2 (of 2), by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN WAR BALLADS, LYRICS, VOL 2 *** - -***** This file should be named 54211-0.txt or 54211-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/2/1/54211/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: American War Ballads and Lyrics, Vol. 2 (of 2) - A Collection of the Songs and Ballads of the Colonial Wars, - the Revolutions, the War of 1812-15, the War with Mexico - and the Civil War - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Cary Eggleston - -Release Date: February 19, 2017 [EBook #54211] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN WAR BALLADS, LYRICS, VOL 2 *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p class="f200">Knickerbocker Nuggets</p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Nugget</span>—“A diminutive mass of precious metal.”</p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="center space-below2">26 VOLS. NOW READY<br />For full list see end of this volume</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a> - <img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="_" width="500" height="367" /> - <p class="f150"><b>RUNNING THE BATTERIES.</b></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h1><i>AMERICAN WAR BALLADS<br />AND LYRICS</i></h1> -<p class="center space-above3"><i>A COLLECTION OF THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF THE<br /> - COLONIAL WARS, THE REVOLUTION, THE WAR<br /> - OF 1812-15, THE WAR WITH MEXICO<br /> - AND THE CIVIL WAR</i></p> - -<p class="center space-above2 space-below2"><i>EDITED BY<br />GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON<br />VOLUME II.</i></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="Knickerbocker Nuggets" width="200" height="141" /> -</div> - -<p class="center space-above3"><i>NEW YORK AND LONDON<br />G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS<br /></i>The Knickerbocker Press</p> -<p class="center space-above3"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">G. P. Putnam’s Sons</span><br />1889</p> -<p class="center space-above3">The Knickerbocker Press, New York<br /> -Electrotyped and Printed by<br />G. P. Putnam’s Sons</p> - -<hr class="r25" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_01.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="78" /> -</div> - -<table class="space-above3 space-below3" border="0" cellspacing="2" summary="Table of Contents." cellpadding="2"> -<caption class="u"><big><b>CONTENTS.</b></big></caption> - <tbody><tr> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE.</small></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Civil War</span>—<i>Continued</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lyon</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3"> 3</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">My Maryland</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_6"> 6</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Battle Hymn of the Republic</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Picket Guard</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Countersign</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Jonathan to John</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">There’s Life in the Old Land Yet</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Never or Now</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Boy Brittan</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The “Cumberland”</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">On Board the “Cumberland”</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Sword-Bearer</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Sergeant</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The “Varuna”</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The River Fight</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sheridan’s Ride</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Kearney at Seven Pines</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Stonewall Jackson’s Way</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Marching Along</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Burial of Latané</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_82">82</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Tardy George</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Wanted—A Man</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Overtures from Richmond</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Barbara Frietchie</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Music in Camp</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fredericksburg</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Treason’s Last Device</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In Louisiana</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Pelham</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Battle of Charleston Harbor</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Running the Batteries</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Keenan’s Charge</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Death of Stonewall Jackson</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Under the Shade of the Trees</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Stonewall Jackson</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Black Regiment</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Little Giffen of Tennessee</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Gettysburg</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At Gettysburg</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Burns of Gettysburg</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Woman’s War Mission</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Three Hundred Thousand More</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lee to the Rear</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">“Kearsarge” and “Alabama”</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Bay Fight</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Loyal Fisher</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sherman’s March to the Sea</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sherman’s March</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_198">198</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Year of Jubilee</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Conquered Banner</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Somebody’s Darling</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Left on the Battle-Field</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Driving Home the Cows</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">After All</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">He’ll See It when He Wakes</span>”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Réveille</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Réveille</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The White Rose</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Blue and the Gray</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ready</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Georgia Volunteer</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">How are You, Sanitary?</span>”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Men</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Guerillas</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">When This Cruel War is Over</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Cavalry Song</span> (Stedman)</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Cavalry Song</span> (Raymond)</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Cavalry Charge</span> (Taylor)</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Cavalry Charge</span> (Durivage)</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Roll-Call</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Reading the List</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Woman of the War</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Glory Hallelujah! or, John Brown’s Body  </span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Marching through Georgia</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Battle-Cry of Freedom</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Tramp, Tramp, Tramp</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_277">277</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></td> - </tr> - </tbody> -</table> -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_02.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="104" /> -</div> - -<table class="space-above3 space-below3" border="0" cellspacing="2" summary="List of Illustrations." cellpadding="2"> -<caption class="u"><big><b>ILLUSTRATIONS.</b></big></caption> - <tbody><tr> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE.</small></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Running the Batteries</span></td> - <td class="tdl">  <a href="#frontis"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Civil War</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Countersign</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The “Cumberland”</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sheridan’s Ride</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Barbara Frietchie</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fredericksburg</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In Louisiana</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Pelham</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Running the Batteries</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Keenan’s Charge</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Black Regiment</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Gettysburg</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John Burns of Gettysburg</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Three Hundred Thousand More</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_160">160</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">“Kearsarge” and “Alabama”</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Bay Fight</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Conquered Banner</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Driving Home the Cows</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">After All</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Cavalry Song</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td> - </tr> - </tbody> -</table> -<hr class="r25" /> -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_03.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="96" /> -</div> - -<p class="center space-above3"><i>Typogravures by W. Kurtz.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p001.jpg" alt="The Civil War" width="450" height="608" /> - <p class="f150 space-above2"><b>PART II.</b></p> -</div> - -<h2 class="non-vis">THE <i>CIVIL</i> WAR</h2> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_04.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="107" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">LYON.</h2> - -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> HENRY PETERSON.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_s.jpg" width="28" height="41" alt="S" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Sing, bird, on green Missouri’s plain,</span> -<span class="i5">Thy saddest song of sorrow;</span> -<span class="i0">Drop tears, O clouds, in gentlest rain</span> -<span class="i2">Ye from the winds can borrow;</span> -<span class="i0">Breathe out, ye winds, your softest sigh,</span> -<span class="i2">Weep, flowers, in dewy splendor,</span> -<span class="i0">For him who knew well how to die,</span> -<span class="i2">But never to surrender!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up rose serene the August sun</span> -<span class="i2">Upon that day of glory;</span> -<span class="i0">Up curled from musket and from gun</span> -<span class="i2">The war-cloud gray and hoary.</span> -<span class="i0">It gathered like a funeral pall</span> -<span class="i2">Now broken and now blended,</span> -<span class="i0">Where rang the bugle’s angry call,</span> -<span class="i2">And rank with rank contended.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Four thousand men, as brave and true</span> -<span class="i2">As e’er went forth in daring,</span> -<span class="i0">Upon the foe that morning threw</span> -<span class="i2">The strength of their despairing.</span> -<span class="i0">They feared not death—men bless the field</span> -<span class="i2">That patriot soldiers die on—</span> -<span class="i0">Fair Freedom’s cause was sword and shield,</span> -<span class="i2">And at their head was Lyon!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The leader’s troubled soul looked forth</span> -<span class="i2">From eyes of troubled brightness;</span> -<span class="i0">Sad soul! the burden of the North</span> -<span class="i2">Had pressed out all its lightness.</span> -<span class="i0">He gazed upon the unequal fight,</span> -<span class="i2">His ranks all rent and gory,</span> -<span class="i0">And felt the shadows close like night</span> -<span class="i2">Round his career of glory.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“General, come lead us!” loud the cry</span> -<span class="i2">From a brave band was ringing—</span> -<span class="i0">“Lead us, and we will stop, or die,</span> -<span class="i2">That battery’s awful singing.”</span> -<span class="i0">He spurred to where his heroes stood,</span> -<span class="i2">Twice wounded—no wound knowing—</span> -<span class="i0">The fire of battle in his blood</span> -<span class="i2">And on his forehead glowing.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, cursed for aye that traitor’s hand,</span> -<span class="i2">And cursed that aim so deadly,</span> -<span class="i0">Which smote the bravest of the land,</span> -<span class="i2">And dyed his bosom redly!</span> -<span class="i0">Serene he lay, while past him prest</span> -<span class="i2">The battle’s furious billow,</span> -<span class="i0">As calmly as a babe may rest</span> -<span class="i2">Upon its mother’s pillow.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So Lyon died! and well may flowers</span> -<span class="i2">His place of burial cover,</span> -<span class="i0">For never had this land of ours</span> -<span class="i2">A more devoted lover.</span> -<span class="i0">Living, his country was his pride,</span> -<span class="i2">His life he gave her dying;</span> -<span class="i0">Life, fortune, love—he naught denied</span> -<span class="i2">To her and to her sighing.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Rest, patriot, in thy hill-side grave,</span> -<span class="i2">Beside her form who bore thee!</span> -<span class="i0">Long may the land thou diedst to save</span> -<span class="i2">Her bannered stars wave o’er thee!</span> -<span class="i0">Upon her history’s brightest page,</span> -<span class="i2">And on Fame’s glowing portal,</span> -<span class="i0">She’ll write thy grand, heroic rage</span> -<span class="i2">And grave thy name immortal.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_05.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="115" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">MY MARYLAND.</h2> - -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> JAMES R. RANDALL.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">The despot’s heel is on thy shore,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">His torch is at thy temple door,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Avenge the patriotic gore</span> -<span class="i0">That flecked the streets of Baltimore,</span> -<span class="i0">And be the battle queen of yore,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hark to an exiled son’s appeal,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">My Mother State, to thee I kneel,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">For life or death, for woe or weal,</span> -<span class="i0">Thy peerless chivalry reveal,</span> -<span class="i0">And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou wilt not cower in the dust,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Thy beaming sword shall never rust,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Remember Carroll’s sacred trust,</span> -<span class="i0">Remember Howard’s warlike thrust,</span> -<span class="i0">And all thy slumberers with the just,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come! ’tis the red dawn of the day,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Come with thy panoplied array.</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">With Ringgold’s spirit for the fray,</span> -<span class="i0">With Watson’s blood at Monterey,</span> -<span class="i0">With fearless Lowe and dashing May,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear Mother, burst the tyrant’s chain,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Virginia should not call in vain,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">She meets her sisters on the plain,</span> -<span class="i0">“<i>Sic semper!</i>” ’tis the proud refrain</span> -<span class="i0">That baffles minions back amain,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Arise in majesty again,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Come to thine own heroic throng</span> -<span class="i0">Stalking with liberty along,</span> -<span class="i0">And chant thy dauntless slogan-song,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see the blush upon thy cheek,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">But thou wast ever bravely meek,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">But lo! there surges forth a shriek,</span> -<span class="i0">From hill to hill, from creek to creek,</span> -<span class="i0">Potomac calls to Chesapeake,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Thou wilt not crook to his control,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">Better the fire upon thee roll,</span> -<span class="i0">Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,</span> -<span class="i0">Than crucifixion of the soul,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hear the distant thunder-hum</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">The “Old Line’s” bugle, fife, and drum,</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland!</span> -<span class="i0">She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb;</span> -<span class="i0">Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum—</span> -<span class="i0">She breathes! She burns! She’ll come! She’ll come!</span> -<span class="i6">Maryland, my Maryland!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_06.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="209" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_07.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="141" /> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> JULIA WARD HOWE.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_m.jpg" width="45" height="36" alt="M" /> -</div> -<span class="i6 drop-cap">Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;</span> -<span class="i6">He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;</span> -<span class="i0">He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword:</span> -<span class="i14">His truth is marching on.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;</span> -<span class="i0">They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;</span> -<span class="i0">I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;</span> -<span class="i14">His day is marching on.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnish’d rows of steel;</span> -<span class="i0">“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal”;</span> -<span class="i0">Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,</span> -<span class="i14">Since God is marching on.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;</span> -<span class="i0">He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat;</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!</span> -<span class="i14">Our God is marching on.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,</span> -<span class="i0">With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:</span> -<span class="i0">As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,</span> -<span class="i14">While God is marching on.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below2">November, 1861.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_08.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="72" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_09.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="103" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE PICKET GUARD.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> ETHEL LYNN BEERS.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a2.jpg" width="38" height="36" alt="“A" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">“All quiet along the Potomac,” they say,</span> -<span class="i5">“Except now and then a stray picket</span> -<span class="i0">Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,</span> -<span class="i2">By a rifleman hid in the thicket.</span> -<span class="i0">’Tis nothing—a private or two, now and then,</span> -<span class="i2">Will not count in the news of the battle;</span> -<span class="i0">Not an officer lost—only one of the men,</span> -<span class="i2">Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All quiet along the Potomac to-night,</span> -<span class="i2">Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;</span> -<span class="i0">Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon,</span> -<span class="i2">Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming.</span> -<span class="i0">A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind</span> -<span class="i2">Through the forest leaves softly is creeping;</span> -<span class="i0">While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,</span> -<span class="i2">Keep guard—for the army is sleeping.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s only the sound of the lone sentry’s tread,</span> -<span class="i2">As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And thinks of the two in the low trundle bed</span> -<span class="i2">Far away in the cot on the mountain.</span> -<span class="i0">His musket falls slack—his face, dark and grim,</span> -<span class="i2">Grows gentle with memories tender,</span> -<span class="i0">As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep—</span> -<span class="i2">For their mother—may Heaven defend her!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,</span> -<span class="i2">That night, when the love yet unspoken—</span> -<span class="i0">Leaped up to his lips—when low-murmured vows</span> -<span class="i2">Were pledged to be ever unbroken.</span> -<span class="i0">Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,</span> -<span class="i2">He dashes off tears that are welling,</span> -<span class="i0">And gathers his gun closer up to its place</span> -<span class="i2">As if to keep down the heart-swelling.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree—</span> -<span class="i2">The footstep is lagging and weary;</span> -<span class="i0">Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,</span> -<span class="i2">Towards the shades of the forest so dreary.</span> -<span class="i0">Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?</span> -<span class="i2">Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?</span> -<span class="i0">It looks like a rifle—ah! “Mary, good-bye!”</span> -<span class="i2">And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All quiet along the Potomac to-night,</span> -<span class="i2">No sound save the rush of the river;</span> -<span class="i0">While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead—</span> -<span class="i2">The picket’s off duty forever.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_02.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="104" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE COUNTERSIGN.</h2> - -<p class="blockquot1"> -[In his admirably edited collection of poems of the civil war, entitled -“Bugle Echoes,” Mr. Francis F. Browne introduces this poem with the -following note:</p> - -<p class="blockquot2">“There has been no little dispute as to the authorship -of this poem. The <i>Philadelphia Press</i>, in 1861, said it -was ‘written by a private in Company G, Stuart’s engineer -regiment, at Camp Lesley, near Washington.’ But it may now -be stated positively that it was written by a Confederate -soldier, still living. The poem is usually printed in a -very imperfect form, with the fourth, fifth, and sixth -stanzas omitted. The third line of the fifth stanza affords -internal evidence of Southern origin.”—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>]</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/p015.jpg" alt="The Countersign" width="500" height="493" /> -</div> -<p class="f120"><b>THE COUNTERSIGN.</b></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a.jpg" width="38" height="36" alt="A" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Alas! the weary hours pass slow,</span> -<span class="i5">The night is very dark and still;</span> -<span class="i0">And in the marshes far below</span> -<span class="i2">I hear the bearded whippoorwill;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -<span class="i0">I scarce can see a yard ahead,</span> -<span class="i2">My ears are strained to catch each sound;</span> -<span class="i0">I hear the leaves about me shed,</span> -<span class="i2">And the spring’s bubbling through the ground.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Along the beaten path I pace,</span> -<span class="i2">Where white rays mark my sentry’s track;</span> -<span class="i0">In formless shrubs I seem to trace</span> -<span class="i2">The foeman’s form with bending back,</span> -<span class="i0">I think I see him crouching low;</span> -<span class="i2">I stop and list—I stoop and peer,</span> -<span class="i0">Until the neighboring hillocks grow</span> -<span class="i2">To groups of soldiers far and near.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With ready piece I wait and watch,</span> -<span class="i2">Until my eyes, familiar grown,</span> -<span class="i0">Detect each harmless earthen notch,</span> -<span class="i2">And turn guerrillas into stone;</span> -<span class="i0">And then, amid the lonely gloom,</span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the tall old chestnut trees,</span> -<span class="i0">My silent marches I resume,</span> -<span class="i2">And think of other times than these.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet visions through the silent night!</span> -<span class="i2">The deep bay windows fringed with vine,</span> -<span class="i0">The room within, in softened light,</span> -<span class="i2">The tender, milk-white hand in mine;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -<span class="i0">The timid pressure, and the pause</span> -<span class="i2">That often overcame our speech—</span> -<span class="i0">The time when by mysterious laws</span> -<span class="i2">We each felt all in all to each.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then that bitter, bitter day,</span> -<span class="i2">When came the final hour to part;</span> -<span class="i0">When, clad in soldier’s honest gray,</span> -<span class="i2">I pressed her weeping to my heart;</span> -<span class="i0">Too proud of me to bid me stay,</span> -<span class="i2">Too fond of me to let me go,</span> -<span class="i0">I had to tear myself away,</span> -<span class="i2">And left her, stolid in my woe.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So rose the dream, so passed the night—</span> -<span class="i2">When, distant in the darksome glen,</span> -<span class="i0">Approaching up the sombre height</span> -<span class="i2">I heard the solid march of men;</span> -<span class="i0">Till over stubble, over sward,</span> -<span class="i2">And fields where lay the golden sheaf,</span> -<span class="i0">I saw the lantern of the guard</span> -<span class="i2">Advancing with the night relief.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Halt! Who goes there?” my challenge cry,</span> -<span class="i2">It rings along the watchful line;</span> -<span class="i0">“Relief!” I hear a voice reply;</span> -<span class="i2">“Advance, and give the countersign!”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -<span class="i0">With bayonet at the charge I wait—</span> -<span class="i2">The corporal gives the mystic spell;</span> -<span class="i0">With arms aport I charge my mate,</span> -<span class="i2">Then onward pass, and all is well.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But in the tent that night awake,</span> -<span class="i2">I ask, if in the fray I fall,</span> -<span class="i0">Can I the mystic answer make</span> -<span class="i2">When the angelic sentries call?</span> -<span class="i0">And pray that Heaven may so ordain,</span> -<span class="i2">Whene’er I go, what fate be mine,</span> -<span class="i0">Whether in pleasure or in pain,</span> -<span class="i2">I still may have the countersign.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below2">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_10.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="79" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_11.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="109" /> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">JONATHAN TO JOHN.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot1 space-below3"> -[This poem is a part of the second series of “The -Bigelow Papers,” a work wholly unmatched in the literature -of humor, that has an earnest purpose and well matured -thought for its sources of inspiration. The poem was called -forth by what is known as “the <i>Trent</i> affair.” Captain -Wilkes, commanding the United States man-of-war, <i>San -Jacinto</i>, boarded the British mail steamer <i>Trent</i> on the -8th of November, 1861, and took from her the Confederate -commissioners Mason and Slidell. Great Britain resented -the act, and for a time there was serious apprehension of -war between that country and the United States; but as the -seizure of the commissioners on board a neutral vessel was -deemed to be an act in violation of international law, the -Government at Washington, after inquiry into the facts, -surrendered the prisoners. The version of the poem here -given is a correct one, taken from the collected edition -of Mr. Lowell’s poems. An abridged and otherwise imperfect -version is given in many collections.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>]</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_12.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="152" /> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_13.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="100" /> -</div> -<p class="f120"><b>JONATHAN TO JOHN.</b></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="27" height="36" alt="I" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">It don’t seem hardly right, John,</span> -<span class="i4">When both my hands was full,</span> -<span class="i0">To stump me to a fight, John,—</span> -<span class="i2">Your cousin, tu, John Bull!</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">We know it now,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“The Lion’s paw is all the law,</span> -<span class="i2">Accordin’ to J. B.,</span> -<span class="i2">Thet’s fit for you an’ me!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You wonder why we’re hot, John?</span> -<span class="i2">Your mark wuz on the guns,</span> -<span class="i0">The neutral guns, thet shot, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Our brothers an’ our sons:</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">There’s human blood,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“By fits an’ starts, in Yankee hearts,</span> -<span class="i2">Though ’t may surprise J. B.</span> -<span class="i2">More ’n it would you an’ me.”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ef <i>I</i> turned mad dogs loose, John,</span> -<span class="i2">On <i>your</i> front parlor stairs,</span> -<span class="i0">Would it just meet your views, John,</span> -<span class="i2">To wait an’ sue their heirs?</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess,</span> -<span class="i2">I on’y guess,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“Thet ef Vattel on <i>his</i> toes fell,</span> -<span class="i2">’Twould kind o’ rile J. B.,</span> -<span class="i2">Ez wal ez you an’ me!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who made the law thet hurts, John,</span> -<span class="i2"><i>Heads I win—ditto tails?</i></span> -<span class="i0">“J. B.” was on his shirts, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Onless my memory fails.</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">(I’m good at thet),” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“Thet sauce for goose ain’t <i>jest</i> the juice</span> -<span class="i2">For ganders with J. B.,</span> -<span class="i2">No more’n with you or me!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When your rights was our wrongs, John,</span> -<span class="i2">You didn’t stop for fuss,—</span> -<span class="i0">Brittany’s trident prongs, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Was good ’nough law for us.</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess,</span> -<span class="i2">Though physic’s good,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“It doesn’t foller thet he can swaller</span> -<span class="i2">Prescriptions signed ‘<i>J. B.</i>’</span> -<span class="i2">Put up by you an’ me.”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We own the ocean, tu, John,</span> -<span class="i2">You mus’ n’ take it hard,</span> -<span class="i0">Ef we can’t think with you, John,</span> -<span class="i2">It’s just your own back yard,</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">Ef <i>thet’s</i> his claim,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“The fencin’ stuff’ll cost enough</span> -<span class="i2">To bust up friend J. B.</span> -<span class="i2">Ez wal ez you an’ me!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Why talk so dreffle big, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Of honor when it meant</span> -<span class="i0">You didn’t care a fig, John,</span> -<span class="i2">But jest for <i>ten per cent</i>?</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">He’s like the rest,” sez he;</span> -<span class="i0">“When all is done, it’s number one</span> -<span class="i2">Thet’s nearest to J. B.,</span> -<span class="i2">Ez wal ez t’ you an’ me!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We give the critters back, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Cos Abram thought ’twas right;</span> -<span class="i0">It warn’t your bullyin’ clack, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Provokin’ us to fight.</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">We’ve a hard row,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“To hoe just now; but thet, somehow,</span> -<span class="i2">May happen to J. B.,</span> -<span class="i2">Ez wal ez you an’ me!”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We ain’t so weak an’ poor, John,</span> -<span class="i2">With twenty million people,</span> -<span class="i0">An’ close to every door, John,</span> -<span class="i2">A school house an’ a steeple.</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">It is a fact,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“The surest plan to make a Man</span> -<span class="i2">Is, think him so, J. B.,</span> -<span class="i2">Ez much ez you or me!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our folks believe in Law, John;</span> -<span class="i2">An’ it’s fer her sake, now,</span> -<span class="i0">They’ve left the axe an’ saw, John,</span> -<span class="i2">The anvil an’ the plow.</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess,</span> -<span class="i2">Ef ’t warn’t fer law,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“There ’d be one shindy from here to Indy;</span> -<span class="i2">An’ <i>thet</i> don’t suit J. B.</span> -<span class="i2">(When ’t ain’t ’twixt you an’ me!)”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We know we ’ve got a cause, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Thet ’s honest, just, an’ true;</span> -<span class="i0">We thought ’t would win applause, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Ef nowhere else, from you,</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">His love of right,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“Hangs by a rotten fibre o’ cotton;</span> -<span class="i2">There ’s natur’ in J. B.,</span> -<span class="i2">Ez wal ez you an’ me!”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The South says, “<i>Poor folks down!</i>” John,</span> -<span class="i2">An’ “<i>All men up!</i>” say we,—</span> -<span class="i0">White, yaller, black, an’ brown, John;</span> -<span class="i2">Now which is your idee?</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">John preaches wal,” sez he;</span> -<span class="i0">“But, sermon thru, an’ come to <i>du</i>,</span> -<span class="i2">Why there’s the old J. B.</span> -<span class="i2">A-crowdin’ you an’ me!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shall it be love or hate, John?</span> -<span class="i2">It’s you thet ’s to decide;</span> -<span class="i0">Ain’t <i>your</i> bonds held by Fate, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Like all the world’s beside?</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">Wise men fergive,” sez he,</span> -<span class="i0">“But not ferget; an’ some time yet</span> -<span class="i2">Thet truth may strike J. B.,</span> -<span class="i2">Ez wal ez you an’ me!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God means to make this land, John,</span> -<span class="i2">Clear thru, from sea to sea,</span> -<span class="i0">Believe an’ understand, John,</span> -<span class="i2">The <i>wuth</i> o’ bein’ free.</span> -<span class="i0">Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess</span> -<span class="i2">God’s price is high,” sez he;</span> -<span class="i0">“But nothin’ else than wut he sells</span> -<span class="i2">Wears long, an’ thet J. B.</span> -<span class="i2">May larn, like you an’ me!”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_14.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THERE’S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By JAMES R. RANDALL.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2">[First printed in the <i>Richmond Examiner</i>. -Written while the author was in prison.]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_b.jpg" width="33" height="36" alt="B" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">By the blue Patapsco’s billowy dash</span> -<span class="i5">The tyrant’s war-shout comes,</span> -<span class="i0">Along with cymbal’s fitful clash,</span> -<span class="i2">And the growl of his sullen drums.</span> -<span class="i0">We hear it, we heed it with vengeful thrills,</span> -<span class="i2">And we shall not forgive or forget;</span> -<span class="i0">There’s faith in the streams, there’s hope in the hills,</span> -<span class="i2">There’s life in the old land yet!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Minions! we sleep but we are not dead;</span> -<span class="i2">We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred;</span> -<span class="i0">We crouch—’t is to welcome the triumph tread</span> -<span class="i2">Of the peerless Beauregard.</span> -<span class="i0">Then woe to your vile, polluting horde,</span> -<span class="i2">When the Southern braves are met;</span> -<span class="i0">There’s faith in the victor’s stainless sword,</span> -<span class="i2">There’s life in the old land yet!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind</span> -<span class="i2">With the clank of an iron chain;</span> -<span class="i0">The spirit of freedom sings in the wind,</span> -<span class="i2">O’er Merriman, Thomas, and Kane;</span> -<span class="i0">And we, though we smile not, are not thralls,—</span> -<span class="i2">Are piling a gory debt;</span> -<span class="i4">While down by McHenry’s dungeon walls</span> -<span class="i2"><i>There’s life in the old land yet</i>!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our women have hung their harps away,</span> -<span class="i2">And they scowl on your brutal bands,</span> -<span class="i0">While the nimble poniard dares the day,</span> -<span class="i2">In their dear, defiant hands.</span> -<span class="i0">They will strip their tresses to string our bows,</span> -<span class="i2">Ere the Northern sun is set;</span> -<span class="i0">There’s faith in their unrelenting woes,</span> -<span class="i2">There’s life in the old land yet!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,—</span> -<span class="i2">’T is vocal without noise;</span> -<span class="i0">It gushed o’er Manassas’ solemn plains,</span> -<span class="i2">From the blood of the <span class="smcap">Maryland Boys</span>!</span> -<span class="i0">That blood shall cry aloud, and rise</span> -<span class="i2">With an everlasting threat;</span> -<span class="i0">By the death of the brave, by the <span class="smcap">God</span> in the skies,</span> -<span class="i2"><i>There’s life in the old land yet</i>!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">[Southern.]</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_15.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="93" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">NEVER OR NOW.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_l.jpg" width="31" height="37" alt="L" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Listen, young heroes! your country is calling!</span> -<span class="i5">Time strikes the hour for the brave and the true!</span> -<span class="i0">Now, while the foremost are fighting and falling,</span> -<span class="i2">Fill up the ranks that have opened for you!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You whom the fathers made free and defended,</span> -<span class="i2">Stain not the scroll that emblazons their fame!</span> -<span class="i0">You whose fair heritage spotless descended,</span> -<span class="i2">Leave not your children a birthright of shame!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping!</span> -<span class="i2">Wait not till Honor lies wrapped in his pall!</span> -<span class="i0">Brief the lips’ meeting be, swift the hands clasping:</span> -<span class="i2">“Off for the wars!” is enough for them all.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Break from the arms that would fondly caress you!</span> -<span class="i2">Hark! ’t is the bugle-blast, sabres are drawn!</span> -<span class="i0">Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you,</span> -<span class="i2">Maidens shall weep for you when you are gone!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Never or now! cries the blood of a nation,</span> -<span class="i2">Poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom;</span> -<span class="i0">Now is the day and the hour of salvation,—</span> -<span class="i2">Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated cannon</span> -<span class="i2">Through the black canopy blotting the skies;</span> -<span class="i0">Never or now! flaps the shell-blasted pennon</span> -<span class="i2">O’er the deep ooze where the <i>Cumberland</i> lies!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From the foul dens where our brothers are dying,</span> -<span class="i2">Aliens and foes in the land of their birth,—</span> -<span class="i0">From the rank swamps where our martyrs are lying,</span> -<span class="i2">Pleading in vain for a handful of earth,—</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered,</span> -<span class="i2">Furrowed and ridged by the battle-field’s plough,</span> -<span class="i0">Comes the loud summons; too long you have slumbered,</span> -<span class="i2">Hear the last Angel-trump—Never or Now!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">1862.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_16.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="71" /> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_02.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="104" /> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">BOY BRITTAN.</h2> -<p class="center">(Battle of Fort Henry, Tenn., Feb. 6, 1862.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By FORCEYTHE WILLSON.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i23"><b>I.</b></span> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_b.jpg" width="33" height="36" alt="B" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Boy Brittan—only a lad—a fair-haired boy—sixteen,</span> -<span class="i12">In his uniform,</span> -<span class="i0">Into the storm—into the roaring jaws of grim Fort Henry—</span> -<span class="i0">Boldly bears the Federal flotilla—</span> -<span class="i12">Into the battle storm!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i23"><b>II.</b></span> -<span class="i0">Boy Brittan is master’s mate aboard of the <i>Essex</i>—</span> -<span class="i0">There he stands, buoyant and eager-eyed,</span> -<span class="i12">By the brave captain’s side;</span> -<span class="i0">Ready to do and dare. Aye, aye, sir! always ready—</span> -<span class="i12">In his country’s uniform.</span> -<span class="i0">Boom! Boom! and now the flag-boat sweeps, and now the <i>Essex</i>,</span> -<span class="i12">Into the battle storm!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i22"><b>III.</b></span> -<span class="i0">Boom! Boom! till river and fort and field are over-clouded</span> -<span class="i0">By battle’s breath; then from the fort a gleam</span> -<span class="i0">And a crashing gun, and the <i>Essex</i> is wrapt and shrouded</span> -<span class="i12">In a scalding cloud of steam?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i22"><b>IV.</b></span> -<span class="i12">But victory! victory!</span> -<span class="i0">Unto God all praise be ever rendered,</span> -<span class="i0">Unto God all praise and glory be!</span> -<span class="i0">See, Boy Brittan! see, boy, see!</span> -<span class="i0">They strike! Hurrah! the fort has just surrendered!</span> -<span class="i0">Shout! Shout! my boy, my warrior boy!</span> -<span class="i0">And wave your cap and clap your hands for joy!</span> -<span class="i0">Cheer answer cheer and bear the cheer about—</span> -<span class="i0">Hurrah! Hurrah! for the fiery fort is ours;</span> -<span class="i0">And “Victory!” “Victory!” “Victory!”</span> -<span class="i12">Is the shout.</span> -<span class="i0">Shout—for the fiery fort, and the field, and the day are ours—</span> -<span class="i0">The day is ours—thanks to the brave endeavor</span> -<span class="i12">Of heroes, boy, like thee!</span> -<span class="i0">The day is ours—the day is ours!</span> -<span class="i0">Glory and deathless love to all who shared with thee,</span> -<span class="i0">And bravely endured and dared with thee—</span> -<span class="i0">The day is ours—the day is ours—</span> -<span class="i12">Forever!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Glory and Love for one and all; but—but—for thee—</span> -<span class="i0">Home! Home! a happy “Welcome—welcome home” for thee!</span> -<span class="i12">And kisses of love for thee—</span> -<span class="i0">And a mother’s happy, happy tears, and a virgin’s bridal</span> -<span class="i7">wreath of flowers—</span> -<span class="i12">For thee!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i23"><b>V.</b></span> -<span class="i12">Victory! Victory!...</span> -<span class="i0">But suddenly wrecked and wrapt in seething steam, the <i>Essex</i></span> -<span class="i0">Slowly drifted out of the battle’s storm;</span> -<span class="i0">Slowly, slowly down—laden with the dead and dying;</span> -<span class="i0">And there at the captain’s feet, among the dead and the dying,</span> -<span class="i0">The shot-marred form of a beautiful boy is lying—</span> -<span class="i12">There in his uniform!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i22"><b>VI.</b></span> -<span class="i0">Laurels and tears for thee, boy,</span> -<span class="i0">Laurels and tears for thee!</span> -<span class="i0">Laurels of light, moist with the precious dew</span> -<span class="i0">Of the inmost heart of the nation’s loving heart,</span> -<span class="i0">And blest by the balmy breath of the beautiful and the true;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Moist—moist with the luminous breath of the singing spheres</span> -<span class="i12">And the nation’s starry tears!</span> -<span class="i0">And tremble-touched by the pulse-like gush and start</span> -<span class="i0">Of the universal music of the heart,</span> -<span class="i12">And all deep sympathy.</span> -<span class="i0">Laurels and tears for thee, boy,</span> -<span class="i12">Laurels and tears for thee—</span> -<span class="i0">Laurels of light and tears of love forevermore—</span> -<span class="i12">For thee!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i21"><b>VII.</b></span> -<span class="i0">And laurels of light, and tears of truth,</span> -<span class="i12">And the mantle of immortality;</span> -<span class="i0">And the flowers of love and immortal youth,</span> -<span class="i0">And the tender heart-tokens of all true ruth—</span> -<span class="i12">And the everlasting victory!</span> -<span class="i0">And the breath and bliss of Liberty;</span> -<span class="i0">And the loving kiss of Liberty;</span> -<span class="i0">And the welcoming light of heavenly eyes,</span> -<span class="i0">And the over-calm of God’s canopy;</span> -<span class="i0">And the infinite love-span of the skies</span> -<span class="i0">That cover the valleys of Paradise—</span> -<span class="i0">For all of the brave who rest with thee;</span> -<span class="i0">And for one and all who died with thee,</span> -<span class="i0">And now sleep side by side with thee;</span> -<span class="i0">And for every one who lives and dies,</span> -<span class="i0">On the solid land or the heaving sea,</span> -<span class="i12">Dear warrior-boy—like thee.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i20"><b>VIII.</b></span> -<span class="i12">O the victory—the victory</span> -<span class="i12">Belongs to thee!</span> -<span class="i0">God ever keeps the brightest crown for such as thou—</span> -<span class="i12">He gives it now to thee!</span> -<span class="i0">O young and brave, and early and thrice blest—</span> -<span class="i12">Thrice, thrice, thrice blest!</span> -<span class="i0">Thy country turns once more to kiss thy youthful brow,</span> -<span class="i0">And takes thee—gently—gently to her breast;</span> -<span class="i0">And whispers lovingly, “God bless thee—bless thee now—</span> -<span class="i12 space-below3">My darling, thou shalt rest!”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_10.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="79" /> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p035.jpg" alt="The Cumberland" width="500" height="351" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE “CUMBERLAND.”</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By H. W. LONGFELLOW.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a.jpg" width="38" height="36" alt="A" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,</span> -<span class="i5">On board the <i>Cumberland</i> sloop of war,</span> -<span class="i0">And at times from the fortress across the bay</span> -<span class="i10">The alarm of drums swept past,</span> -<span class="i10">Or a bugle blast</span> -<span class="i4">From the camp on shore.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then far away to the south uprose</span> -<span class="i4">A little feather of snow-white smoke,</span> -<span class="i0">And we knew that the iron ship of our foes</span> -<span class="i10">Was steadily steering its course</span> -<span class="i10">To try the force</span> -<span class="i4">Of our ribs of oak.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down upon us heavily runs,</span> -<span class="i4">Silent and sullen, the floating fort,</span> -<span class="i0">Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,</span> -<span class="i10">And leaps the terrible death,</span> -<span class="i10">With fiery breath,</span> -<span class="i4">From each open port.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We are not idle but send her straight</span> -<span class="i4">Defiance back in a full broadside!</span> -<span class="i0">As hail rebounds from a roof of slate</span> -<span class="i10">Rebounds our heavier hail</span> -<span class="i10">From each iron scale</span> -<span class="i4">Of the monster’s hide.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Strike your flag!” the rebel cries,</span> -<span class="i4">In his arrogant old plantation strain.</span> -<span class="i0">“Never!” our gallant Morris replies;</span> -<span class="i10">“It is better to sink than to yield!”</span> -<span class="i10">And the whole air pealed</span> -<span class="i4">With the cheers of our men.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then like a kraken, huge and black</span> -<span class="i4">She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!</span> -<span class="i0">Down went the <i>Cumberland</i> all awrack,</span> -<span class="i10">With a sudden shudder of death,</span> -<span class="i10">And the cannon’s breath</span> -<span class="i4">For her dying gasp.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,</span> -<span class="i4">Still floated our flag at the mainmast head.</span> -<span class="i0">Lord, how beautiful was Thy day!</span> -<span class="i10">Every waft of the air</span> -<span class="i10">Was a whisper of prayer,</span> -<span class="i4">Or a dirge for the dead.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas,</span> -<span class="i4">Ye are at peace in the troubled stream.</span> -<span class="i0">Ho! brave land! with hearts like these,</span> -<span class="i10">Thy flag, that is rent in twain,</span> -<span class="i10">Shall be one again,</span> -<span class="i4 space-below3">And without a seam!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_18.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="256" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_19.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="96" /> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">ON BOARD THE “CUMBERLAND.”</h2> -<p class="center">(March 8, 1862.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By GEORGE H. BOKER.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_s2.jpg" width="28" height="41" alt="“S" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">“Stand to your guns, men!” Morris cried.</span> -<span class="i6">Small need to pass the word;</span> -<span class="i0">Our men at quarters ranged themselves,</span> -<span class="i2">Before the drum was heard.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then began the sailors’ jests:</span> -<span class="i2">“What thing is that, I say?”</span> -<span class="i0">“A ’long-shore meeting-house adrift</span> -<span class="i2">Is standing down the bay!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A frown came over Morris’ face;</span> -<span class="i2">The strange, dark craft he knew;</span> -<span class="i0">“That is the iron <i>Merrimac</i>,</span> -<span class="i2">Manned by a rebel crew.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“So shot your guns, and point them straight;</span> -<span class="i2">Before this day goes by,</span> -<span class="i0">We’ll try of what her metal ’s made.”</span> -<span class="i2">A cheer was our reply.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Remember boys, this flag of ours</span> -<span class="i2">Has seldom left its place;</span> -<span class="i0">And where it falls, the deck it strikes</span> -<span class="i2">Is covered with disgrace.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I ask but this: or sink or swim,</span> -<span class="i2">Or live or nobly die,</span> -<span class="i0">My last sight upon earth may be</span> -<span class="i2">To see that ensign fly!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass</span> -<span class="i2">Came moving o’er the wave,</span> -<span class="i0">As gloomy as a passing hearse,</span> -<span class="i2">As silent as the grave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her ports were closed, from stem to stem</span> -<span class="i2">No sign of life appeared.</span> -<span class="i0">We wondered, questioned, strained our eyes,</span> -<span class="i2">Joked,—every thing but feared.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She reached our range. Our broadside rang,</span> -<span class="i2">Our heavy pivots roared;</span> -<span class="i0">And shot and shell, a fire of hell,</span> -<span class="i2">Against her sides we poured.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God’s mercy! from her sloping roof</span> -<span class="i2">The iron tempest glanced,</span> -<span class="i0">As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch,</span> -<span class="i2">And round her leaped and danced;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or, when against her dusky hull</span> -<span class="i2">We struck a fair, full blow,</span> -<span class="i0">The mighty, solid iron globes</span> -<span class="i2">Were crumbled up like snow.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On, on, with fast increasing speed,</span> -<span class="i2">The silent monster came;</span> -<span class="i0">Though all our starboard battery</span> -<span class="i2">Was one long line of flame.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She heeded not, nor gun she fired,</span> -<span class="i2">Straight on our bow she bore;</span> -<span class="i0">Through riving plank and crashing frame</span> -<span class="i2">Her furious way she tore.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alas! our beautiful, keen bow,</span> -<span class="i2">That in the fiercest blast</span> -<span class="i0">So gently folded back the seas,</span> -<span class="i2">They hardly felt we passed!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alas! Alas! My <i>Cumberland</i>,</span> -<span class="i2">That ne’er knew grief before,</span> -<span class="i0">To be so gored, to feel so deep</span> -<span class="i2">The tusk of that sea-boar!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Once more she backward drew a space,</span> -<span class="i2">Once more our side she rent;</span> -<span class="i0">Then, in the wantonness of hate,</span> -<span class="i2">Her broadside through us sent.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dead and dying round us lay,</span> -<span class="i2">But our foeman lay abeam;</span> -<span class="i0">Her open portholes maddened us;</span> -<span class="i2">We fired with shout and scream.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We felt our vessel settling fast,</span> -<span class="i2">We knew our time was brief;</span> -<span class="i0">“The pumps, the pumps!” But they who pumped</span> -<span class="i2">And fought not, wept with grief.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Oh, keep us but an hour afloat!</span> -<span class="i2">Oh, give us only time</span> -<span class="i0">To be the instruments of heaven</span> -<span class="i2">Against the traitors’ crime!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From captain down to powder-boy,</span> -<span class="i2">No hand was idle then;</span> -<span class="i0">Two soldiers, but by chance aboard,</span> -<span class="i2">Fought on like sailor-men.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when a gun’s crew lost a hand,</span> -<span class="i2">Some bold marine stepped out,</span> -<span class="i0">And jerked his braided jacket off,</span> -<span class="i2">And hauled the gun about.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our forward magazine was drowned;</span> -<span class="i2">And up from the sick-bay</span> -<span class="i0">Crawled out the wounded, red with blood,</span> -<span class="i2">And round us gasping lay.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, cheering, calling us by name,</span> -<span class="i2">Struggling with failing breath,</span> -<span class="i0">To keep their shipmates at the port,</span> -<span class="i2">While glory strove with death.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With decks afloat, and powder gone,</span> -<span class="i2">The last broadside we gave</span> -<span class="i0">From the guns’ heated iron lips</span> -<span class="i2">Burst out beneath the wave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So sponges, rammers, and handspikes—</span> -<span class="i2">As men-of-war’s men should—</span> -<span class="i0">We placed within their proper racks,</span> -<span class="i2">And at our quarters stood.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Up to the spar-deck! Save yourselves!”</span> -<span class="i2">Cried Selfridge. “Up, my men!</span> -<span class="i0">God grant that some of us may live</span> -<span class="i2">To fight yon ship again!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We turned—we did not like to go;</span> -<span class="i2">Yet staying seemed but vain,</span> -<span class="i0">Knee-deep in water; so we left;</span> -<span class="i2">Some swore, some groaned with pain.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We reached the deck. Here Randall stood:</span> -<span class="i2">“Another turn, men—so!”</span> -<span class="i0">Calmly he aimed his pivot-gun:</span> -<span class="i2">“Now, Tenney, let her go!”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It did our sore hearts good to hear</span> -<span class="i2">The song our pivot sang,</span> -<span class="i0">As rushing on, from wave to wave,</span> -<span class="i2">The whirring bomb-shell sprang.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Brave Randall leaped upon the gun,</span> -<span class="i2">And waved his cap in sport;</span> -<span class="i0">“Well done! well aimed! I saw that shell</span> -<span class="i2">Go through an open port.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was our last, our deadliest shot;</span> -<span class="i2">The deck was over-flown:</span> -<span class="i0">The poor ship staggered, lurched to port,</span> -<span class="i2">And gave a living groan.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down, down, as headlong through the waves</span> -<span class="i2">Our gallant vessel rushed,</span> -<span class="i0">A thousand gurgling, watery sounds</span> -<span class="i2">Around my senses gushed.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then I remember little more;</span> -<span class="i2">One look to heaven I gave,</span> -<span class="i0">Where, like an angel’s wing, I saw</span> -<span class="i2">Our spotless ensign wave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I tried to cheer, I cannot say</span> -<span class="i2">Whether I swam or sank;</span> -<span class="i0">A blue mist closed around my eyes,</span> -<span class="i2">And every thing was blank.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When I awoke, a soldier-lad,</span> -<span class="i2">All dripping from the sea,</span> -<span class="i0">With two great tears upon his cheeks,</span> -<span class="i2">Was bending over me.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I tried to speak. He understood</span> -<span class="i2">The wish I could not speak.</span> -<span class="i0">He turned me. There, thank God! the flag</span> -<span class="i2">Still fluttered at the peak!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And there, while thread shall hang to thread,</span> -<span class="i2">O let that ensign fly!</span> -<span class="i0">The noblest constellation set</span> -<span class="i2">Against our northern sky.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A sign that we who live may claim</span> -<span class="i2">The peerage of the brave;</span> -<span class="i0">A monument, that needs no scroll,</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">For those beneath the wave!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_20.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="72" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_04.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="107" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE SWORD-BEARER.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By GEORGE H. BOKER.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_b.jpg" width="33" height="36" alt="B" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Brave Morris saw the day was lost;</span> -<span class="i6">For nothing now remained</span> -<span class="i0">On the wrecked and sinking <i>Cumberland</i></span> -<span class="i2">But to save the flag unstained.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So he swore an oath in the sight of heaven</span> -<span class="i2">(If he kept it, the world can tell):</span> -<span class="i0">“Before I strike to a rebel flag,</span> -<span class="i2">I’ll sink to the gates of hell!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Here, take my sword; ’tis in my way;</span> -<span class="i2">I shall trip o’er the useless steel:</span> -<span class="i0">For I’ll meet the lot that falls to all,</span> -<span class="i2">With my shoulder at the wheel.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So the little negro took the sword,</span> -<span class="i2">And oh! with what reverent care!</span> -<span class="i0">Following his master step by step,</span> -<span class="i2">He bore it here and there.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A thought had crept through his sluggish brain,</span> -<span class="i2">And shone in his dusky face,</span> -<span class="i0">That somehow—he could not tell just how—</span> -<span class="i2">’Twas the sword of his trampled race.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And as Morris, great with his lion heart,</span> -<span class="i2">Rushed onward from gun to gun,</span> -<span class="i0">The little negro slid after him,</span> -<span class="i2">Like a shadow in the sun.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But something of pomp and of curious pride</span> -<span class="i2">The sable creature wore,</span> -<span class="i0">Which at any time but a time like that</span> -<span class="i2">Would have made the ship’s crew roar.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over the wounded, dying, and dead,</span> -<span class="i2">Like an usher of the rod,</span> -<span class="i0">The black page, full of his mighty trust,</span> -<span class="i2">With dainty caution trod.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No heed he gave to the flying ball,</span> -<span class="i2">No heed to the bursting shell;</span> -<span class="i0">His duty was something more than life,</span> -<span class="i2">And he strove to do it well.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down, with our starry flag apeak,</span> -<span class="i2">In the whirling sea we sank;</span> -<span class="i0">And captain and crew and the sword-bearer</span> -<span class="i2">Were washed from the bloody plank.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They picked us up from the hungry waves—</span> -<span class="i2">Alas! not all. And where,</span> -<span class="i0">Where is the faithful negro lad?</span> -<span class="i2">“Back oars! avast! look there!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We looked, and as heaven may save my soul,</span> -<span class="i2">I pledge you a sailor’s word,</span> -<span class="i0">There, fathoms deep in the sea he lay,</span> -<span class="i2">Still grasping his master’s sword.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We drew him out; and many an hour</span> -<span class="i2">We wrought with his rigid form,</span> -<span class="i0">Ere the almost smothered spark of life</span> -<span class="i2">By slow degrees grew warm.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The first dull glance that his eyeballs rolled</span> -<span class="i2">Was down toward his shrunken hand;</span> -<span class="i0">And he smiled, and closed his eyes again,</span> -<span class="i2">As they fell on the rescued brand.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And no one touched the sacred sword,</span> -<span class="i2">Till at length, when Morris came,</span> -<span class="i0">The little negro stretched it out,</span> -<span class="i2">With his eager eyes aflame.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And if Morris wrung the poor boy’s hand,</span> -<span class="i2">And his words seemed hard to speak,</span> -<span class="i0">And tears ran down his manly cheeks,</span> -<span class="i2">What tongue shall call him weak?</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_21.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE OLD SERGEANT.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By FORCEYTHE WILLSON.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_c2.jpg" width="33" height="38" alt="“C" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">“Come a little nearer, Doctor,—thank you!—let me take the cup:</span> -<span class="i6">Draw your chair up,—draw it closer,—just another little sup!</span> -<span class="i0">Maybe you may think I’m better; but I’m pretty well used up,—</span> -<span class="i0">Doctor, you’ve done all you could do, but I’m just a going up!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain’t much use to try—”</span> -<span class="i0">“Never say that,” said the surgeon, as he smothered down a sigh;</span> -<span class="i0">“It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say die!”</span> -<span class="i0">“What you <i>say</i> will make no difference, Doctor, when you come to die.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Doctor, what has been the matter?”—“You were very faint, they say;</span> -<span class="i0">You must try to get to sleep now.”—“Doctor, have I been away?”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -<span class="i0">“Not that anybody knows of!”—“Doctor—Doctor, please to stay!</span> -<span class="i0">There is something I must tell you, and you won’t have long to stay!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I have got my marching orders, and I’m ready now to go;</span> -<span class="i0">Doctor, did you say I fainted!—But it couldn’t ha’ been so,—</span> -<span class="i0">For as sure as I’m a Sergeant, and was wounded at Shiloh,</span> -<span class="i0">I’ve this very night been back there, on the old field of Shiloh!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“This is all that I remember: The last time the lighter came,</span> -<span class="i0">And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the same,</span> -<span class="i0">He had not been gone five minutes before something called my name:</span> -<span class="i0">’<span class="smcap">Orderly Sergeant—Robert Burton!</span>’—just that way it called my name.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And I wondered who could call me so distinctly and so slow,</span> -<span class="i0">Knew it couldn’t be the lighter,—he could not have spoken so;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And I tried to answer, ‘Here, sir!’ but I couldn’t make it go!</span> -<span class="i0">For I couldn’t move a muscle, and I couldn’t make it go!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Then I thought: It’s all a nightmare, all a humbug and a bore:</span> -<span class="i0">Just another foolish <i>grapevine</i><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>—and it won’t come any more;</span> -<span class="i0">But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as before:</span> -<span class="i0">‘<span class="smcap">Orderly Sergeant—Robert Burton!</span>’ even plainer than before.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of light,</span> -<span class="i0">And I stood beside the river, where we stood that Sunday night,</span> -<span class="i0">Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite,</span> -<span class="i0">When the river was perdition and all hell was opposite!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And the same old palpitation came again in all its power,</span> -<span class="i0">And I heard a bugle sounding, as from some celestial tower;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And the same mysterious voice said: ‘<span class="smcap">It is the eleventh hour!</span></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Orderly Sergeant—Robert Burton—It is the eleventh hour!</span>’</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Doctor Austin!—what <i>day</i> is this?”—“It is Wednesday night, you know.”</span> -<span class="i0">“Yes,—to-morrow will be New Year’s, and a right good time below!</span> -<span class="i0">What <i>time</i> is it, Doctor Austin?”—“Nearly twelve.” “Then don’t you go!”</span> -<span class="i0">Can it be that all this happened—all this—not an hour ago!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“There was where the gun-boats opened on the dark, rebellious host,</span> -<span class="i0">And where Webster semi-circled his last guns upon the coast;</span> -<span class="i0">There were still the two log-houses, just the same, or else their ghost,—</span> -<span class="i0">And the same old transport came and took me over—or its ghost!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And the old field lay before me all deserted far and wide;</span> -<span class="i0">There was where they fell on Prentice,—there McClernand met the tide;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -<span class="i0">There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where Hurlbut’s heroes died,—</span> -<span class="i0">Lower down, where Wallace charged them, and kept charging till he died.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“There was where Lew Wallace showed them he was of the canny kin,</span> -<span class="i0">There was where old Nelson thundered, and where Rousseau waded in;</span> -<span class="i0">Then McCook sent ’em to breakfast and we all began to win—</span> -<span class="i0">There was where the grape-shot took me, just as we began to win.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Now, a shroud of snow and silence over every thing was spread;</span> -<span class="i0">And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my head,</span> -<span class="i0">I should not have even doubted, to this moment I was dead,—</span> -<span class="i0">For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Death and silence!—Death and silence! all around me as I sped!</span> -<span class="i0">And behold a mighty <span class="smcap">Tower</span>, as if builded to the dead,—</span> -<span class="i0">To the Heaven of the heavens, lifted up its mighty head,</span> -<span class="i0">Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seemed waving from its head!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Round and mighty-based it towered—up into the infinite—</span> -<span class="i0">And I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft so bright;</span> -<span class="i0">For it shone like solid sunshine; and a winding stair of light,</span> -<span class="i0">Wound around it and around it till it wound clear out of sight!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And, behold, as I approached it—with a rapt and dazzled stare,—</span> -<span class="i0">Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great stair—</span> -<span class="i0">Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of,—‘Halt! and who goes there?’</span> -<span class="i0">‘I’m a friend,’ I said, ‘if you are.’—‘Then advance, sir, to the stair!’</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I advanced!—that sentry, Doctor, was Elijah Ballantyne!—</span> -<span class="i0">First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed the line:</span> -<span class="i0">‘Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome! welcome by that countersign!’</span> -<span class="i0">And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of mine!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“As he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only of the grave;</span> -<span class="i0">But he smiled and pointed upward, with a bright and bloodless glaive;</span> -<span class="i0">‘That’s the way, sir, to head-quarters.’—‘What head-quarters?’—‘Of the brave.’</span> -<span class="i0">‘But the great tower?’—‘That was builded of the great deeds of the brave.’</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Then a sudden shame came o’er me at his uniform of light;</span> -<span class="i0">At my own so old and tattered, and at his so new and bright;</span> -<span class="i0">‘Ah!’ said he, ‘you have forgotten the new uniform to-night,—</span> -<span class="i0">Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o’clock to-night!’</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there, and I—</span> -<span class="i0">Doctor—did you hear a footstep? Hark!—God bless you all! Good-bye!</span> -<span class="i0">Doctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack when I die,</span> -<span class="i0">To my son—my son that’s coming,—he won’t get here till I die!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Tell him his old father blessed him as he never did before,—</span> -<span class="i0">And to carry that old musket”—Hark! a knock is at the door!—</span> -<span class="i0">“Till the Union”—See! it opens!—“Father! Father! Speak once more!”</span> -<span class="i0 space-below3">“<i>Bless you!</i>”—gasped the old gray Sergeant, and he lay and said no more.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_22.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="150" /> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"> -<span class="label">[1]</span></a> -The troops during the war were accustomed to express their -incredulity, when news could not be traced to a trustworthy -source, by saying that the tidings had been received by “grapevine -telegraph.” Hence a canard was called a “grapevine.”—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_24.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="86" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE “VARUNA.”</h2> -<p class="center">(Sunk April 24, 1862.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By GEORGE H. BOKER.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="48" height="36" alt="W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4b drop-cap">Who has not heard of the dauntless <i>Varuna</i>?</span> -<span class="i6">Who has not heard of the deeds she has done?</span> -<span class="i0">Who shall not hear, while the brown Mississippi</span> -<span class="i2">Rushes along from the snow to the sun?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Crippled and leaking she entered the battle,</span> -<span class="i2">Sinking and burning she fought through the fray;</span> -<span class="i0">Crushed were her sides and the waves ran across her,</span> -<span class="i2">Ere, like a death wounded lion at bay,</span> -<span class="i0">Sternly she closed in the last fatal grapple,</span> -<span class="i2">Then in her triumph moved grandly away.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Five of the rebels, like satellites round her,</span> -<span class="i2">Burned in her orbit of splendor and fear;</span> -<span class="i0">One, like the pleiad of mystical story,</span> -<span class="i2">Shot, terror-stricken, beyond her dread sphere.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We who are waiting with crowns for the victors,</span> -<span class="i2">Though we should offer the wealth of our store,</span> -<span class="i0">Load the <i>Varuna</i> from deck down to kelson,</span> -<span class="i2">Still would be niggard, such tribute to pour</span> -<span class="i0">On courage so boundless. It beggars possession,—</span> -<span class="i0">It knocks for just payment at heaven’s bright door!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cherish the heroes who fought the <i>Varuna</i>;</span> -<span class="i2">Treat them as kings if they honor your way;</span> -<span class="i0">Succor and comfort the sick and the wounded;</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">Oh! for the dead let us all kneel to pray!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_23.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="195" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_25.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="93" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE RIVER FIGHT.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [Admiral Farragut was so impressed with this -irregular but spirited description of the river battle below New -Orleans that he sought out the author and their acquaintance ended -in a warm friendship. Brownell having expressed a desire to witness -a naval conflict, Farragut took him on board the Flagship <i>Hartford</i> -at the time of the storming of the Mobile forts, and the poet repaid -the courtesy with the poem which appears elsewhere in this collection, -called “The Bay Fight.”—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_d.jpg" width="37" height="37" alt="D" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Do you know of the dreary land,</span> -<span class="i6">If land such region may seem,</span> -<span class="i0">Where ’tis neither sea nor strand,</span> -<span class="i0">Ocean, nor good, dry land,</span> -<span class="i0">But the nightmare marsh of a dream?</span> -<span class="i0">Where the Mighty River his death-road takes,</span> -<span class="i0">’Mid pools and windings that coil like snakes,</span> -<span class="i0">A hundred leagues of bayous and lakes,</span> -<span class="i0">To die in the great Gulf Stream?</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No coast-line clear and true,</span> -<span class="i0">Granite and deep-sea blue,</span> -<span class="i0">On that dismal shore you pass,</span> -<span class="i0">Surf-worn boulder or sandy beach,—</span> -<span class="i0">But ooze-flats as far as the eye can reach,</span> -<span class="i0">With shallows of water-grass;</span> -<span class="i0">Reedy Savannahs, vast and dun,</span> -<span class="i0">Lying dead in the dim March sun;</span> -<span class="i0">Huge, rotting trunks and roots that lie</span> -<span class="i0">Like the blackened bones of shapes gone by,</span> -<span class="i0">And miles of sunken morass.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No lovely, delicate thing</span> -<span class="i0">Of life o’er the waste is seen</span> -<span class="i0">But the cayman couched by his weedy spring,</span> -<span class="i0">And the pelican, bird unclean,</span> -<span class="i0">Or the buzzard, flapping with heavy wing,</span> -<span class="i0">Like an evil ghost o’er the desolate scene.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! many a weary day</span> -<span class="i0">With our Leader there we lay.</span> -<span class="i0">In the sultry haze and smoke,</span> -<span class="i0">Tugging our ships o’er the bar,</span> -<span class="i0">Till the spring was wasted far,</span> -<span class="i0">Till his brave heart almost broke.</span> -<span class="i0">For the sullen river seemed</span> -<span class="i0">As if our intent he dreamed,—</span> -<span class="i0">All his sallow mouths did spew and choke.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -<span class="i0">But ere April fully passed</span> -<span class="i0">All ground over at last</span> -<span class="i0">And we knew the die was cast,—</span> -<span class="i0">Knew the day drew nigh</span> -<span class="i0">To dare to the end one stormy deed,</span> -<span class="i0">Might save the land at her sorest need,</span> -<span class="i0">Or on the old deck to die!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Anchored we lay,—and a morn the more,</span> -<span class="i0">To his captains and all his men</span> -<span class="i0">Thus wrote our old commodore—</span> -<span class="i0">(He wasn’t Admiral then):—</span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smcap">General Orders</span>:</span> -<span class="i0">Send your to’gallant masts down,</span> -<span class="i0">Rig in each flying jib-boom!</span> -<span class="i0">Clear all ahead for the loom</span> -<span class="i0">Of traitor fortress and town,</span> -<span class="i0">Or traitor fleet bearing down</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“In with your canvas high;</span> -<span class="i0">We shall want no sail to fly!</span> -<span class="i0">Top sail, foresail, spanker, and jib,</span> -<span class="i0">(With the heart of oak in the oaken rib,)</span> -<span class="i0">Shall serve us to win or die!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Trim every sail by the head,</span> -<span class="i0">(So shall you spare the lead,)</span> -<span class="i0">Lest if she ground, your ship swing round,</span> -<span class="i0">Bows in shore, for a wreck.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -<span class="i0">See your grapnels all clear with pains,</span> -<span class="i0">And a solid kedge in your port main-chains,</span> -<span class="i0">With a whip to the main yard:</span> -<span class="i0">Drop it heavy and hard</span> -<span class="i0">When you grappel a traitor deck!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“On forecastle and on poop</span> -<span class="i0">Mount guns, as best you may deem.</span> -<span class="i0">If possible, rouse them up</span> -<span class="i0">(For still you must bow the stream).</span> -<span class="i0">Also hoist and secure with stops</span> -<span class="i0">Howitzers firmly in your tops,</span> -<span class="i0">To fire on the foe abeam.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Look well to your pumps and hose;</span> -<span class="i0">Have water tubs fore and aft,</span> -<span class="i0">For quenching flame in your craft,</span> -<span class="i0">And the gun crew’s fiery thirst.</span> -<span class="i0">See planks with felt fitted close,</span> -<span class="i0">To plug every shot-hole tight.</span> -<span class="i0">Stand ready to meet the worst!</span> -<span class="i0">For, if I have reckoned aright,</span> -<span class="i0">They will serve us shot,</span> -<span class="i0">Both cold and hot,</span> -<span class="i0">Freely enough to-night.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Mark well each signal I make,—</span> -<span class="i0">(Our life-long service at stake,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And honor that must not lag!)</span> -<span class="i0">What e’er the peril and awe,</span> -<span class="i0">In the battle’s fieriest flaw,</span> -<span class="i0">Let never one ship withdraw</span> -<span class="i0">Till the orders come from the flag!”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Would you hear of the river fight?</span> -<span class="i0">It was two of a soft spring night;</span> -<span class="i0">God’s stars looked down on all;</span> -<span class="i0">And all was clear and bright</span> -<span class="i0">But the low fog’s clinging breath;</span> -<span class="i0">Up the River of Death</span> -<span class="i0">Sailed the great Admiral.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On our high poop-deck he stood,</span> -<span class="i0">And round him ranged the men</span> -<span class="i0">Who have made their birthright good</span> -<span class="i0">Of manhood once and again,—</span> -<span class="i0">Lords of helm and of sail,</span> -<span class="i0">Tried in tempest and gale,</span> -<span class="i0">Bronzed in battle and wreck.</span> -<span class="i0">Bell and Bailey grandly led</span> -<span class="i0">Each his line of the Blue and Red;</span> -<span class="i0">Wainwright stood by our starboard rail;</span> -<span class="i0">Thornton fought the deck.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And I mind me of more than they,</span> -<span class="i0">Of the youthful, steadfast ones,</span> -<span class="i0">That have shown them worthy sons</span> -<span class="i0">Of the seamen passed away.</span> -<span class="i0">Tyson conned our helm that day;</span> -<span class="i0">Watson stood by his guns.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What thought our Admiral then,</span> -<span class="i0">Looking down on his men?</span> -<span class="i0">Since the terrible day,—</span> -<span class="i0">(Day of renown and tears!)</span> -<span class="i0">When at anchor the <i>Essex</i> lay,—</span> -<span class="i0">Holding her foes at bay,—</span> -<span class="i0">When a boy by Porter’s side he stood,</span> -<span class="i0">Till deck and plank-shear were dyed with blood;</span> -<span class="i0">’Tis half a hundred years,—</span> -<span class="i0">Half a hundred years to a day!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who could fail with him?</span> -<span class="i0">Who reckon of life or limb?</span> -<span class="i0">Not a pulse but beat the higher!</span> -<span class="i0">There had you seen, by the starlight dim,</span> -<span class="i0">Five hundred faces strong and grim:</span> -<span class="i0">The Flag is going under fire!</span> -<span class="i0">Right up by the fort,</span> -<span class="i0">With her helm hard aport,</span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Hartford</i> is going under fire!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The way to our work was plain.</span> -<span class="i0">Caldwell had broken the chain</span> -<span class="i0">(Two hulks swung down amain</span> -<span class="i0">Soon as ’twas sundered).</span> -<span class="i0">Under the night’s dark blue,</span> -<span class="i0">Steering steady and true,</span> -<span class="i0">Ship after ship went through,</span> -<span class="i0">Till, as we hove in view,</span> -<span class="i0">“Jackson” out-thundered!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Back echoed “Philip!” ah! then</span> -<span class="i0">Could you have seen our men.</span> -<span class="i0">How they sprung in the dim night haze,</span> -<span class="i0">To their work of toil and of clamor!</span> -<span class="i0">How the boarders, with sponge and rammer,</span> -<span class="i0">And their captains, with cord and hammer,</span> -<span class="i0">Kept every muzzle ablaze.</span> -<span class="i0">How the guns, as with cheer and shout—</span> -<span class="i0">Our tackle-men hurled them out—</span> -<span class="i0">Brought up on the water-ways!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">First, as we fired at their flash,</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas lightning and black eclipse,</span> -<span class="i0">With a bellowing roll and crash.</span> -<span class="i0">But soon, upon either bow,</span> -<span class="i0">What with forts and fire-rafts and ships,</span> -<span class="i0">(The whole fleet was hard at it now,)</span> -<span class="i0">All pounding away!—and Porter</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Still thundering with shell and mortar,—</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas the mighty sound and form!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">(Such you see in the far South,</span> -<span class="i0">After long heat and drought,</span> -<span class="i0">As day draws nigh to even,</span> -<span class="i0">Arching from north to south,</span> -<span class="i0">Blinding the tropic sun,</span> -<span class="i0">The great black bow comes on,</span> -<span class="i0">Till the thunder-veil is riven,—</span> -<span class="i0">When all is crash and levin,</span> -<span class="i0">And the cannonade of heaven</span> -<span class="i0">Rolls down the Amazon!)</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, as we worked along higher,</span> -<span class="i0">Just where the river enlarges,</span> -<span class="i0">Down came a pyramid of fire,—</span> -<span class="i0">It was one of your long coal barges.</span> -<span class="i0">(We had often had the like before.)</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas coming down on us to larboard,</span> -<span class="i0">Well in with the eastern shore;</span> -<span class="i0">And our pilot, to let it pass round,</span> -<span class="i0">(You may guess we never stopped to sound)</span> -<span class="i0">Giving us a rank sheer to starboard,</span> -<span class="i0">Ran the Flag hard and fast aground!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twas nigh abreast of the Upper Fort,</span> -<span class="i0">And straightway a rascal ram</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -<span class="i0">(She was shaped like the Devil’s dam)</span> -<span class="i0">Puffed away for us, with a snort,</span> -<span class="i0">And shoved it, with spiteful strength,</span> -<span class="i0">Right alongside of us to port.</span> -<span class="i0">It was all of our ship’s length,—</span> -<span class="i0">A huge, crackling Cradle of the Pit!</span> -<span class="i0">Pitch-pine knots to the brim,</span> -<span class="i0">Belching flame red and grim,</span> -<span class="i0">What a roar came up from it!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Well, for a little it looked bad:</span> -<span class="i0">But these things are, somehow, shorter,</span> -<span class="i0">In the acting than in the telling;</span> -<span class="i0">There was no singing out or yelling,</span> -<span class="i0">Or any fussing and fretting,</span> -<span class="i0">No stampede, in short;</span> -<span class="i0">But there we were, my lad,</span> -<span class="i0">All afire on our port quarter,</span> -<span class="i0">Hammocks ablaze in the netting,</span> -<span class="i0">Flames spouting in at every port,</span> -<span class="i0">Our fourth cutter burning at the davit</span> -<span class="i0">(No chance to lower away and save it).</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In a twinkling, the flames had risen</span> -<span class="i0">Half way to main-top and mizzen,</span> -<span class="i0">Darting up the shrouds like snakes!</span> -<span class="i0">Ah, how we clanked at the brakes,</span> -<span class="i0">And the deep, steaming pumps throbbed under,</span> -<span class="i0">Sending a ceaseless flow.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our topmen, a dauntless crowd,</span> -<span class="i0">Swarmed in rigging and shroud:</span> -<span class="i0">There, (’twas a wonder!)</span> -<span class="i0">The burning ratlines and strands</span> -<span class="i0">They quenched with their bare, hard hands;</span> -<span class="i0">But the great guns below</span> -<span class="i0">Never silenced their thunder.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At last, by backing and sounding,</span> -<span class="i0">When we were clear of grounding,</span> -<span class="i0">And under headway once more,</span> -<span class="i0">The whole rebel fleet came rounding</span> -<span class="i0">The point. If we had it hot before,</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas now from shore to shore,</span> -<span class="i0">One long, loud, thundering roar,—</span> -<span class="i0">Such crashing, splintering, and pounding,</span> -<span class="i0">And smashing as you never heard before!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But that we fought foul wrong to wreck,</span> -<span class="i0">And to save the land we loved so well,</span> -<span class="i0">You might have deemed our long gun-deck</span> -<span class="i0">Two hundred feet of hell!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For above all was battle,</span> -<span class="i0">Broadside, and blaze, and rattle,</span> -<span class="i0">Smoke and thunder alone;</span> -<span class="i0">(But, down in the sick-bay,</span> -<span class="i0">Where our wounded and dying lay,</span> -<span class="i0">There was scarce a sob or a moan).</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And at last, when the dim day broke,</span> -<span class="i0">And the sullen sun awoke,</span> -<span class="i0">Drearily blinking</span> -<span class="i0">O’er the haze and the cannon smoke,</span> -<span class="i0">That ever such morning dulls,—</span> -<span class="i0">There were thirteen traitor hulls</span> -<span class="i0">On fire and sinking!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now, up the river!—through mad Chalmette</span> -<span class="i0">Sputters a vain resistance yet,</span> -<span class="i0">Small helm we gave her our course to steer,—</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas nicer work then you well would dream,</span> -<span class="i0">With cant and sheer to keep her clear</span> -<span class="i0">Of the burning wrecks that cumbered the stream,</span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Louisiana</i>, hurled on high,</span> -<span class="i0">Mounts in thunder to meet the sky!</span> -<span class="i0">Then down to the depths of the turbid flood,—</span> -<span class="i0">Fifty fathom of rebel mud!</span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Mississippi</i> comes floating down,</span> -<span class="i0">A mighty bonfire from off the town;</span> -<span class="i0">And along the river, on stocks and ways,</span> -<span class="i0">A half-hatched devil’s brood is ablaze,—</span> -<span class="i0">The great <i>Anglo-Norman</i> is all in flames,</span> -<span class="i0">(Hark to the roar of her trembling frames!)</span> -<span class="i0">And the smaller fry that Treason would spawn</span> -<span class="i0">Are lighting Algiers like an angry dawn!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From stem to stern, how the pirates burn,</span> -<span class="i0">Fired by the furious hands that built!</span> -<span class="i0">So to ashes forever turn</span> -<span class="i0">The suicide wrecks of wrong and guilt!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But as we neared the city,</span> -<span class="i0">By field and vast plantation,</span> -<span class="i0">(Ah! millstone of our nation!)</span> -<span class="i0">With wonder and with pity,</span> -<span class="i0">What crowds we there espied</span> -<span class="i0">Of dark and wistful faces,</span> -<span class="i0">Mute in their toiling places,</span> -<span class="i0">Strangely and sadly eyed,</span> -<span class="i0">Haply ’mid doubt and fear,</span> -<span class="i0">Deeming deliverance near,</span> -<span class="i0">(One gave the ghost of a cheer!)</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And on that dolorous strand,</span> -<span class="i0">To greet the victor brave,</span> -<span class="i0">One flag did welcome wave—</span> -<span class="i0">Raised, ah me! by a wretched hand,</span> -<span class="i0">All outworn on our cruel land,—</span> -<span class="i0">The withered hand of a slave!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But all along the levee,</span> -<span class="i0">In a dark and drenching rain,</span> -<span class="i0">(By this ’twas pouring heavy,)</span> -<span class="i0">Stood a fierce and sullen train,</span> -<span class="i0">A strange and frenzied time!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -<span class="i0">There were scowling rage and pain,</span> -<span class="i0">Curses, howls, and hisses,</span> -<span class="i0">Out of Hate’s black abysses,—</span> -<span class="i0">Their courage and their crime</span> -<span class="i0">All in vain—all in vain!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For from the hour that the Rebel Stream</span> -<span class="i0">With the Crescent City lying abeam,</span> -<span class="i0">Shuddered under our keel,</span> -<span class="i0">Smit to the heart with self-struck sting,</span> -<span class="i0">Slavery died in her scorpion-ring</span> -<span class="i0">And Murder fell on his steel.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis well to do and dare;</span> -<span class="i0">But ever may grateful prayer</span> -<span class="i0">Follow, as aye it ought,</span> -<span class="i0">When the good fight is fought,</span> -<span class="i0">When the true deed is done.</span> -<span class="i0">Aloft in heaven’s pure light,</span> -<span class="i0">(Deep azure crossed on white,)</span> -<span class="i0">Our fair Church pennant waves</span> -<span class="i0">O’er a thousand thankful braves,</span> -<span class="i0">Bareheaded in God’s bright sun.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lord of mercy and frown,</span> -<span class="i0">Ruling o’er sea and shore,</span> -<span class="i0">Send us such scene once more!</span> -<span class="i0">All in line of battle</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -<span class="i0">When the black ships bear down</span> -<span class="i0">On tyrant fort and town,</span> -<span class="i0">’Mid cannon cloud and rattle;</span> -<span class="i0">And the great guns once more</span> -<span class="i0">Thunder back the roar</span> -<span class="i0">Of the traitor walls ashore,</span> -<span class="i0 space-below3">And the traitor flags come down.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_26.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="134" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p072.jpg" alt="Sheridan’s Ride." width="500" height="414" /> -</div> -<h2 class="non-vis nobreak">SHERIDAN’S RIDE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_u.jpg" width="38" height="37" alt="U" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Up from the south, at break of day,</span> -<span class="i6">Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,</span> -<span class="i0">The affrighted air with a shudder bore,</span> -<span class="i0">Like a herald in haste to the chieftain’s door,</span> -<span class="i0">The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,</span> -<span class="i0">Telling the battle was on once more,</span> -<span class="i2">And Sheridan twenty miles away.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And wider still those billows of war</span> -<span class="i0">Thunder’d along the horizon’s bar;</span> -<span class="i0">And louder yet into Winchester roll’d</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -<span class="i0">The roar of that red sea uncontroll’d,</span> -<span class="i0">Making the blood of the listener cold,</span> -<span class="i0">As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,</span> -<span class="i2">With Sheridan twenty miles away.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But there is a road from Winchester town,</span> -<span class="i0">A good broad highway leading down:</span> -<span class="i0">And there, through the flush of the morning light,</span> -<span class="i0">A steed as black as the steeds of night</span> -<span class="i0">Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight,</span> -<span class="i0">As if he knew the terrible need</span> -<span class="i0">He stretch’d away with his utmost speed;</span> -<span class="i0">Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay,</span> -<span class="i2">With Sheridan fifteen miles away.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south,</span> -<span class="i0">The dust like smoke from the cannon’s mouth,</span> -<span class="i0">Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,</span> -<span class="i0">Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster.</span> -<span class="i0">The heart of the steed and the heart of the master</span> -<span class="i0">Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,</span> -<span class="i0">Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;</span> -<span class="i0">Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,</span> -<span class="i2">With Sheridan only ten miles away.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under his spurning feet, the road,</span> -<span class="i0">Like an arrowy Alpine river flow’d</span> -<span class="i0">And the landscape sped away behind</span> -<span class="i0">Like an ocean flying before the wind;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,</span> -<span class="i0">Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire.</span> -<span class="i0">But, lo! he is nearing his heart’s desire;</span> -<span class="i0">He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,</span> -<span class="i2">With Sheridan only five miles away.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The first that the general saw were the groups</span> -<span class="i0">Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;</span> -<span class="i0">What was done? what to do? a glance told him both.</span> -<span class="i0">Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath,</span> -<span class="i0">He dash’d down the line, ’mid a storm of huzzas,</span> -<span class="i0">And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because</span> -<span class="i0">The sight of the master compell’d it to pause.</span> -<span class="i0">With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;</span> -<span class="i0">By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril’s play,</span> -<span class="i0">He seem’d to the whole great army to say:</span> -<span class="i0">“I have brought you Sheridan all the way</span> -<span class="i2">From Winchester down to save the day.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan!</span> -<span class="i0">Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man!</span> -<span class="i0">And when their statues are placed on high,</span> -<span class="i0">Under the dome of the Union sky,</span> -<span class="i0">The American soldier’s Temple of Fame,</span> -<span class="i0">There with the glorious general’s name</span> -<span class="i0">Be it said, in letters both bold and bright:</span> -<span class="i2">“Here is the steed that saved the day</span> -<span class="i0">By carrying Sheridan into the fight,</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">From Winchester,—twenty miles away!”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_21.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_s.jpg" width="28" height="41" alt="S" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">So that soldierly legend is still on its journey—</span> -<span class="i6">That story of Kearney who knew not to yield!</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and Birney,</span> -<span class="i0">Against twenty thousand he rallied the field.</span> -<span class="i2">Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest,</span> -<span class="i0">Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine,</span> -<span class="i2">Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest,</span> -<span class="i0">No charge like Phil Kearney’s along the whole line.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn,</span> -<span class="i2">Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground,</span> -<span class="i0">He rode down the length of the withering column,</span> -<span class="i2">And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound.</span> -<span class="i0">He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder,—</span> -<span class="i2">His sword waved us on, and we answered the sign;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder:</span> -<span class="i2">“There’s the devil’s own fun, boys, along the whole line!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How he strode his brown steed! How we saw his blade brighten</span> -<span class="i2">In the one hand still left—and the reins in his teeth!</span> -<span class="i0">He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten,</span> -<span class="i2">But a soldier’s glance shot from his visor beneath.</span> -<span class="i0">Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal,</span> -<span class="i2">Asking where to go in—through the clearing or pine?</span> -<span class="i0">“Oh, anywhere! Forward! ’Tis all the same, Colonel:</span> -<span class="i2">You’ll find lovely fighting along the whole line!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly,</span> -<span class="i2">That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried!</span> -<span class="i0">Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily,</span> -<span class="i2">The flower of our knighthood, the whole army’s pride!</span> -<span class="i0">Yet we dream that he still—in that shadowy region</span> -<span class="i2">Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer’s sign—</span> -<span class="i0">Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion,</span> -<span class="i2">And the word still is Forward! along the whole line.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_14.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">STONEWALL JACKSON’S WAY.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By J. W. PALMER.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [Mr. William Gilmore Simms tells us that this -poem, stained with blood, was found on the person of a dead soldier of -the Stonewall brigade after one of Jackson’s battles in the Shenandoah -Valley. Its authorship, long unknown, has been discovered by -Mr. Francis F. Browne.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_c.jpg" width="33" height="38" alt="C" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails,</span> -<span class="i6">Stir up the camp-fire bright;</span> -<span class="i0">No growling if the canteen fails,</span> -<span class="i6">We’ll make a roaring night,</span> -<span class="i0">Here Shenandoah brawls along,</span> -<span class="i0">There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,</span> -<span class="i0">To swell the brigade’s rousing song</span> -<span class="i6">Of “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We see him now—the queer slouched hat</span> -<span class="i6">Cocked o’er his eye askew;</span> -<span class="i0">The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat,</span> -<span class="i6">So calm, so blunt, so true.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -<span class="i0">The “Blue-light Elder” knows ’em well;</span> -<span class="i0">Says he, “That’s Bank’s—he’s fond of shell;</span> -<span class="i0">Lord save his soul! we’ll give him—” well!</span> -<span class="i6">That’s “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!</span> -<span class="i6">Old Blue Light’s goin’ to pray.</span> -<span class="i0">Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!</span> -<span class="i6">Attention! it’s his way.</span> -<span class="i0">Appealing from his native sod,</span> -<span class="i0">In <i>forma pauperïs</i> to God:</span> -<span class="i0">“Lay bare Thine arm; stretch forth Thy rod!</span> -<span class="i6">Amen!” That’s “Stonewall’s way.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He’s in the saddle now. Fall in!</span> -<span class="i6">Steady! the whole brigade!</span> -<span class="i0">Hill’s at the ford, cut off; we’ll win</span> -<span class="i6">His way out, ball and blade!</span> -<span class="i0">What matter if our shoes are worn?</span> -<span class="i0">What matter if our feet are torn?</span> -<span class="i0">“Quick step! we’re with him before morn!”</span> -<span class="i6">That’s “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sun’s bright lances rout the mists</span> -<span class="i6">Of morning, and, by George!</span> -<span class="i0">Here’s Longstreet, struggling in the lists,</span> -<span class="i6">Hemmed in an ugly gorge.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Pope and his Dutchmen, whipped before;</span> -<span class="i0">“Bay’nets and grape!” hear Stonewall roar;</span> -<span class="i0">“Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby’s score!”</span> -<span class="i6">In “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! Maiden, wait and watch and yearn</span> -<span class="i6">For news of Stonewall’s band!</span> -<span class="i0">Ah! Widow, read, with eyes that burn,</span> -<span class="i6">That ring upon thy hand.</span> -<span class="i0">Ah! Wife, sew on, pray on, hope on;</span> -<span class="i0">Thy life shall not be all forlorn;</span> -<span class="i0">The foe had better ne’er been born</span> -<span class="i6">That gets in “Stonewall’s way.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_27.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="146" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_05.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="115" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">MARCHING ALONG.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By WILLIAM B. BRADBURY.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [During the Civil War this song was frequently -sung upon the march by the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac. -Except “When this Cruel War is Over” and the doggerel about “John -Brown’s Body,” there was scarcely any song so often heard. The name -of the leader was changed, from time to time, to accord with the -facts.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">The army is gathering from near and from far;</span> -<span class="i5">The trumpet is sounding the call for the war;</span> -<span class="i0">McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong;</span> -<span class="i0">We’ll gird on our armor and be marching along.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Marching along, we are marching along,</span> -<span class="i8">Gird on the armor and be marching along;</span> -<span class="i8">McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong;</span> -<span class="i8">For God and our country we are marching along.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The foe is before us in battle array,</span> -<span class="i0">But let us not waver, or turn from the way;</span> -<span class="i0">The Lord is our strength, and the Union’s our song;</span> -<span class="i0">With courage and faith we are marching along.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Marching along, etc.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our wives and our children we leave in your care;</span> -<span class="i0">We feel you will help them with sorrow to bear:</span> -<span class="i0">’Tis hard thus to part, but we hope ’twon’t be long:</span> -<span class="i0">We’ll keep up our heart as we’re marching along.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Marching along, etc.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We sigh for our country, we mourn for our dead;</span> -<span class="i0">For them now our last drop of blood we will shed;</span> -<span class="i0">Our cause is the right one—our foe’s in the wrong;</span> -<span class="i0">Then gladly we’ll sing as we’re marching along.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Marching along, etc.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The flag of our country is floating on high;</span> -<span class="i0">We’ll stand by that flag till we conquer or die;</span> -<span class="i0">McClellan’s our leader, he’s gallant and strong;</span> -<span class="i0">We’ll gird on our armor and be marching along.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Marching along, etc.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_02.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="104" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE BURIAL OF LATANÉ.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By JOHN R. THOMPSON.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [Captain Latané, of Stuart’s Confederate -cavalry was killed during the Pamunkey expedition in 1862. He was -buried by a company of women, one of whom read the service for the -dead, while a little girl strewed flowers on the grave.—<span -class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">The combat raged not long, but ours the day;</span> -<span class="i5">And, through the hosts that compassed us around,</span> -<span class="i0">Our little band rode proudly on its way,</span> -<span class="i0">Leaving one gallant comrade, glory-crowned,</span> -<span class="i0">Unburied on the field he died to gain—</span> -<span class="i0">Single of all his men, amid the hostile slain.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One moment on the battle’s edge he stood—</span> -<span class="i0">Hope’s halo, like a helmet, round his hair;</span> -<span class="i0">The next beheld him, dabbled in his blood,</span> -<span class="i0">Prostrate in death—and yet, in death how fair!</span> -<span class="i0">Even thus he passed through the red gates of strife,</span> -<span class="i0">From earthly crowns and palms, to an immortal life.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A brother bore his body from the field,</span> -<span class="i0">And gave it unto strangers’ hands, that closed</span> -<span class="i0">The calm blue eyes, on earth forever sealed,</span> -<span class="i0">And tenderly the slender limbs composed:</span> -<span class="i0">Strangers, yet sisters, who, with Mary’s love,</span> -<span class="i0">Sat by the open tomb, and, weeping, looked above.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A little child strewed roses on his bier—</span> -<span class="i0">Pale roses, not more stainless than his soul,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor yet more fragrant than his life sincere,</span> -<span class="i0">That blossomed with good actions—brief, but whole;</span> -<span class="i0">The aged matron and the faithful slave</span> -<span class="i0">Approached with reverent feet the hero’s lowly grave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No man of God might say the burial rite</span> -<span class="i0">Above the “rebel”—thus declared the foe</span> -<span class="i0">That blanched before him in the deadly fight;</span> -<span class="i0">But woman’s voice, with accents soft and low,</span> -<span class="i0">Trembling with pity—touched with pathos—read</span> -<span class="i0">Over his hallowed dust the ritual for the dead.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“’Tis sown in weakness, it is raised in power!”</span> -<span class="i0">Softly the promise floated on the air,</span> -<span class="i0">While the low breathings of the sunset hour</span> -<span class="i0">Came back responsive to the mourner’s prayer.</span> -<span class="i0">Gently they laid him underneath the sod,</span> -<span class="i0">And left him with his fame, his country, and his God!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let us not weep for him, whose deeds endure!</span> -<span class="i0">So young, so brave, so beautiful! He died</span> -<span class="i0">As he had wished to die; the past is sure;</span> -<span class="i0">Whatever yet of sorrow may betide</span> -<span class="i0">Those who still linger by the stormy shore,</span> -<span class="i0">Change cannot harm him now, nor fortune touch him more.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_06.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="209" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_28.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="90" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">TARDY GEORGE.</h2> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [This poem was written at a time when the -impatience of the Northern people with the delay of McClellan to make -use of the means so lavishly provided for him, was scarcely to be -restrained. For many months McClellan had been in command of a vast -army, perfectly equipped and thoroughly disciplined, yet month after -month went by with nothing done and nothing attempted. The discontent -of the people found much angrier expression than was given to it in -these stanzas, but this is one of the best metrical protests that -appeared.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="48" height="36" alt="W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4b drop-cap">What are you waiting for, George, I pray?</span> -<span class="i7">To scour your cross-belts with fresh pipe-clay?</span> -<span class="i0">To burnish your buttons, to brighten your guns;</span> -<span class="i0">Or wait you for May-day and warm-spring suns?</span> -<span class="i0">Are you blowing your fingers because they are cold,</span> -<span class="i0">Or catching your breath ere you take a hold?</span> -<span class="i0">Is the mud knee-deep in valley and gorge?</span> -<span class="i0">What are you waiting for, tardy George?</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Want you a thousand more cannon made,</span> -<span class="i0">To add to the thousand now arrayed?</span> -<span class="i0">Want you more men, more money to pay?</span> -<span class="i0">Are not two millions enough per day?</span> -<span class="i0">Wait you for gold and credit to go,</span> -<span class="i0">Before we shall see your martial show;</span> -<span class="i0">Till Treasury Notes will not pay to forge?</span> -<span class="i0">What are you waiting for, tardy George?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Are you waiting for your hair to turn,</span> -<span class="i0">Your heart to soften, your bowels to yearn</span> -<span class="i0">A little more toward “our Southern friends,”</span> -<span class="i0">As at home and abroad they work their ends?</span> -<span class="i0">“Our Southern friends!” whom you hold so dear</span> -<span class="i0">That you do no harm and give no fear,</span> -<span class="i0">As you tenderly take them by the gorge—</span> -<span class="i0">What are you waiting for, tardy George?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now that you’ve marshalled your whole command,</span> -<span class="i0">Planned what you would, and changed what you planned,</span> -<span class="i0">Practised with shot and practised with shell,</span> -<span class="i0">Know to a hair where every one fell,</span> -<span class="i0">Made signs by day and signals by night;</span> -<span class="i0">Was it all done to keep out of a fight?</span> -<span class="i0">Is the whole matter too heavy a charge?</span> -<span class="i0">What are you waiting for, tardy George?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shall we have more speeches, more reviews?</span> -<span class="i0">Or are you waiting to hear the news;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -<span class="i0">To hold up your hands in mute surprise,</span> -<span class="i0">When France and England shall “recognize”?</span> -<span class="i0">Are you too grand to fight traitors small?</span> -<span class="i0">Must you have a nation to cope withal?</span> -<span class="i0">Well, hammer the anvil and blow the forge—</span> -<span class="i0">You’ll soon have a dozen, tardy George.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Suppose for a moment, George, my friend—</span> -<span class="i0">Just for a moment—you condescend</span> -<span class="i0">To use the means that are in your hands,</span> -<span class="i0">The eager muskets and guns and brands;</span> -<span class="i0">Take one bold step on the Southern sod,</span> -<span class="i0">And leave the issue to watchful God!</span> -<span class="i0">For now the nation raises its gorge,</span> -<span class="i0">Waiting and watching you, tardy George.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I should not much wonder, George, my boy,</span> -<span class="i0">If Stanton get in his head a toy,</span> -<span class="i0">And some fine morning, ere you are out,</span> -<span class="i0">He send you all “to the right about”—</span> -<span class="i0">You and Jomini, and all the crew</span> -<span class="i0">Who think that war is nothing to do</span> -<span class="i0">But to drill and cipher, and hammer and forge—</span> -<span class="i0">What are you waiting for, tardy George?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">January, 1862.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_13.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="100" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">WANTED—A MAN.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By Edmund Clarence Stedman.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [This virile cry for a fit leader for the Army -of the Potomac was inspired by an editorial article of Henry J. Raymond -in the <i>New York Times</i>. It was written in 1862, when the popular -feeling of chagrin and humiliation over McClellan’s failure and Pope’s -disaster at Manassas was most intense. Mr. Lincoln was so strongly -impressed by the poem that he read it to his Cabinet.—<span -class="smcap">Editor.</span>]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_b.jpg" width="33" height="36" alt="B" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Back from the trebly crimsoned field</span> -<span class="i5">Terrible words are thunder-tost;</span> -<span class="i0">Full of the wrath that will not yield,</span> -<span class="i2">Full of revenge for battles lost!</span> -<span class="i0">Hark to their echo, as it crost</span> -<span class="i2">The Capital, making faces wan:</span> -<span class="i0">“End this murderous holocaust;</span> -<span class="i2">Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Give us a man of God’s own mould,</span> -<span class="i2">Born to marshal his fellow-men;</span> -<span class="i0">One whose fame is not bought and sold</span> -<span class="i2">At the stroke of a politician’s pen;</span> -<span class="i0">Give us the man of thousands ten,</span> -<span class="i2">Fit to do as well as to plan;</span> -<span class="i0">Give us a rallying-cry, and then,</span> -<span class="i2">Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“No leader to shirk the boasting foe,</span> -<span class="i2">And to march and countermarch our brave,</span> -<span class="i0">Till they fall like ghosts in the marshes low,</span> -<span class="i2">And swamp-grass covers each nameless grave;</span> -<span class="i0">Nor another, whose fatal banners wave</span> -<span class="i2">Aye in disaster’s shameful van;</span> -<span class="i0">Nor another, to bluster, and lie, and rave,—</span> -<span class="i2">Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Hearts are mourning in the North,</span> -<span class="i2">While the sister rivers seek the main,</span> -<span class="i0">Red with our life-blood flowing forth—</span> -<span class="i2">Who shall gather it up again?</span> -<span class="i0">Though we march to the battle-plain</span> -<span class="i2">Firmly as when the strife began,</span> -<span class="i0">Shall all our offering be in vain?—</span> -<span class="i2">Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Is there never one in all the land,</span> -<span class="i2">One on whose might the Cause may lean?</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Are all the common ones so grand,</span> -<span class="i2">And all the titled ones so mean?</span> -<span class="i0">What if your failure may have been</span> -<span class="i2">In trying to make good bread from bran,</span> -<span class="i0">From worthless metal a weapon keen?—</span> -<span class="i2">Abraham Lincoln, find us a MAN!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Oh, we will follow him to the death,</span> -<span class="i2">Where the foeman’s fiercest columns are!</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, we will use our latest breath,</span> -<span class="i2">Cheering for every sacred star!</span> -<span class="i0">His to marshal us high and far;</span> -<span class="i2">Ours to battle, as patriots can</span> -<span class="i0">When a hero leads the Holy War!—</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_10.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="79" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_19.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="96" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">OVERTURES FROM RICHMOND.</h2> -<p class="f120"><b>A NEW LILLIBULERO.</b></p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By F. J. Child.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w2.jpg" width="62" height="36" alt="“W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4c drop-cap">“Well, Uncle Sam,” says Jefferson D.,</span> -<span class="i8">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“You’ll have to join my Confed’racy,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, that don’t appear O, that don’t appear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, that don’t appear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“So, Uncle Sam, just lay down your arms,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Then you shall hear my reas’nable terms,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, I’d like to hear O, I’d like to hear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, I’d like to hear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“First, you must own I’ve beat you in fight,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Then, that I always have been in the right,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, rather severe O, rather severe,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, rather severe,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Then you must pay my national debts,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“No questions asked about my assets,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, that’s very dear O, that’s very dear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, that’s very dear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Also, some few I. O. U.’s and bets,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Mine and Bob Toombs’s and Slidell’s and Rhett’s,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, that leaves me zero, that leaves me zero,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, that leaves me zero,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And, by the way, one little thing more,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“You’re to refund the cost of the war,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, just what I fear O, just what I fear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, just what I fear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Next, you must own our cavalier blood!”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“And that your Puritans sprang from the mud!”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, that mud is clear O, that mud is clear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, that mud is clear,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Slavery’s of course the chief corner-stone,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Of our NEW CIV-IL-I-ZA-TION!”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, that’s quite sincere O, that’s quite sincere,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, that’s quite sincere,”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“You’ll understand, my recreant tool,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“You’re to submit, and we are to rule,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, aren’t you a hero! aren’t you a hero!”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, aren’t you a hero!”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“If to these terms you fully consent,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“I’ll be perpetual King-President,”</span> -<span class="i4">Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam.</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, take your sombrero, off to your swamps!”</span> -<span class="i4">Says old Uncle Sam,</span> -<span class="i0">“Lero, lero, fillibustero, cut, double-quick!”</span> -<span class="i4 space-below3">Says old Uncle Sam.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_16.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="71" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> -<img src="images/p095.jpg" alt="Barbara Fretchie" width="500" height="415" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">BARBARA FRIETCHIE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_u.jpg" width="38" height="37" alt="U" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Up from the meadows rich with corn,</span> -<span class="i5">Clear in the cool September morn,</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The cluster’d spires of Frederick stand</span> -<span class="i0">Green-wall’d by the hills of Maryland.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Round about them orchards sweep,</span> -<span class="i0">Apple- and peach-trees fruited deep.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fair as the garden of the Lord</span> -<span class="i0">To the eyes of the famish’d rebel horde,</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On that pleasant morn of the early fall,</span> -<span class="i0">When Lee march’d over the mountain-wall,—</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over the mountains winding down,</span> -<span class="i0">Horse and foot, into Frederick town.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Forty flags with their silver stars,</span> -<span class="i0">Forty flags with their crimson bars,</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Flapp’d in the morning wind: the sun</span> -<span class="i0">Of noon look’d down, and saw not one.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,</span> -<span class="i0">Bow’d with her fourscore years and ten;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bravest of all in Frederick town,</span> -<span class="i0">She took up the flag the men haul’d down;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In her attic window the staff she set,</span> -<span class="i0">To show that one heart was loyal yet.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up the street came the rebel tread,</span> -<span class="i0">Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under his slouch’d hat left and right</span> -<span class="i0">He glanced: the old flag met his sight.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Halt!”—the dust-brown ranks stood fast</span> -<span class="i0">“Fire!”—out blazed the rifle blast.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It shiver’d the window, pane and sash;</span> -<span class="i0">It rent the banner with seam and gash.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Quick, as it fell from the broken staff,</span> -<span class="i0">Dame Barbara snatch’d the silken scarf.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She lean’d far out on the window-sill,</span> -<span class="i0">And shook it forth with a royal will.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,</span> -<span class="i0">But spare your country’s flag,” she said.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A shade of sadness, a blush of shame</span> -<span class="i0">Over the face of the leader came.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The nobler nature within him stirr’d</span> -<span class="i0">To life at that woman’s deed and word:</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Who touches a hair of yon gray head</span> -<span class="i0">Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All day long through Frederick street</span> -<span class="i0">Sounded the tread of marching feet:</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All day long that free flag tost</span> -<span class="i0">Over the heads of the rebel host.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ever its torn folds rose and fell</span> -<span class="i0">On the loyal winds that loved it well;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And through the hill-gaps sunset light</span> -<span class="i0">Shone over it with a warm good-night.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,</span> -<span class="i0">And the rebel rides on his raids no more,</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Honor to her! and let a tear</span> -<span class="i0">Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave,</span> -<span class="i0">Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Peace and order and beauty draw</span> -<span class="i0">Round thy symbol of light and law;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And ever the stars above look down</span> -<span class="i0 space-below3">On thy stars below in Frederick town!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_29.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="168" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_09.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="103" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">MUSIC IN CAMP.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By John R. Thompson.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Two armies covered hill and plain,</span> -<span class="i5">Where Rappahannock’s waters</span> -<span class="i0">Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain</span> -<span class="i2">Of battle’s recent slaughters.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The summer clouds lay pitched like tents</span> -<span class="i2">In meads of heavenly azure;</span> -<span class="i0">And each dread gun of the elements</span> -<span class="i2">Slept in its high embrasure.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The breeze so softly blew, it made</span> -<span class="i2">No forest leaf to quiver;</span> -<span class="i0">And the smoke of the random cannonade</span> -<span class="i2">Rolled slowly from the river.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now where circling hills looked down</span> -<span class="i2">With cannon grimly planted,</span> -<span class="i0">O’er listless camp and silent town</span> -<span class="i2">The golden sunset slanted.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When on the fervid air there came</span> -<span class="i2">A strain, now rich, now tender;</span> -<span class="i0">The music seemed itself aflame</span> -<span class="i2">With day’s departing splendor.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A Federal band, which eve and morn</span> -<span class="i2">Played measures brave and nimble,</span> -<span class="i0">Had just struck up with flute and horn</span> -<span class="i2">And lively clash of cymbal.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down flocked the soldiers to the banks;</span> -<span class="i2">Till, margined by its pebbles,</span> -<span class="i0">One wooded shore was blue with “Yanks,”</span> -<span class="i2">And one was gray with “Rebels.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then all was still; and then the band,</span> -<span class="i2">With movement light and tricksy,</span> -<span class="i0">Made stream and forest, hill and strand,</span> -<span class="i2">Reverberate with “Dixie.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The conscious stream, with burnished glow,</span> -<span class="i2">Went proudly o’er its pebbles,</span> -<span class="i0">But thrilled throughout its deepest flow</span> -<span class="i2">With yelling of the Rebels.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Again a pause; and then again</span> -<span class="i2">The trumpet pealed sonorous,</span> -<span class="i0">And “Yankee Doodle” was the strain</span> -<span class="i2">To which the shore gave chorus.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The laughing ripple shoreward flew</span> -<span class="i2">To kiss the shining pebbles;</span> -<span class="i0">Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue</span> -<span class="i2">Defiance to the Rebels.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And yet once more the bugle sang</span> -<span class="i2">Above the stormy riot;</span> -<span class="i0">No shout upon the evening rang—</span> -<span class="i2">There reigned a holy quiet.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sad, slow stream, its noiseless flood</span> -<span class="i2">Poured o’er the glistening pebbles;</span> -<span class="i0">All silent now the Yankees stood,</span> -<span class="i2">All silent stood the Rebels.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No unresponsive soul had heard</span> -<span class="i2">That plaintive note’s appealing,</span> -<span class="i0">So deeply “Home, Sweet Home” had stirred</span> -<span class="i2">The hidden founts of feeling.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or Blue, or Gray, the soldier sees,</span> -<span class="i2">As by the wand of fairy,</span> -<span class="i0">The cottage ’neath the live oak trees,</span> -<span class="i2">The cabin by the prairie.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or cold, or warm, his native skies</span> -<span class="i2">Bend in their beauty o’er him;</span> -<span class="i0">Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes,</span> -<span class="i2">His loved ones stand before him.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As fades the iris after rain</span> -<span class="i2">In April’s tearful weather,</span> -<span class="i0">The vision vanished as the strain</span> -<span class="i2">And daylight died together.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But Memory, waked by Music’s art,</span> -<span class="i2">Expressed in simple numbers,</span> -<span class="i0">Subdued the sternest Yankee’s heart,</span> -<span class="i2">Made light the Rebel’s slumbers.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And fair the form of Music shines—</span> -<span class="i2">That bright celestial creature—</span> -<span class="i0">Who still ’mid War’s embattled lines</span> -<span class="i2">Gave this one touch of Nature.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_03.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="96" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p103.jpg" alt="Fredricksburg" width="500" height="344" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">FREDERICKSBURG.</h2> -<p class="center">(December, 1862.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By W. F. W.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_e.jpg" width="32" height="37" alt="E" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Eighteen hundred and sixty-two,—</span> -<span class="i5">That is the number of wounded men</span> -<span class="i0">Who, if the telegraph’s tale be true,</span> -<span class="i2">Reached Washington City but yestere’en.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And it is but a handful, the telegrams add,</span> -<span class="i2">To those who are coming by boats and by cars,</span> -<span class="i0">Weary and wounded, dying and sad;</span> -<span class="i2">Covered—but only in front—with scars.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some are wounded by Minie shot,</span> -<span class="i2">Others are torn by the hissing shell,</span> -<span class="i0">As it burst upon them as fierce and as hot</span> -<span class="i2">As a demon spawned in a traitor’s hell.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some are pierced by the sharp bayonet,</span> -<span class="i2">Others are crushed by the horses’ hoof,</span> -<span class="i0">Or fell ’neath the shower of iron which met</span> -<span class="i2">Them as hail beats down on an open roof.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shall I tell what they did to meet this fate?</span> -<span class="i2">Why was this living death their doom?</span> -<span class="i0">Why did they fall to this piteous state</span> -<span class="i2">Neath the rifle’s crack and the cannon’s boom?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Orders arrived, and the river they crossed;</span> -<span class="i2">Built the bridge in the enemy’s face;</span> -<span class="i0">No matter how many were shot and lost,</span> -<span class="i2">And floated—sad corpses—away from the place.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Orders they heard, and they scaled the height,</span> -<span class="i2">Climbing right “into the jaws of death”;</span> -<span class="i0">Each man grasping his rifle-piece tight,</span> -<span class="i2">Scarcely pausing to draw his breath.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sudden flashed on them a sheet of flame</span> -<span class="i2">From hidden fence and from ambuscade;</span> -<span class="i0">A moment more—(they say this is fame)—</span> -<span class="i2">A thousand dead men on the grass were laid.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fifteen thousand in wounded and killed,</span> -<span class="i2">At least, is “our loss,” the newspapers say.</span> -<span class="i0">This loss to our army must surely be filled</span> -<span class="i2">Against another great battle day.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Our loss!” Whose loss? Let demagogues say</span> -<span class="i2">That the Cabinet, President, all are in wrong:</span> -<span class="i0">What do the orphans and widows pray?</span> -<span class="i2">What is the burden of their sad song?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis <i>their</i> loss! but the tears in their weeping eyes</span> -<span class="i2">Hide Cabinet, President, Generals,—all;</span> -<span class="i0">And they only can see a cold form that lies</span> -<span class="i2">On the hill-side slope, by that fatal wall.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They cannot discriminate men or means,—</span> -<span class="i2">They only demand that this blundering cease.</span> -<span class="i0">In their frenzied grief they would end such scenes,</span> -<span class="i2">Though that end be—even with traitors—peace.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Is thy face from thy people turned, O God?</span> -<span class="i2">Is thy arm for the nation no longer strong?</span> -<span class="i0">We cry from our homes—the dead cry from the sod—</span> -<span class="i2">How long, oh, our righteous God! how long?</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_01.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="78" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">TREASON’S LAST DEVICE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.</span></p> - -<div class="blockquot2"> -<p>[Certain politicians proposed, as a means of -ending the war, that a new confederacy or union should be formed, -from which the New England States should be excluded because of their -implacable hostility to slavery and their consequent obnoxiousness to -the South. There were many spirited replies to this proposal, the best -of which is this poem.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>]</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">“Who deserves greatness</span> -<span class="i3">Deserves your hate ...</span> -<span class="i3">Yon common cry of curs, whose breath I loathe</span> -<span class="i3">As reek o’ the rotten fens.”</span> -<span class="i26"><i>Coriolanus.</i></span> -<span class="i3">“Hark! hark! the dogs do bark.”</span> -<span class="i26"><i>Nursery Rhyme.</i></span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_s.jpg" width="28" height="41" alt="S" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Sons of New England in the fray,</span> -<span class="i5">Do you hear the clamor behind your back?</span> -<span class="i0">Do you hear the yelping of Blanche and Tray?</span> -<span class="i2">Sweetheart, and all the mongrel pack?</span> -<span class="i0">Girded well with her ocean crags,</span> -<span class="i2">Little our mother heeds their noise;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Her eyes are fixed on crimson flags:</span> -<span class="i2">But you—do you hear it, Yankee boys?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you hear them say that the patriot fire</span> -<span class="i2">Burns on her altars too pure and bright,</span> -<span class="i0">To the darkened heavens leaping higher,</span> -<span class="i2">Though drenched with the blood of every fight?</span> -<span class="i0">That in the light of its searching flame</span> -<span class="i2">Treason and tyrants stand revealed,</span> -<span class="i0">And the yielding craven is put to shame</span> -<span class="i2">On Capitol floor or foughten field?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you hear the hissing voice which saith</span> -<span class="i2">That she—who bore through all the land</span> -<span class="i0">The lyre of Freedom, the torch of Faith,</span> -<span class="i2">And young Invention’s mystic wand—</span> -<span class="i0">Should gather her skirts and dwell apart,</span> -<span class="i2">With not one of her sisters to share her fate,—</span> -<span class="i0">A Hagar, wandering sick at heart?</span> -<span class="i2">A pariah bearing the nation’s hate?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sons, who have peopled the gorgeous West,</span> -<span class="i2">And planted the Pilgrim arm anew,</span> -<span class="i0">Where by a richer soil caressed,</span> -<span class="i2">It grows as ever its parent grew,—</span> -<span class="i0">Say, do you hear—while the very bells</span> -<span class="i2">Of your churches ring with her ancient voice,</span> -<span class="i0">And the song of your children sweetly tells</span> -<span class="i2">How true was the land of your fathers’ choice—</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you hear the traitors who bid you speak</span> -<span class="i2">The word that shall sever the sacred tie?</span> -<span class="i0">And ye who dwell by the golden peak,</span> -<span class="i2">Has the subtle whisper glided by?</span> -<span class="i0">Has it crossed the immemorial plains</span> -<span class="i2">To coasts where the gray Pacific roars,</span> -<span class="i0">And the Pilgrim blood in the people’s veins</span> -<span class="i2">Is pure as the wealth of their mountain ores?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Spirits of sons who side by side</span> -<span class="i2">In a hundred battles fought and fell,</span> -<span class="i0">Whom now no East and West divide,</span> -<span class="i2">In the isles where the shades of heroes dwell,—</span> -<span class="i0">Say, has it reached your glorious rest,</span> -<span class="i2">And ruffled the calm which crowns you there?</span> -<span class="i0">The shame that recreants have confest</span> -<span class="i2">The plot that floats in the troubled air?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sons of New England, here and there,</span> -<span class="i2">Wherever men are still holding by</span> -<span class="i0">The honor our fathers left so fair,—</span> -<span class="i2">Say, do you hear the cowards’ cry?</span> -<span class="i0">Crouching amongst her grand old crags,</span> -<span class="i2">Lightly our mother heeds their noise,</span> -<span class="i0">With her fond eyes fixed on distant flags;</span> -<span class="i2">But you—do you hear it, Yankee boys?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">January 19, 1863.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p109.jpg" alt="In Louisiana" width="500" height="318" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">IN LOUISIANA.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By J. W. De FOREST.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="48" height="36" alt="W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4b drop-cap">Without a hillock stretched the plain;</span> -<span class="i7">For months we had not seen a hill;</span> -<span class="i2">The endless, flat Savannahs still</span> -<span class="i0">Wearied our eyes with waving cane.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One tangled cane-field lay before</span> -<span class="i2">The ambush of the cautious foe;</span> -<span class="i2">Behind a black bayou, with low</span> -<span class="i0">Reed-hidden, miry, treacherous shore;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A sullen swamp along the right,</span> -<span class="i2">Where alligators slept and crawled,</span> -<span class="i2">And moss-robed cypress giants sprawled</span> -<span class="i0">Athwart the noontide’s blistering light.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Quick, angry spite of musketry</span> -<span class="i2">Proclaimed our skirmishers at work;</span> -<span class="i2">We saw their crouching figures lurk</span> -<span class="i0">Through thickets firing from the knee.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our Parrotts felt the distant wood</span> -<span class="i2">With humming, shrieking, growling shell;</span> -<span class="i2">When suddenly the mouth of hell</span> -<span class="i0">Gaped fiercely for its human food.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A long and low blue roll of smoke</span> -<span class="i2">Curled up a hundred yards ahead,</span> -<span class="i2">And deadly storms of driving lead</span> -<span class="i0">From rifle-pits and cane-fields broke.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then, while the bullets whistled thick,</span> -<span class="i2">And hidden batteries boomed and shelled,</span> -<span class="i2">“Charge bayonets!” the colonel yelled;</span> -<span class="i0">“Battalion forward,—double quick!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With even slopes of bayonets</span> -<span class="i2">Advanced—a dazzling, threatening crest—</span> -<span class="i2">Right toward the rebels’ hidden nest,</span> -<span class="i0">The dark blue, living billow sets.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The color-guard was at my side;</span> -<span class="i2">I heard the color-sergeant groan;</span> -<span class="i2">I heard the bullet crush the bone;</span> -<span class="i0">I might have touched him as he died.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The life-blood spouted from his mouth</span> -<span class="i2">And sanctified the wicked land;</span> -<span class="i2">Of martyred saviors what a band</span> -<span class="i0">Has suffered to redeem the South!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I had no malice in my mind;</span> -<span class="i2">I only cried: “Close up! guide right!”</span> -<span class="i2">My single purpose in the fight</span> -<span class="i0">Was steady march with eyes aligned.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I glanced along the martial rows,</span> -<span class="i2">And marked the soldiers’ eyeballs burn;</span> -<span class="i2">Their eager faces hot and stern,—</span> -<span class="i0">The wrathful triumph on their brows.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The traitors saw; they reeled and fled:</span> -<span class="i2">Fear-stricken, gray-clad multitudes</span> -<span class="i2">Streamed wildly toward the covering woods,</span> -<span class="i0">And left us victory and their dead.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Once more the march, the tiresome plain,</span> -<span class="i2">The Father River fringed with dykes,</span> -<span class="i2">Gray cypresses, palmetto spikes,</span> -<span class="i0">Bayous and swamps and yellowing canes;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With here and there plantations rolled</span> -<span class="i2">In flowers, bananas, orange groves,</span> -<span class="i2">Where laugh the sauntering negro droves,</span> -<span class="i0">Reposing from the task of old;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And rarer, half-deserted towns,</span> -<span class="i2">Devoid of men, where women scowl,</span> -<span class="i2">Avoiding us as lepers foul</span> -<span class="i0">With sidling gait and flouting gowns.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">Thibodeaux, La., March, 1863.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_18.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="256" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p113.jpg" alt="John Pelham" width="500" height="320" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN PELHAM.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By James R. Randall.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [In most of the collections this poem is printed -under the title of “The Dead Cannoneer,” but the author assures the -present editor that the only title he ever gave it is the name of the -boy general, “John Pelham,” who was killed at Kelly’s Ford, Virginia, -17th March, 1863.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_j.jpg" width="33" height="37" alt="J" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Just as the spring came laughing through the strife,</span> -<span class="i12">With all its gorgeous cheer,</span> -<span class="i0">In the bright April of historic life,</span> -<span class="i12">Fell the great cannoneer.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wondrous lulling of a hero’s breath</span> -<span class="i12">His bleeding country weeps;</span> -<span class="i0">Hushed in the alabaster arms of Death,</span> -<span class="i12">Our young Marcellus sleeps.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nobler and grander than the Child of Rome</span> -<span class="i12">Curbing his chariot steeds,</span> -<span class="i0">The knightly scion of a Southern home</span> -<span class="i12">Dazzled the land with deeds.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gentlest and bravest in the battle-brunt,</span> -<span class="i12">The champion of the truth,</span> -<span class="i0">He bore his banner to the very front</span> -<span class="i12">Of our immortal youth.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A clang of sabres ’mid Virginian snow,</span> -<span class="i12">The fiery pang of shells,—</span> -<span class="i0">And there’s a wail of immemorial woe</span> -<span class="i12">In Alabama dells.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The pennon drops that led the sacred band</span> -<span class="i12">Along the crimson field;</span> -<span class="i0">The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand</span> -<span class="i12">Over the spotless shield.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face;</span> -<span class="i12">While round the lips and eyes,</span> -<span class="i0">Couched in their marble slumber, flashed the grace</span> -<span class="i12">Of a divine surprise.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O mother of a blessed soul on high!</span> -<span class="i12">Thy tears may soon be shed;</span> -<span class="i0">Think of thy boy with princes of the sky,</span> -<span class="i12">Among the Southern dead!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How must he smile on this dull world beneath,</span> -<span class="i12">Fevered with swift renown,—</span> -<span class="i0">He, with the martyr’s amaranthine wreath</span> -<span class="i12">Twining the victor’s crown!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_31.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="140" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_25.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="93" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR.</h2> -<p class="center">(Bombardment of Fort Sumter by the fleet, 7th April, 1863.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By PAUL H. HAYNE.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i25"><b>I.</b></span> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Two hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe April day,</span> -<span class="i4">The Northmen’s mailed “Invincibles” steamed up fair Charleston Bay;</span> -<span class="i0">They came in sullen file and slow, low-breasted on the wave,</span> -<span class="i0">Black as a midnight front of storm, and silent as the grave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i24"><b>II.</b></span> -<span class="i0">A thousand warrior-hearts beat high as those dread monsters drew</span> -<span class="i0">More closely to the game of death across the breezeless blue,</span> -<span class="i0">And twice ten thousand hearts of those who watched the scene afar,</span> -<span class="i0">Thrill in the awful hush that bides the battle’s broadening star.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i24"><b>III.</b></span> -<span class="i0">Each gunner, moveless by his gun, with rigid aspect stands,</span> -<span class="i0">The ready lanyards firmly grasped in bold, untrembling hands,</span> -<span class="i0">So moveless in their marbled calm, their stern heroic guise,</span> -<span class="i0">They looked like forms of statued stone with burning human eyes!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i24"><b>IV.</b></span> -<span class="i0">Our banners on the outmost walls, with stately rustling fold,</span> -<span class="i0">Flash back from arch and parapet the sunlight’s ruddy gold,—</span> -<span class="i0">They mount to the deep roll of drums, and widely echoing cheers,</span> -<span class="i0">And then—once more, dark, breathless, hushed, wait the grim cannoneers.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i25"><b>V.</b></span> -<span class="i0">Onward—in sullen file and slow, low glooming on the wave,</span> -<span class="i0">Near, nearer still, the haughty fleet glides silent as the grave,</span> -<span class="i0">When sudden, shivering up the calm, o’er startled flood and shore,</span> -<span class="i0">Burst from the sacred Island Fort the thunder-wrath of yore!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i24"><b>VI.</b></span> -<span class="i0">Ha! brutal Corsairs! though ye come thrice-cased in iron mail,</span> -<span class="i0">Beware the storm that’s opening now, God’s vengeance guides the hail!</span> -<span class="i0">Ye strive, the ruffian types of Might, ’gainst law and truth and Right;</span> -<span class="i0">Now quail beneath a sturdier Power, and own a mightier Might!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i23"><b>VII.</b></span> -<span class="i0">No empty boast! for while we speak, more furious, wilder, higher,</span> -<span class="i0">Dart from the circling batteries a hundred tongues of fire;</span> -<span class="i0">The waves gleam red, the lurid vault of heaven seems rent above;</span> -<span class="i0">Fight on, O knightly gentlemen! for faith and home and love!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i23"><b>VIII.</b></span> -<span class="i0">There’s not in all that line of flame, one soul that would not rise</span> -<span class="i0">To seize the victor’s wreath of blood, though death must give the prize—</span> -<span class="i0">There’s not in all this anxious crowd that throngs the ancient town</span> -<span class="i0">A maid who does not yearn for power to strike one despot down.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i24"><b>IX.</b></span> -<span class="i0">The strife grows fiercer! ship by ship the proud armada sweeps,</span> -<span class="i0">Where hot from Sumter’s raging breast the volleyed lightning leaps;</span> -<span class="i0">And ship by ship, raked, overborne, ere burned the sunset light,</span> -<span class="i0">Crawls in the gloom of baffled hate beyond the field of fight!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i25"><b>X.</b></span> -<span class="i0">O glorious Empress of the Main! from out thy storied spires</span> -<span class="i0">Thou well mayst peal thy bells of joy, and light thy festal fires,—</span> -<span class="i0">Since Heaven this day hath striven for thee, hath nerved thy dauntless sons,</span> -<span class="i0">And thou in clear-eyed faith hast seen God’s angels near the guns!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_26.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="134" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="Running the Batteries" width="500" height="367" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">RUNNING THE BATTERIES.</h2> -<p class="center">(As observed from the anchorage above Vicksburg, April, 1863.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By HERMAN MELVILLE.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a.jpg" width="38" height="36" alt="A" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">A moonless night—a friendly one;</span> -<span class="i7">A haze dimmed the shadowy shore</span> -<span class="i0">As the first lampless boat slid silent on;</span> -<span class="i2">Hist! and we spake no more;</span> -<span class="i0">We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We felt the dew, and seemed to feel</span> -<span class="i2">The secret like a burden laid.</span> -<span class="i0">The first boat melts; and a second keel</span> -<span class="i2">Is blent with the foliaged shade—</span> -<span class="i0">Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unspied as yet. A third—a fourth—</span> -<span class="i2">Gunboat and transport in Indian file</span> -<span class="i0">Upon the war-path, smooth from the North;</span> -<span class="i2">But the watch may they hope to beguile?</span> -<span class="i0">The manned river-batteries stretch far mile on mile.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A flame leaps out; they are seen;</span> -<span class="i2">Another and another gun roars;</span> -<span class="i0">We tell the course of the boats through the screen</span> -<span class="i2">By each further fort that pours,</span> -<span class="i0">And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Converging fires. We speak, though low:</span> -<span class="i2">“That blastful furnace can they thread?”</span> -<span class="i0">“Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego</span> -<span class="i2">Came out all right, we read;</span> -<span class="i0">The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun</span> -<span class="i2">A golden growing flame appears—</span> -<span class="i0">Confirms to a silvery steadfast one:</span> -<span class="i2">“The town is afire!” crows Hugh; “three cheers!”</span> -<span class="i0">Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A purposed light; it shows our fleet;</span> -<span class="i2">Yet a little late in its searching ray,</span> -<span class="i0">So far and strong, that in phantom cheat</span> -<span class="i2">Lank on the deck our shadows lay;</span> -<span class="i0">The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How dread to mark her near the glare</span> -<span class="i2">And glade of death the beacon throws</span> -<span class="i0">Athwart the racing waters there;</span> -<span class="i2">One by one each plainer grows,</span> -<span class="i0">Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The impartial cresset lights as well</span> -<span class="i2">The fixed forts to the boats that run;</span> -<span class="i0">And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell</span> -<span class="i2">Back to each fortress dun:</span> -<span class="i0">Ponderous words speaks every monster gun.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fearless they flash through gates of flame,</span> -<span class="i2">The salamanders hard to hit,</span> -<span class="i0">Though vivid shows each bulky frame;</span> -<span class="i2">And never the batteries intermit,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor the boat’s huge guns; they fire and flit.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Anon a lull. The beacon dies.</span> -<span class="i2">“Are they out of that strait accurst?”</span> -<span class="i0">But other flames now dawning rise,</span> -<span class="i2">Not mellowly brilliant like the first,</span> -<span class="i0">But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A baleful brand, a hurrying torch</span> -<span class="i2">Whereby anew the boats are seen—</span> -<span class="i0">A burning transport all alurch!</span> -<span class="i2">Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean</span> -<span class="i0">Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The effulgence takes an amber glow</span> -<span class="i2">Which bathes the hill-side villas far;</span> -<span class="i0">Affrighted ladies mark the show</span> -<span class="i2">Painting the pale magnolia—</span> -<span class="i0">The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one,</span> -<span class="i2">Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly.</span> -<span class="i0">But the gauntlet now is nearly run,</span> -<span class="i2">The spleenful forts by fits reply,</span> -<span class="i0">And the burning boat dies down in morning’s sky.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs!</span> -<span class="i2">Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun.</span> -<span class="i0">So burst we through their barriers</span> -<span class="i2">And menaces every one;</span> -<span class="i0">So Porter proves himself a brave man’s son.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p124.jpg" alt="KEENAN’S CHARGE" width="500" height="558" /> -</div> -<h2 class="non-vis nobreak">KEENAN’S CHARGE</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_b.jpg" width="33" height="36" alt="B" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">By the shrouded gleam of the western skies,</span> -<span class="i6">Brave Keenan looked in Pleasanton’s eyes</span> -<span class="i0">For an instant—clear, and cool, and still;</span> -<span class="i0">Then, with a smile, he said: “I will.”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Cavalry, charge!” Not a man of them shrank;</span> -<span class="i0">Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank,</span> -<span class="i0">Rose joyously, with a willing breath—</span> -<span class="i0">Rose like a greeting hail to death.</span> -<span class="i0">Then forward they sprang, and spurred, and clashed;</span> -<span class="i0">Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed;</span> -<span class="i0">Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow,</span> -<span class="i0">In their faded coats of the blue and yellow;</span> -<span class="i0">And above in the air, with an instinct true,</span> -<span class="i0">Like a bird of war their pennon flew.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds,</span> -<span class="i0">And blades that shine like sunlit reeds,</span> -<span class="i0">And strong brown faces bravely pale,</span> -<span class="i0">For fear their proud attempt shall fail,</span> -<span class="i0">Three hundred Pennsylvanians close</span> -<span class="i0">On twice ten thousand gallant foes.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Line after line the troopers came</span> -<span class="i0">To the edge of the wood that was ring’d with flame;</span> -<span class="i0">Rode in and sabred and shot—and fell:</span> -<span class="i0">Nor came one back his wounds to tell.</span> -<span class="i0">And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall</span> -<span class="i0">In the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall,</span> -<span class="i0">While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung</span> -<span class="i0">’Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung.</span> -<span class="i0">Line after line, ay, whole platoons,</span> -<span class="i0">Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -<span class="i0">By the maddened horses were onward borne</span> -<span class="i0">And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn;</span> -<span class="i0">As Keenan fought with his men, side by side.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So they rode, till there were no more to ride.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But over them lying there, shattered and mute,</span> -<span class="i0">What deep echo rolls? ’Tis a death salute</span> -<span class="i0">From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved</span> -<span class="i0">Your fate not in vain: the army was saved!</span> -<span class="i0">Over them now—year following year—</span> -<span class="i0">Over their graves the pine-cones fall,</span> -<span class="i0">And the whippoorwill chants his spectre-call;</span> -<span class="i0">But they stir not again; they raise no cheer:</span> -<span class="i0">They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace.</span> -<span class="i0">The rush of their charge is resounding still,</span> -<span class="i0 space-below3">That saved the army at Chancellorsville.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_32.jpg" alt="Banner" width="350" height="80" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_11.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="109" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By HARRY L. FLASH.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_n.jpg" width="39" height="37" alt="N" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Not ’mid the lightning of the stormy fight,</span> -<span class="i6">Not in the rush upon the vandal foe,</span> -<span class="i0">Did kingly Death, with his resistless might,</span> -<span class="i2">Lay the great leader low.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke</span> -<span class="i2">In the full sunshine of a peaceful town;</span> -<span class="i0">When all the storm was hushed, the trusty oak</span> -<span class="i2">That propped our cause went down.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground,</span> -<span class="i2">Recording all his grand, heroic deeds,</span> -<span class="i0">Freedom herself is writhing with the wound,</span> -<span class="i2">And all the country bleeds.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He entered not the Nation’s Promised Land</span> -<span class="i2">At the red belching of the cannon’s mouth;</span> -<span class="i0">But broke the House of Bondage with his hand—</span> -<span class="i2">The Moses of the South!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O gracious God! not gainless is the loss:</span> -<span class="i2">A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest frown;</span> -<span class="i0">And while his country staggers with the Cross,</span> -<span class="i2">He rises with the Crown.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_22.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="150" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_33.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="69" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By MARGARET J. PRESTON.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2">[The last words of Stonewall Jackson were: “Let us cross the -river and rest under the shade of the trees.”—<i>Editor.</i>]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="48" height="36" alt="W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4b drop-cap">What are the thoughts that are stirring his breast?</span> -<span class="i8">What is the mystical vision he sees?</span> -<span class="i0">—“Let us pass over the river, and rest</span> -<span class="i2">Under the shade of the trees.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks?</span> -<span class="i2">Sighs the worn spirit for respite or ease?</span> -<span class="i0">Is it a moment’s cool halt that he asks</span> -<span class="i2">Under the shade of the trees?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Is it the gurgle of waters whose flow</span> -<span class="i2">Ofttime has come to him, borne on the breeze,</span> -<span class="i0">Memory listens to, lapsing so low,</span> -<span class="i2">Under the shade of the trees?</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nay—though the rasp of the flesh was so sore,</span> -<span class="i2">Faith, that had yearnings far keener than these,</span> -<span class="i0">Saw the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore</span> -<span class="i2">Under the shade of the trees;—</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Caught the high psalms of ecstatic delight—</span> -<span class="i2">Heard the harps harping, like soundings of seas—</span> -<span class="i0">Watched earth’s assoilèd ones walking in white</span> -<span class="i2">Under the shade of the trees.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, was it strange he should pine for release,</span> -<span class="i2">Touched to the soul with such transports as these,—</span> -<span class="i0">He who so needed the balsam of peace,</span> -<span class="i2">Under the shade of the trees?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, it was noblest for him—it was best</span> -<span class="i2">(Questioning naught of our Father’s decrees),</span> -<span class="i0">There to pass over the river and rest</span> -<span class="i2">Under the shade of the trees!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_23.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="195" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_34.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="64" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">STONEWALL JACKSON.</h2> -<p class="center">(Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville, May, 1863.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By HERMAN MELVILLE.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">The Man who fiercest charged in fight,</span> -<span class="i4">Whose sword and prayer were long—</span> -<span class="i14">Stonewall!</span> -<span class="i2">Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,</span> -<span class="i0">How can we praise? Yet coming days</span> -<span class="i2">Shall not forget him with this song.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead,</span> -<span class="i2">Vainly he died and set his seal—</span> -<span class="i14">Stonewall!</span> -<span class="i2">Earnest in error, as we feel;</span> -<span class="i0">True to the thing he deemed was due,</span> -<span class="i2">True as John Brown or steel.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Relentlessly he routed us;</span> -<span class="i2">But <i>we</i> relent, for he is low—</span> -<span class="i14">Stonewall!</span> -<span class="i2">Justly his fame we outlaw; so</span> -<span class="i0">We drop a tear on the bold Virginia’s bier,</span> -<span class="i2">Because no wreath we owe.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p132.jpg" alt="The Black Regiment" width="500" height="288" /> -</div> -<h2 class="non-vis nobreak">The Black Regiment</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By GEORGE H. BOKER.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_d.jpg" width="37" height="37" alt="D" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Dark as the clouds of even,</span> -<span class="i5">Ranked in the western</span> -<span class="i8">heaven,</span> -<span class="i0">Waiting the breath that lifts</span> -<span class="i0">All the dead mass, and drifts</span> -<span class="i0">Tempest and falling brand</span> -<span class="i0">Over a ruined land,—</span> -<span class="i0">So still and orderly,</span> -<span class="i0">Arm to arm, knee to knee,</span> -<span class="i0">Waiting the great event,</span> -<span class="i0">Stands the black regiment.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down the long dusky line</span> -<span class="i0">Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;</span> -<span class="i0">And the bright bayonet,</span> -<span class="i0">Bristling and firmly set,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Flashed with a purpose grand,</span> -<span class="i0">Long ere the sharp command</span> -<span class="i0">Of the fierce rolling drum</span> -<span class="i0">Told them their time had come,</span> -<span class="i0">Told them what work was sent</span> -<span class="i0">For the black regiment.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Now,” the flag-sergeant cried,</span> -<span class="i0">“Though death and hell betide,</span> -<span class="i0">Let the whole nation see</span> -<span class="i0">If we are fit to be</span> -<span class="i0">Free in this land; or bound</span> -<span class="i0">Down, like the whining hound,—</span> -<span class="i0">Bound with red stripes of pain</span> -<span class="i0">In our cold chains again!”</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, what a shout there went</span> -<span class="i0">From the black regiment!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Charge!” trump and drum awoke;</span> -<span class="i0">Onward the bondsmen broke;</span> -<span class="i0">Bayonet and sabre-stroke</span> -<span class="i0">Vainly opposed their rush.</span> -<span class="i0">Through the wild battle’s crush,</span> -<span class="i0">With but one thought aflush,</span> -<span class="i0">Driving their lords like chaff,</span> -<span class="i0">In the gun’s mouth they laugh;</span> -<span class="i0">Or at the slippery brands,</span> -<span class="i0">Leaping with open hands,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Down they tear man and horse,</span> -<span class="i0">Down in their awful course;</span> -<span class="i0">Trampling with bloody heel</span> -<span class="i0">Over the crushing steel,—</span> -<span class="i0">All their eyes forward bent,</span> -<span class="i0">Rushed the black regiment.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Freedom!” their battle-cry,—</span> -<span class="i0">“Freedom! or leave to die!”</span> -<span class="i0">Ah! and they meant the word,</span> -<span class="i0">Not as with us ’tis heard,</span> -<span class="i0">Not a mere party shout;</span> -<span class="i0">They gave their spirits out,</span> -<span class="i0">Trusted the end to God,</span> -<span class="i0">And on the gory sod</span> -<span class="i0">Rolled in triumphant blood.</span> -<span class="i0">Glad to strike one free blow,</span> -<span class="i0">Whether for weal or woe;</span> -<span class="i0">Glad to breathe one free breath,</span> -<span class="i0">Though on the lips of death;</span> -<span class="i0">Praying,—alas! in vain!</span> -<span class="i0">That they might fall again,</span> -<span class="i0">So they could once more see</span> -<span class="i0">That burst to liberty!</span> -<span class="i0">This was what “freedom” lent</span> -<span class="i0">To the black regiment.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hundreds on hundreds fell;</span> -<span class="i0">But they are resting well;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Scourges, and shackles strong</span> -<span class="i0">Never shall do them wrong.</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, to the living few,</span> -<span class="i0">Soldiers, be just and true!</span> -<span class="i0">Hail them as comrades tried;</span> -<span class="i0">Fight with them side by side.</span> -<span class="i0">Never, in field or tent,</span> -<span class="i0">Scorn the black regiment!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4 space-below3">May 27, 1863.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_12.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="152" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_15.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="93" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">LITTLE GIFFEN OF TENNESSEE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By FRANCIS O. TICKNOR.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_o.jpg" width="36" height="37" alt="O" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Out of the focal and foremost fire,</span> -<span class="i6">Out of the hospital walls as dire,</span> -<span class="i0">Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene,</span> -<span class="i0">(Eighteenth battle, and he sixteen!)</span> -<span class="i0">Spectre such as we seldom see,</span> -<span class="i0">Little Giffen of Tennessee!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Take him—and welcome!” the surgeon said;</span> -<span class="i0">“Much your doctor can help the dead!”</span> -<span class="i0">And so we took him and brought him where</span> -<span class="i0">The balm was sweet on the summer air;</span> -<span class="i0">And we laid him down on a wholesome bed—</span> -<span class="i0">Utter Lazarus, heel to head!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Weary war with the bated breath,</span> -<span class="i0">Skeleton boy against skeleton Death,</span> -<span class="i0">Months of torture, how many such!</span> -<span class="i0">Weary weeks of the stick and crutch!</span> -<span class="i0">Still a glint in the steel-blue eye</span> -<span class="i0">Spoke of the spirit that would not die,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And didn’t nay, more! in death’s despite</span> -<span class="i0">The crippled skeleton learned to write!</span> -<span class="i0">“Dear mother,” at first, of course; and then,</span> -<span class="i0">“Dear captain”—inquiring about “the men.”</span> -<span class="i0">Captain’s answer—“Of eighty and five,</span> -<span class="i0">Giffen and I are left alive!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Johnston’s pressed at the front, they say!”</span> -<span class="i0">Little Giffen was up and away.</span> -<span class="i0">A tear, his first, as he bade good-by,</span> -<span class="i0">Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye;</span> -<span class="i0">“I’ll write, if spared.” There was news of a fight,</span> -<span class="i0">But none of Giffen. He did not write!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I sometimes fancy that were I king</span> -<span class="i0">Of the princely knights of the Golden Ring,</span> -<span class="i0">With the song of the minstrel in mine ear,</span> -<span class="i0">And the tender legend that trembles here,</span> -<span class="i0">I’d give the best, on his bended knee,</span> -<span class="i0">The whitest soul of my chivalry,</span> -<span class="i0">For Little Giffen of Tennessee!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_08.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="72" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p138.jpg" alt="Gettysburg" width="500" height="579" /> -</div> -<h2 class="non-vis nobreak">GETTYSBURG</h2> -<p class="center">(July 1, 2, 3, 1863.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="48" height="36" alt="W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4b drop-cap">Wave, wave your glorious battle-flags, brave soldiers of the North,</span> -<span class="i6">And from the fields your arms have won to-day go proudly forth!</span> -<span class="i0">For now, O comrades dear and leal—from whom no ills could part,</span> -<span class="i0">Through the long years of hopes and fears, the nation’s constant heart—</span> -<span class="i0">Men who have driven so oft the foe, so oft have striven in vain,</span> -<span class="i0">Yet ever in the perilous hour have crossed his path again,—</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -<span class="i0">At last we have our heart’s desire, from them we met have wrung</span> -<span class="i0">A victory that round the world shall long be told and sung!</span> -<span class="i0">It was the memory of the past that bore us through the fray,</span> -<span class="i0">That gave the grand old army strength to conquer on this day!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, now forget how dark and red Virginia’s rivers flow,</span> -<span class="i0">The Rappahannock’s tangled wilds, the glory and the woe;</span> -<span class="i0">The fever-hung encampments, where our dying knew full sore</span> -<span class="i0">How sweet the north-wind to the cheek it soon shall cool no more;</span> -<span class="i0">The fields we fought, and gained, and lost; the lowland sun and rain</span> -<span class="i0">That wasted us, that bleached the bones of our unburied slain!</span> -<span class="i0">There was no lack of foes to meet, of deaths to die no lack,</span> -<span class="i0">And all the hawks of heaven learned to follow on our track;</span> -<span class="i0">But henceforth, hovering southward, their flight shall mark afar</span> -<span class="i0">The paths of yon retreating host that shun the northern star.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At night before the closing fray, when all the front was still,</span> -<span class="i0">We lay in bivouac along the cannon-crested hill.</span> -<span class="i0">Ours was the dauntless Second Corps; and many a soldier knew</span> -<span class="i0">How sped the fight, and sternly thought of what was yet to do.</span> -<span class="i0">Guarding the centre there, we lay, and talked with bated breath</span> -<span class="i0">Of Buford’s stand beyond the town, of gallant Reynolds’ death,</span> -<span class="i0">Of cruel retreats through pent-up streets by murderous volleys swept,—</span> -<span class="i0">How well the Stone, the Iron, brigades their bloody outposts kept:</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas for the Union, for the Flag, they perished, heroes all,</span> -<span class="i0">And we swore to conquer in the end, or even like them to fall.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And passed from mouth to mouth the tale of what grim day just done,</span> -<span class="i0">The fight by Round Top’s craggy spur—of all the deadliest one;</span> -<span class="i0">It saved the left: but on the right they pressed us back too well,</span> -<span class="i0">And like a field in spring the ground was ploughed with shot and shell.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -<span class="i0">There was the ancient graveyard, its hummocks crushed and red.</span> -<span class="i0">And there, between them, side by side, the wounded and the dead:</span> -<span class="i0">The mangled corpses fallen above—the peaceful dead below,</span> -<span class="i0">Laid in their graves, to slumber here, a score of years ago;</span> -<span class="i0">It seemed their waking, wandering shades were asking of our slain,</span> -<span class="i0">What brought such hideous tumult now where they so still had lain!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bright rose the sun of Gettysburg that morrow morningtide,</span> -<span class="i0">And call of trump and roll of drum from height to height replied.</span> -<span class="i0">Hark! from the east already goes up the rattling din;</span> -<span class="i0">The Twelfth Corps, winning back their ground, right well the day begin!</span> -<span class="i0">They whirl fierce Ewell from their front! Now we of the Second pray,</span> -<span class="i0">As right and left the brunt have borne, the centre might to-day.</span> -<span class="i0">But all was still from hill to hill for many a breathless hour,</span> -<span class="i0">While for the coming battle-shock Lee gathered in his power;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And back and forth our leaders rode, who knew not rest or fear,</span> -<span class="i0">And along the lines, where’er they came, went up the ringing cheer.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twas past the hour of nooning; the summer skies were blue;</span> -<span class="i0">Behind the covering timber the foe was hid from view;</span> -<span class="i0">So fair and sweet with waving wheat the pleasant valley lay,</span> -<span class="i0">It brought to mind our Northern homes and meadows far away;</span> -<span class="i0">When the whole western ridge at once was fringed with fire and smoke,</span> -<span class="i0">Against our lines from seven-score guns the dreadful tempest broke!</span> -<span class="i0">Then loud our batteries answer, and far along the crest,</span> -<span class="i0">And to and fro the roaring bolts are driven east and west;</span> -<span class="i0">Heavy and dark around us glooms the stifling sulphur-cloud,</span> -<span class="i0">And the cries of mangled men and horse go up beneath its shroud.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The guns are still: the end is nigh: we grasp our arms anew;</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, now let every heart be stanch and every aim be true!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -<span class="i0">For look! from yonder wood that skirts the valley’s further marge,</span> -<span class="i0">The flower of all the Southern host move to the final charge.</span> -<span class="i0">By heaven! it is a fearful sight to see their double rank</span> -<span class="i0">Come with a hundred battle-flags—a mile from flank to flank!</span> -<span class="i0">Tramping the grain to earth, they come, ten thousand men abreast;</span> -<span class="i0">Their standards wave—their hearts are brave—they hasten not, nor rest,</span> -<span class="i0">But close the gaps our cannon make, and onward press, and nigher,</span> -<span class="i0">And, yelling at our very front, again pour in their fire.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now burst our sheeted lightnings forth, now all our wrath has vent!</span> -<span class="i0">They die, they wither; through and through their wavering lines are rent.</span> -<span class="i0">But these are gallant, desperate men, of our own race and land,</span> -<span class="i0">Who charge anew, and welcome death, and fight us hand to hand:</span> -<span class="i0">Vain, vain! give way, as well ye may—the crimson die is cast!</span> -<span class="i0">Their bravest leaders bite the dust, their strength is failing fast;</span> -<span class="i0">They yield, they turn, they fly the field: we smite them as they run;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Their arms, their colors, are our spoil; the furious fight is done!</span> -<span class="i0">Across the plain we follow far and backward push the fray:</span> -<span class="i0">Cheer! cheer! the grand old Army at last has won the day!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hurrah! the day has won the cause! No gray-clad host henceforth</span> -<span class="i0">Shall come with fire and sword to tread the highways of the North!</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas such a flood as when ye see, along the Atlantic shore,</span> -<span class="i0">The great spring-tide roll grandly in with swelling surge and roar:</span> -<span class="i0">It seems no wall can stay its leap or balk its wild desire</span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the bound that Heaven hath fixed to higher mount, and higher;</span> -<span class="i0">But now, when whitest lifts its crest, most loud its billows call,</span> -<span class="i0">Touched by the Power that led them on, they fall, and fall, and fall.</span> -<span class="i0">Even thus, unstayed upon his course, to Gettysburg the foe</span> -<span class="i0">His legions led, and fought, and fled, and might no further go.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Full many a dark-eyed Southern girl shall weep her lover dead;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -<span class="i0">But with a price the fight was ours—we too have tears to shed!</span> -<span class="i0">The bells that peal our triumph forth anon shall toll the brave,</span> -<span class="i0">Above whose heads the cross must stand, the hill-side grasses wave!</span> -<span class="i0">Alas! alas! the trampled grass shall thrive another year,</span> -<span class="i0">The blossoms on the apple-boughs with each new spring appear,</span> -<span class="i0">But when our patriot-soldiers fall, Earth gives them up to God;</span> -<span class="i0">Though their souls rise in clearer skies, their forms are as the sod;</span> -<span class="i0">Only their names and deeds are ours—but, for a century yet,</span> -<span class="i0">The dead who fell at Gettysburg the land shall not forget.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God send us peace! and where for aye the loved and lost recline</span> -<span class="i0">Let fall, O South, your leaves of palm—O North, your sprigs of pine!</span> -<span class="i0">But when, with every ripened year, we keep the harvest-home,</span> -<span class="i0">And to the dear Thanksgiving-feast our sons and daughters come—</span> -<span class="i0">When children’s children throng the board in the old homestead spread,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And the bent soldier of these wars is seated at the head,</span> -<span class="i0">Long, long the lads shall listen to hear the gray-beard tell</span> -<span class="i0">Of those who fought at Gettysburg and stood their ground so well:</span> -<span class="i0">“’Twas for the Union and the Flag,” the veteran shall say,</span> -<span class="i0 space-below3">“Our grand old Army held the ridge, and won that glorious day!”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_26.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="134" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_11.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="109" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">AT GETTYSBURG.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_l.jpg" width="31" height="37" alt="L" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Like a furnace of fire blazed the midsummer sun,</span> -<span class="i6">When to saddle we leaped at the order,</span> -<span class="i0">Spurred on by the boom of the deep-throated gun</span> -<span class="i2">That told of the foe on our border.</span> -<span class="i0">A mist in our rear lay Antietam’s dark plain,</span> -<span class="i2">And thoughts of its carnage came o’er us;</span> -<span class="i0">But smiling beyond surged the fields of ripe grain,</span> -<span class="i2">And we swore none should reap it before us.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That night, with the ensign who rode by my side,</span> -<span class="i2">On the camp’s dreary edge I stood picket,</span> -<span class="i0">Our ears intent lest every wind-rustle hide</span> -<span class="i2">A foe’s stealthy tread in the thicket;</span> -<span class="i0">And there, while we watched the first arrows of dawn</span> -<span class="i2">Through the veil of the rising mists quiver,</span> -<span class="i0">He told how the foeman had closed in upon</span> -<span class="i2">His home by the Tennessee River.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He spoke of a sire in his weakness cut down,</span> -<span class="i1">With his last breath the traitor-flag scorning;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And his brow with the memory grew dark with a frown</span> -<span class="i2">That paled the red light of the morning.</span> -<span class="i0">For days he had followed the cowardly band;</span> -<span class="i2">And, when one lagged to forage or trifle,</span> -<span class="i0">Had seared in his forehead the deep Minié brand,</span> -<span class="i2">And scored a fresh notch in his rifle.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But one of the rangers had cheated his fate—</span> -<span class="i2">For him he would search the world over:</span> -<span class="i0">Such cool-plotting passion, such keenness of hate,</span> -<span class="i2">Ne’er saw I in woman-scorned lover.</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, who would have thought that beneath those dark curls</span> -<span class="i2">Lurked vengeance as sure as death-rattle;</span> -<span class="i0">Or fancied those dreamy eyes, soft as a girl’s,</span> -<span class="i2">Could light with the fury of battle?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To horse! pealed the bugle, while grape-shot and shell</span> -<span class="i2">Overhead through the forest were crashing;</span> -<span class="i0">A cheer for the flag—and the summer light fell</span> -<span class="i2">On the blades from a thousand sheaths flashing.</span> -<span class="i0">As mad ocean-waves to the storm-revel flock,</span> -<span class="i2">So on we dashed, heedless of dangers;</span> -<span class="i0">A moment our long line surged back at the shock,</span> -<span class="i2">Then swept through the ranks of the Rangers.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I looked for the ensign. Ahead of his troop,</span> -<span class="i2">Pressing on through the conflict infernal,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -<span class="i0">His torn flag furled round him in festoon and loop,</span> -<span class="i2">He spurred to the side of his colonel.</span> -<span class="i0">And his clear voice rang out, as I saw his bright sword</span> -<span class="i2">Through shako and gaudy plume shiver,</span> -<span class="i0">With, “This for the last of the murderous horde!”</span> -<span class="i2">And, “This for the home by the river!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At evening, returned from pursuit of the foe,</span> -<span class="i2">By a shell-shattered caisson we found him;</span> -<span class="i0">And we buried him there in the sunset’s red glow,</span> -<span class="i2">With the dear old flag knotted around him.</span> -<span class="i0">Yet how could we mourn, when each drum’s muffled strain</span> -<span class="i2">Told of foemen hurled back in disorder,—</span> -<span class="i0">When we knew the North reaped her rich harvest of grain,</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">Unharmed by a foe on her border!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_22.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="150" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p150.jpg" alt="John Burns" width="500" height="363" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By BRET HARTE.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [A Union officer who was with the Eleventh -Corps in the battle of Gettysburg says: “During the first day’s fight, -an old man, in a swallow-tailed coat and battered cylinder hat, came -stalking across the fields from the town, and made his appearance at -Colonel Stone’s position. With a musket in his hand and ammunition in -his pocket, this venerable citizen asked Colonel Wister’s permission -to fight. Wister directed him to go over to the Iron Brigade, where -he would be sheltered by the woods; but the old man insisted on going -forward to the skirmish line. He was allowed to do so, and continued -firing until the skirmishers retired, when he was the last man to -leave. He afterwards fought with the Iron Brigade, where he was three -times wounded. This patriotic and heroic citizen was Constable John -Burns of Gettysburg.”—<span class="smcap">Author’s note.</span>]</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_h.jpg" width="38" height="37" alt="H" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Have you heard the story that gossips tell</span> -<span class="i6">Of Burns of Gettysburg? No? Ah, well:</span> -<span class="i0">Brief is the glory that hero earns,</span> -<span class="i0">Briefer the story of poor John Burns;</span> -<span class="i0">He was the fellow who won renown—</span> -<span class="i0">The only man who didn’t back down</span> -<span class="i0">When the rebels rode through his native town;</span> -<span class="i0">But held his own in the fight next day,</span> -<span class="i0">When all his townsfolk ran away.</span> -<span class="i0">That was in July, sixty-three,—</span> -<span class="i0">The very day that General Lee,</span> -<span class="i0">Flower of Southern chivalry,</span> -<span class="i0">Baffled and beaten, backward reeled</span> -<span class="i0">From a stubborn Meade and a barren field.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I might tell how, but the day before,</span> -<span class="i0">John Burns stood at his cottage-door,</span> -<span class="i0">Looking down the village street,</span> -<span class="i0">Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine,</span> -<span class="i0">He heard the low of his gathered kine,</span> -<span class="i0">And felt their breath with incense sweet;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Or, I might say, when the sunset burned</span> -<span class="i0">The old farm gable, he thought it turned</span> -<span class="i0">The milk that fell like a babbling flood</span> -<span class="i0">Into the milk-pail, red as blood;</span> -<span class="i0">Or, how he fancied the hum of bees</span> -<span class="i0">Were bullets buzzing among the trees.</span> -<span class="i0">But all such fanciful thoughts as these</span> -<span class="i0">Were strange to a practical man like Burns,</span> -<span class="i0">Who minded only his own concerns,</span> -<span class="i0">Troubled no more by fancies fine</span> -<span class="i0">Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine,—</span> -<span class="i0">Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact,</span> -<span class="i0">Slow to argue, but quick to act.</span> -<span class="i0">That was the reason, as some folk say,</span> -<span class="i0">He fought so well on that terrible day.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And it was terrible. On the right</span> -<span class="i0">Raged for hours the heady fight,</span> -<span class="i0">Thundered the battery’s double bass—</span> -<span class="i0">Difficult music for men to face;</span> -<span class="i0">While on the left—where now the graves</span> -<span class="i0">Undulate like the living waves</span> -<span class="i0">That all the day unceasing swept</span> -<span class="i0">Up to the pits the rebels kept—</span> -<span class="i0">Round-shot ploughed the upland glades,</span> -<span class="i0">Sown with bullets, reaped with blades;</span> -<span class="i0">Shattered fences here and there,</span> -<span class="i0">Tossed their splinters in the air;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -<span class="i0">The very trees were stripped and bare;</span> -<span class="i0">The barns that once held yellow grain</span> -<span class="i0">Were heaped with harvests of the slain;</span> -<span class="i0">The cattle bellowed on the plain,</span> -<span class="i0">The turkeys screamed with might and main,</span> -<span class="i0">And brooding barn-fowl left their rest</span> -<span class="i0">With strange shells bursting in each nest.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Just where the tide of battle turns,</span> -<span class="i0">Erect and lonely, stood old John Burns.</span> -<span class="i0">How do you think the man was dressed?</span> -<span class="i0">He wore an ancient, long buff vest,</span> -<span class="i0">Yellow as saffron—but his best;</span> -<span class="i0">And buttoned over his manly breast</span> -<span class="i0">Was a bright-blue coat with a rolling collar,</span> -<span class="i0">And large gilt buttons—size of a dollar,—</span> -<span class="i0">With tails that the country-folk called “swaller.”</span> -<span class="i0">He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat,</span> -<span class="i0">White as the locks on which it sat.</span> -<span class="i0">Never had such a sight been seen</span> -<span class="i0">For forty years on the village green,</span> -<span class="i0">Since old John Burns was a country beau,</span> -<span class="i0">And went to the “quiltings” long ago.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Close at his elbows all that day,</span> -<span class="i0">Veterans of the Peninsula,</span> -<span class="i0">Sunburnt and bearded, charged away;</span> -<span class="i0">And striplings, downy of lip and chin,—</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -<span class="i2">Clerks that the Home-Guard mustered in,—</span> -<span class="i2">Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore,</span> -<span class="i2">Then at the rifle his right hand bore;</span> -<span class="i0">And hailed him, from out their youthful lore,</span> -<span class="i0">With scraps of a slangy repertoire:</span> -<span class="i0">“How are you, White Hat?” “Put her through!”</span> -<span class="i0">“Your head’s level!” and “Bully for you!”</span> -<span class="i0">Called him “Daddy,”—begged he’d disclose</span> -<span class="i0">The name of the tailor who made his clothes,</span> -<span class="i0">And what was the value he set on those;</span> -<span class="i0">While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff,</span> -<span class="i0">Stood there picking the rebels off—</span> -<span class="i0">With his long brown rifle, and bell-crowned hat,</span> -<span class="i0">And the swallow-tails they were laughing at.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twas but a moment, for that respect</span> -<span class="i0">Which clothes all courage their voices checked;</span> -<span class="i0">And something the wildest could understand</span> -<span class="i0">Spake in the old man’s strong right hand,</span> -<span class="i0">And his corded throat, and the lurking frown</span> -<span class="i0">Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown;</span> -<span class="i0">Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe</span> -<span class="i0">Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw,</span> -<span class="i0">In the antique vestments and long white hair,</span> -<span class="i0">The Past of the Nation in battle there;</span> -<span class="i0">And some of the soldiers since declare</span> -<span class="i0">That the gleam of his old white hat afar,</span> -<span class="i0">Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre,</span> -<span class="i0">That day was their oriflamme of war.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus raged the battle. You know the rest;</span> -<span class="i0">How the rebels, beaten, and backward pressed,</span> -<span class="i0">Broke at the final charge and ran.</span> -<span class="i0">At which John Burns-a practical man—</span> -<span class="i0">Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows,</span> -<span class="i0">And then went back to his bees and cows.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That is the story of old John Burns;</span> -<span class="i0">This is the moral the reader learns:</span> -<span class="i0">In fighting the battle, the question’s whether</span> -<span class="i0 space-below3">You’ll show a hat that’s white, or a feather.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_26.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="134" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_14.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">WOMAN’S WAR MISSION.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_f.jpg" width="28" height="36" alt="F" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses,</span> -<span class="i6">Turn the key on your jewels to-day,</span> -<span class="i0">And the wealth of your tendril-like tresses</span> -<span class="i2">Braid back, in a serious way:</span> -<span class="i0">No more delicate gloves, no more laces,</span> -<span class="i2">No more trifling in boudoir and bower;</span> -<span class="i0">But come with your souls in your faces—</span> -<span class="i2">To meet the stern needs of the hour!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Look around! By the torchlight unsteady,</span> -<span class="i2">The dead and the dying seem one.</span> -<span class="i0">What! paling and trembling already,</span> -<span class="i2">Before your dear mission’s begun?</span> -<span class="i0">These wounds are more precious than ghastly;</span> -<span class="i2">Fame presses her lips to each scar,</span> -<span class="i0">As she chants of a glory which vastly</span> -<span class="i2">Transcends all the horrors of war.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Pause here by this bedside—how mellow</span> -<span class="i2">The light showers down on that brow!</span> -<span class="i0">Such a brave, brawny visage!—Poor fellow!</span> -<span class="i2">Some homestead is missing him now.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Some wife shades her eyes in the clearing,</span> -<span class="i2">Some mother sits moaning, distressed,—</span> -<span class="i0">While the loved one lies faint, but unfearing,</span> -<span class="i2">With the enemy’s ball in his breast.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here’s another: a lad—a mere stripling—</span> -<span class="i2">Picked up from the field, almost dead;</span> -<span class="i0">With the blood through his sunny hair rippling</span> -<span class="i2">From a horrible gash in the head.</span> -<span class="i0">They say he was first in the action,</span> -<span class="i2">Gay-hearted, quick-handed, and witty;</span> -<span class="i0">He fought till he fell with exhaustion,</span> -<span class="i2">At the gates of our fair Southern city.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fought and fell ’neath the guns of that city,</span> -<span class="i2">With a spirit transcending his years;</span> -<span class="i0">Lift him up in your large-hearted pity,</span> -<span class="i2">And touch his pale lips with your tears.</span> -<span class="i0">Touch him gently—most sacred the duty</span> -<span class="i2">Of dressing that poor shattered hand!</span> -<span class="i0">God spare him to rise in his beauty,</span> -<span class="i2">And battle once more for the land!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who groaned? What a passionate murmur—</span> -<span class="i2">“<i>In thy mercy, O God, let me die!</i>”</span> -<span class="i0">Ha! surgeon, your hand must be firmer,</span> -<span class="i2">That grape-shot has shattered his thigh.</span> -<span class="i0">Fling the light on those poor furrowed features,</span> -<span class="i2">Gray-haired and unknown—bless the brother!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -<span class="i0">O God! that one of <i>thy</i> creatures</span> -<span class="i2">Should e’er work such woe on another!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wipe the sweat from his brow with your kerchief;</span> -<span class="i2">Let the stain tattered collar go wide,</span> -<span class="i0">See! he stretches out blindly to search if</span> -<span class="i2">The surgeon still stands at his side.</span> -<span class="i0">“<i>My son’s over yonder! he’s wounded—</i></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Oh! this ball that has broken my thigh!</i>”</span> -<span class="i0">And again he burst out, all a-tremble,—</span> -<span class="i2">“<i>In thy mercy, O God! let me die!</i>”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Pass on! It is useless to linger</span> -<span class="i2">While others are claiming your care;</span> -<span class="i0">There is need of your delicate finger,</span> -<span class="i2">For your womanly sympathy, there!</span> -<span class="i0">There are sick ones athirst for caressing—</span> -<span class="i2">There are dying ones raving for home—</span> -<span class="i0">There are wounds to be bound with a blessing—</span> -<span class="i2">And shrouds to make ready for some.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They have gathered about you the harvest</span> -<span class="i2">Of death, in its ghastliest view;</span> -<span class="i0">The nearest as well as the farthest</span> -<span class="i2">Is here with the traitor and true!</span> -<span class="i0">And crowned with your beautiful patience,</span> -<span class="i2">Made sunny with love at the heart,</span> -<span class="i0">You must balsam the wounds of a nation,</span> -<span class="i2">Nor falter, nor shrink from your part!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up and down through the wards, where the fever</span> -<span class="i2">Stalks noisome, and gaunt and impure,</span> -<span class="i0">You must go with your steadfast endeavor</span> -<span class="i2">To comfort, to counsel, to cure!</span> -<span class="i0">I grant that the task’s superhuman,</span> -<span class="i2">But strength will be given to you</span> -<span class="i0">To do for these dear ones what woman</span> -<span class="i2">Alone in her pity can do.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the lips of the mothers will bless you</span> -<span class="i2">As angels sweet visaged and pale!</span> -<span class="i0">And the little ones run to caress you,</span> -<span class="i2">While the wives and the sisters cry “Hail!”</span> -<span class="i0">But e’en if you drop down unheeded,</span> -<span class="i2">What matter? God’s ways are the best;</span> -<span class="i0">You’ve poured out your life where ’twas needed,</span> -<span class="i2">And He will take care of the rest.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_03.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="96" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p160.jpg" alt="300,000 More" width="500" height="345" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="48" height="36" alt="W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4b drop-cap">We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more,</span> -<span class="i6">From Mississippi’s winding stream and from New England’s shore;</span> -<span class="i0">We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear,</span> -<span class="i0">With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear;</span> -<span class="i0">We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before:</span> -<span class="i0">We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If you look across the hill-tops that meet the northern sky,</span> -<span class="i0">Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry;</span> -<span class="i0">And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride,</span> -<span class="i0">And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour:</span> -<span class="i0">We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If you look all up our valleys where the growing harvests shine,</span> -<span class="i0">You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast forming into line;</span> -<span class="i0">And children from their mother’s knees are pulling at the weeds,</span> -<span class="i0">And learning how to reap and sow against their country’s needs;</span> -<span class="i0">And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door:</span> -<span class="i0">We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You have called us, and we’re coming, by Richmond’s bloody tide</span> -<span class="i0">To lay us down, for Freedom’s sake, our brothers’ bones beside,</span> -<span class="i0">Or from foul treason’s savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade,</span> -<span class="i0">And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade.</span> -<span class="i0">Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before:</span> -<span class="i0">We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_25.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="93" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">LEE TO THE REAR.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By JOHN R. THOMPSON.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [During the battles in the Wilderness at the -beginning of the campaign of 1864, General Robert E. Lee, impressed -with the desperate necessity of carrying a certain peculiarly difficult -position, seized the colors of a Texas regiment and undertook to -lead the perilous assault in person. The troops and their colonel -remonstrated with vehemence, the colonel, in his men’s behalf, pledging -the regiment to carry the position if General Lee would retire. The -troops advanced to the charge shouting “Lee to the Rear!” as a sort of -battle cry.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_d.jpg" width="37" height="37" alt="D" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Dawn of a pleasant morning in May</span> -<span class="i6">Broke through the Wilderness cool and gray;</span> -<span class="i0">While perched in the tallest tree-tops, the birds</span> -<span class="i0">Were carolling Mendelssohn’s “Songs without Words.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far from the haunts of men remote,</span> -<span class="i0">The brook brawled on with a liquid note;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And Nature, all tranquil and lovely, wore</span> -<span class="i0">The smile of the spring, as in Eden of yore.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Little by little, as daylight increased,</span> -<span class="i0">And deepened the roseate flush in the East—</span> -<span class="i0">Little by little did morning reveal</span> -<span class="i0">Two long glittering lines of steel;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where two hundred thousand bayonets gleam,</span> -<span class="i0">Tipped with the light of the earliest beam,</span> -<span class="i0">And the faces are sullen and grim to see</span> -<span class="i0">In the hostile armies of Grant and Lee.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All of a sudden, ere rose the sun,</span> -<span class="i0">Pealed on the silence the opening gun—</span> -<span class="i0">A little white puff of smoke there came,</span> -<span class="i0">And anon the valley was wreathed in flame.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down on the left of the Rebel lines,</span> -<span class="i0">Where a breastwork stands in a copse of pines,</span> -<span class="i0">Before the Rebels their ranks can form,</span> -<span class="i0">The Yankees have carried the place by storm.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Stars and Stripes on the salient wave,</span> -<span class="i0">Where many a hero has found a grave,</span> -<span class="i0">And the gallant Confederates strive in vain</span> -<span class="i0">The ground they have drenched with their blood, to regain.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet louder the thunder of battle roared—</span> -<span class="i0">Yet a deadlier fire on the columns poured;</span> -<span class="i0">Slaughter infernal rode with Despair,</span> -<span class="i0">Furies twain, through the murky air.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not far off, in the saddle there sat</span> -<span class="i0">A gray-bearded man in a black slouched hat;</span> -<span class="i0">Not much moved by the fire was he,</span> -<span class="i0">Calm and resolute Robert Lee.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Quick and watchful he kept his eye</span> -<span class="i0">On the bold Rebel brigades close by,—</span> -<span class="i0">Reserves that were standing (and dying) at ease,</span> -<span class="i0">While the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For still with their loud, deep, bull-dog bay,</span> -<span class="i0">The Yankee batteries blazed away,</span> -<span class="i0">And with every murderous second that sped</span> -<span class="i0">A dozen brave fellows, alas! fell dead.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The grand old gray-beard rode to the space</span> -<span class="i0">Where Death and his victims stood face to face,</span> -<span class="i0">And silently waved his old slouched hat—</span> -<span class="i0">A world of meaning there was in that!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Follow me! Steady! We’ll save the day!”</span> -<span class="i0">This was what he seemed to say;</span> -<span class="i0">And to the light of his glorious eye</span> -<span class="i0">The bold brigades thus made reply:</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“We’ll go forward, but you must go back”—</span> -<span class="i0">And they moved not an inch in the perilous track:</span> -<span class="i0">“Go to the rear, and we’ll send them to hell!”</span> -<span class="i0">And the sound of the battle was lost in their yell.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Turning his bridle, Robert Lee</span> -<span class="i0">Rode to the rear. Like waves of the sea,</span> -<span class="i0">Bursting the dikes in their overflow,</span> -<span class="i0">Madly his veterans dashed on the foe.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And backward in terror that foe was driven,</span> -<span class="i0">Their banners rent and their columns riven,</span> -<span class="i0">Wherever the tide of battle rolled</span> -<span class="i0">Over the Wilderness, wood and wold.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sunset out of a crimson sky</span> -<span class="i0">Streamed o’er a field of ruddier dye,</span> -<span class="i0">And the brook ran on with a purple stain,</span> -<span class="i0">From the blood of ten thousand foemen slain.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Seasons have passed since that day and year—</span> -<span class="i0">Again o’er its pebbles the brook runs clear,</span> -<span class="i0">And the field in a richer green is drest</span> -<span class="i0">Where the dead of a terrible conflict rest.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hushed is the roll of the Rebel drum,</span> -<span class="i0">The sabres are sheathed, and the cannon are dumb;</span> -<span class="i0">And Fate, with his pitiless hand, has furled</span> -<span class="i0">The flag that once challenged the gaze of the world;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the fame of the Wilderness fight abides;</span> -<span class="i0">And down into history grandly rides,</span> -<span class="i0">Calm and unmoved as in battle he sat,</span> -<span class="i0">The gray-bearded man in the black slouched hat.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_32.jpg" alt="Banner" width="350" height="80" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p167.jpg" alt="Kearsarge and Alabama" width="500" height="321" /> -</div> -<p class="center">(Action of 19 June, 1864.)</p> -<h2 class="non-vis nobreak">Kearsarge and Alabama</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="27" height="36" alt="I" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">It was early Sunday morning, in the year of sixty-four,</span> -<span class="i5">The <i>Alabama</i> she steam’d out along the Frenchman’s shore.</span> -<span class="i8">Long time she cruised about,</span> -<span class="i8">Long time she held her sway,</span> -<span class="i0">But now beneath the Frenchman’s shore she lies off Cherbourg Bay.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave</span> -<span class="i8">Over the Union, the home of the brave.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave,</span> -<span class="i8">God bless America, the home of the brave!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Yankee cruiser hove in view, the <i>Kearsarge</i> was her name,</span> -<span class="i0">It ought to be engraved in full upon the scroll of fame;</span> -<span class="i8">Her timbers made of Yankee oak,</span> -<span class="i8">And her crew of Yankee tars,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And o’er her mizzen peak she floats the glorious stripes and stars.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave</span> -<span class="i8">Over the Union, the home of the brave.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave,</span> -<span class="i8">God bless America, the home of the brave!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A challenge unto Captain Semmes, bold Winslow he did send!</span> -<span class="i0">“Bring on your <i>Alabama</i>, and to her we will attend,</span> -<span class="i8">For we think your boasting privateer</span> -<span class="i8">Is not so hard to whip;</span> -<span class="i0">And we’ll show you that the <i>Kearsarge</i> is not a merchant ship.”</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave</span> -<span class="i8">Over the Union, the home of the brave.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave,</span> -<span class="i8">God bless America, the home of the brave!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was early Sunday morning, in the year of sixty-four,</span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Alabama</i> she stood out and cannons loud did roar;</span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Kearsarge</i> stood undaunted, and quickly she replied</span> -<span class="i0">And let a Yankee ’leven-inch shell go tearing through her side.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave</span> -<span class="i8">Over the Union, the home of the brave.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave,</span> -<span class="i8">God bless America, the home of the brave!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The <i>Kearsarge</i> then she wore around and broadside on did bear,</span> -<span class="i0">With shot and shell and right good-will, her timbers she did tear;</span> -<span class="i0">When they found that they were sinking, down came the stars and bars,</span> -<span class="i0">For the rebel gunners could not stand the glorious stripes and stars.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave</span> -<span class="i8">Over the Union, the home of the brave!</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave,</span> -<span class="i8">God bless America, the home of the brave!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The <i>Alabama</i> she is gone, she’ll cruise the seas no more,</span> -<span class="i0">She met the fate she well deserved along the Frenchman’s shore;</span> -<span class="i0">Then here is luck to the <i>Kearsarge</i> we know what she can do,</span> -<span class="i0">Likewise to Captain Winslow and his brave and gallant crew.</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave</span> -<span class="i8">Over the Union, the home of the brave!</span> -<span class="i8">Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave,</span> -<span class="i8">God bless America, the home of the brave!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p170.jpg" alt="The Bay Fight" width="500" height="254" /> -</div> -<h2 class="non-vis nobreak">THE BAY FIGHT</h2> -<p class="center">(Mobile Harbor, August 8, 1864.)</p> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Three days through sapphire seas we sailed,</span> -<span class="i5">The steady Trade blew strong and free,</span> -<span class="i0">The Northern Light his banners paled,</span> -<span class="i0">The Ocean Stream our channels wet,</span> -<span class="i2">We rounded low Canaveral’s lee,</span> -<span class="i0">And passed the isles of emerald set</span> -<span class="i2">In blue Bahama’s turquoise sea.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By reef and shoal obscurely mapped,</span> -<span class="i2">And hauntings of the gray sea-wolf,</span> -<span class="i0">The palmy Western Key lay lapped</span> -<span class="i2">In the warm washing of the Gulf.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But weary to the hearts of all</span> -<span class="i2">The burning glare, the barren reach</span> -<span class="i2">Of Santa Rosa’s withered beach,</span> -<span class="i0">And Pensacola’s ruined wall.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And weary was the long patrol,</span> -<span class="i2">The thousand miles of shapeless strand,</span> -<span class="i0">From Brazos to San Blas that roll</span> -<span class="i2">Their drifting dunes of desert sand.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet coastwise as we cruised or lay,</span> -<span class="i2">The land-breeze still at nightfall bore,</span> -<span class="i0">By beach and fortress-guarded bay,</span> -<span class="i2">Sweet odors from the enemy’s shore,</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fresh from the forest solitudes,</span> -<span class="i2">Unchallenged of his sentry lines,—</span> -<span class="i0">The bursting of his cypress buds,</span> -<span class="i0">And the warm fragrance of his pines.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, never braver bark and crew,</span> -<span class="i2">Nor bolder Flag a foe to dare,</span> -<span class="i0">Had left a wake on ocean blue</span> -<span class="i2">Since Lion-Heart sailed Trenc-le-mer!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But little gain by that dark ground</span> -<span class="i2">Was ours, save, sometime, freer breath</span> -<span class="i0">For friend or brother strangely found,</span> -<span class="i2">’Scaped from the drear domain of death.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And little venture for the bold,</span> -<span class="i2">Or laurel for our valiant Chief,</span> -<span class="i2">Save some blockaded British thief,</span> -<span class="i0">Full fraught with murder in his hold,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Caught unawares at ebb or flood,</span> -<span class="i2">Or dull bombardment, day by day,</span> -<span class="i2">With fort and earthwork, far away,</span> -<span class="i0">Low couched in sullen leagues of mud.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A weary time,—but to the strong</span> -<span class="i2">The day at last, as ever, came;</span> -<span class="i0">And the volcano, laid so long,</span> -<span class="i2">Leaped forth in thunder and in flame!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Man your starboard battery!</i>”</span> -<span class="i0">Kimberly shouted;—</span> -<span class="i0">The ship, with her hearts of oak,</span> -<span class="i0">Was going, ’mid roar and smoke,</span> -<span class="i0">On to victory;</span> -<span class="i0">None of us doubted,</span> -<span class="i0">No, not our dying—</span> -<span class="i0">Farragut’s Flag was flying!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gaines growled low on our left,</span> -<span class="i0">Morgan roared on our right;</span> -<span class="i0">Before us, gloomy and fell,</span> -<span class="i0">With breath like the fume of hell,</span> -<span class="i0">Lay the dragon of iron shell,</span> -<span class="i0">Driven at last to the fight!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ha, old ship! do they thrill,</span> -<span class="i0">The brave two hundred scars</span> -<span class="i0">You got in the River-Wars?</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -<span class="i0">That were leeched with clamorous skill,</span> -<span class="i0">(Surgery savage and hard,)</span> -<span class="i0">Splinted with bolt and beam,</span> -<span class="i0">Probed in scarfing and seam,</span> -<span class="i0">Rudely linted and tarred</span> -<span class="i0">With oakum and boiling pitch,</span> -<span class="i0">And sutured with splice and hitch,</span> -<span class="i0">At the Brooklyn Navy-Yard!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our lofty spars were down,</span> -<span class="i0">To bide the battle’s frown</span> -<span class="i0">(Wont of old renown)—</span> -<span class="i0">But every ship was drest</span> -<span class="i0">In her bravest and her best,</span> -<span class="i0">As if for a July day;</span> -<span class="i0">Sixty flags and three,</span> -<span class="i0">As we floated up the bay—</span> -<span class="i0">At every peak and mast-head flew</span> -<span class="i0">The brave Red, White, and Blue,—</span> -<span class="i0">We were eighteen ships that day.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With hawsers strong and taut,</span> -<span class="i0">The weaker lashed to port,</span> -<span class="i0">On we sailed two by two—</span> -<span class="i0">That if either a bolt should feel</span> -<span class="i0">Crash through caldron or wheel,</span> -<span class="i0">Fin of bronze, or sinew of steel,</span> -<span class="i0">Her mate might bear her through.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Forging boldly ahead,</span> -<span class="i0">The great Flag-Ship led,</span> -<span class="i0">Grandest of sights!</span> -<span class="i0">On her lofty mizzen flew</span> -<span class="i0">Our leader’s dauntless Blue,</span> -<span class="i0">That had waved o’er twenty fights</span> -<span class="i0">So we went with the first of the tide,</span> -<span class="i0">Slowly, ’mid the roar</span> -<span class="i0">Of the rebel guns ashore</span> -<span class="i0">And the thunder of each full broadside.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, how poor the prate</span> -<span class="i0">Of statute and state</span> -<span class="i0">We once held these fellows!</span> -<span class="i0">Here on the flood’s pale-green,</span> -<span class="i0">Hark how he bellows,</span> -<span class="i0">Each bluff old Sea-Lawyer!</span> -<span class="i0">Talk to them, Dahlgren,</span> -<span class="i0">Parrott, and Sawyer!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On, in the whirling shade</span> -<span class="i0">Of the cannon’s sulphury breath,</span> -<span class="i0">We drew to the Line of Death</span> -<span class="i0">That our devilish Foe had laid,—</span> -<span class="i0">Meshed in a horrible net,</span> -<span class="i0">And baited villainous well,</span> -<span class="i0">Right in our path were set</span> -<span class="i0">Three hundred traps of hell!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And there, O sight forlorn!</span> -<span class="i0">There, while the cannon</span> -<span class="i0">Hurtled and thundered,—</span> -<span class="i0">(Ah, what ill raven</span> -<span class="i0">Flapped o’er the ship that morn!)—</span> -<span class="i0">Caught by the under-death,</span> -<span class="i0">In the drawing of a breath</span> -<span class="i0">Down went dauntless Craven,</span> -<span class="i0">He and his hundred!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A moment we saw her turret,</span> -<span class="i0">A little heel she gave,</span> -<span class="i0">And a thin white spray went o’er her,</span> -<span class="i0">Like the crest of a breaking wave;—</span> -<span class="i0">In that great iron coffin,</span> -<span class="i0">The channel for their grave,</span> -<span class="i0">The fort their monument,</span> -<span class="i0">(Seen afar in the offing),</span> -<span class="i0">Ten fathom deep lie Craven</span> -<span class="i0">And the bravest of our brave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then in that deadly track</span> -<span class="i0">A little the ships held back,</span> -<span class="i0">Closing up in their stations;—</span> -<span class="i0">There are minutes that fix the fate</span> -<span class="i0">Of battles and of nations,</span> -<span class="i0">(Christening the generations,)</span> -<span class="i0">When valor were all too late,</span> -<span class="i0">If a moment’s doubt be harbored;—</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -<span class="i0">From the main-top, bold and brief,</span> -<span class="i0">Came the word of our grand old chief:</span> -<span class="i0">“<i>Go on!</i>”—’twas all he said,—</span> -<span class="i0">Oar helm was put to starboard,</span> -<span class="i0">And the <i>Hartford</i> passed ahead.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ahead lay the <i>Tennessee</i>,</span> -<span class="i0">On our starboard bow he lay,</span> -<span class="i0">With his mail-clad consorts three</span> -<span class="i0">(The rest had run up the bay);</span> -<span class="i0">There he was, belching flame from his bow,</span> -<span class="i0">And the steam from his throat’s abyss</span> -<span class="i0">Was a Dragon’s maddened hiss;</span> -<span class="i0">In sooth a most cursed craft!—</span> -<span class="i0">In a sullen ring, at bay,</span> -<span class="i0">By the Middle-Ground they lay,</span> -<span class="i0">Raking us fore and aft.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Trust me, our berth was hot,</span> -<span class="i0">Ah, wickedly well they shot—</span> -<span class="i0">How their death-bolts howled and stung!</span> -<span class="i0">And the water-batteries played</span> -<span class="i0">With their deadly cannonade</span> -<span class="i0">Till the air around us rung;</span> -<span class="i0">So the battle raged and roared;—</span> -<span class="i0">Ah, had you been aboard</span> -<span class="i0">To have seen the fight we made!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -<span class="i0">How they leapt, the tongues of flame,</span> -<span class="i0">From the cannon’s fiery lip!</span> -<span class="i0">How the broadsides, deck and frame,</span> -<span class="i0">Shook the great ship!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And how the enemy’s shell</span> -<span class="i0">Came crashing, heavy and oft,</span> -<span class="i0">Clouds of splinters flying aloft</span> -<span class="i0">And falling in oaken showers;—</span> -<span class="i0">But ah, the pluck of the crew!</span> -<span class="i0">Had you stood on that deck of ours,</span> -<span class="i0">You had seen what men may do.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still, as the fray grew louder,</span> -<span class="i0">Boldly they worked and well—</span> -<span class="i0">Steadily came the powder,</span> -<span class="i0">Steadily came the shell.</span> -<span class="i0">And if tackle or truck found hurt,</span> -<span class="i0">Quickly they cleared the wreck—</span> -<span class="i0">And the dead were laid to port,</span> -<span class="i0">All a-row, on our deck.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Never a nerve that failed,</span> -<span class="i0">Never a cheek that paled,</span> -<span class="i0">Not a tinge of gloom or pallor;—</span> -<span class="i0">There was bold Kentucky’s grit,</span> -<span class="i0">And the old Virginian valor,</span> -<span class="i0">And the daring Yankee wit.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There were blue eyes from turfy Shannon,</span> -<span class="i0">There were black orbs from palmy Niger,—</span> -<span class="i0">But there alongside the cannon,</span> -<span class="i0">Each man fought like a tiger!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A little, once, it looked ill,</span> -<span class="i0">Our consort began to burn—</span> -<span class="i0">They quenched the flames with a will,</span> -<span class="i0">But our men were falling still,</span> -<span class="i0">And still the fleet were astern.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Right abreast of the Fort</span> -<span class="i0">In an awful shroud they lay,</span> -<span class="i0">Broadsides thundering away,</span> -<span class="i0">And lightning from every port;</span> -<span class="i0">Scene of glory and dread!</span> -<span class="i0">A storm-cloud all aglow</span> -<span class="i0">With flashes of fiery red,</span> -<span class="i0">The thunder raging below,</span> -<span class="i0">And the forest of flags o’erhead!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So grand the hurly and roar,</span> -<span class="i0">So fiercely their broadsides blazed,</span> -<span class="i0">The regiments fighting ashore</span> -<span class="i0">Forgot to fire as they gazed.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There, to silence the foe,</span> -<span class="i0">Moving grimly and slow,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -<span class="i0">They loomed in that deadly wreath,</span> -<span class="i0">Where the darkest batteries frowned,—</span> -<span class="i0">Death in the air all round,</span> -<span class="i0">And the black torpedoes beneath!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now, as we looked ahead,</span> -<span class="i0">All for’ard, the long white deck</span> -<span class="i0">Was growing a strange dull red,—</span> -<span class="i0">But soon, as once and again</span> -<span class="i0">Fore and aft we sped,</span> -<span class="i0">(The firing to guide or check,)</span> -<span class="i0">You could hardly choose but tread</span> -<span class="i0">On the ghastly human wreck,</span> -<span class="i0">(Dreadful gobbet and shred</span> -<span class="i0">That a minute ago were men!)</span> -<span class="i0">Red, from mainmast to bitts!</span> -<span class="i0">Red, on bulwark and wale,</span> -<span class="i0">Red, by combing and hatch,</span> -<span class="i0">Red, o’er netting and vail!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And ever, with steady con,</span> -<span class="i0">The ship forged slowly by,—</span> -<span class="i0">And ever the crew fought on,</span> -<span class="i0">And their cheers rang loud and high.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Grand was the sight to see</span> -<span class="i0">How by their guns they stood,</span> -<span class="i0">Right in front of our dead,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Fighting square abreast—</span> -<span class="i0">Each brawny arm and chest</span> -<span class="i0">All spotted with black and red,</span> -<span class="i0">Chrism of fire and blood!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Worth our watch, dull and sterile,</span> -<span class="i0">Worth all the weary time,</span> -<span class="i0">Worth the woe and the peril,</span> -<span class="i0">To stand in that strait sublime!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fear? A forgotten form!</span> -<span class="i0">Death? A dream of the eyes!</span> -<span class="i0">We were atoms in God’s great storm</span> -<span class="i0">That roared through the angry skies.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One only doubt was ours,</span> -<span class="i0">One only dread we knew,—</span> -<span class="i0">Could the day that dawned so well</span> -<span class="i0">Go down for the Darker Powers?</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Would</i> the fleet get through?</span> -<span class="i0">And ever the shot and shell</span> -<span class="i0">Came with the howl of hell,</span> -<span class="i0">The splinter-clouds rose and fell,</span> -<span class="i0">And the long line of corpses grew,—</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Would</i> the fleet win through?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They are men that never will fail,</span> -<span class="i0">(How aforetime they’ve fought!)</span> -<span class="i0">But Murder may yet prevail,—</span> -<span class="i0">They may sink as Craven sank.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Therewith one hard fierce thought,</span> -<span class="i0">Burning on heart and lip,</span> -<span class="i0">Ran like fire through the ship;</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Fight</i> her, to the last plank!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A dimmer renown might strike</span> -<span class="i0">If Death lay square alongside,—</span> -<span class="i0">But the old Flag has no like,</span> -<span class="i0">She must fight, whatever betide;—</span> -<span class="i0">When the War is a tale of old,</span> -<span class="i0">And this day’s story is told,</span> -<span class="i0">They shall hear how the <i>Hartford</i> died!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But as we ranged ahead,</span> -<span class="i0">And the leading ships worked in,</span> -<span class="i0">Losing their hope to win,</span> -<span class="i0">The enemy turned and fled—</span> -<span class="i0">And one seeks a shallow reach!</span> -<span class="i0">And another, winged in her flight,</span> -<span class="i0">Our mate, brave Jouett, brings in;—</span> -<span class="i0">And one, all torn in the fight,</span> -<span class="i0">Runs for a wreck on the beach,</span> -<span class="i0">Where her flames soon fire the night.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the Ram, when well up the Bay,</span> -<span class="i0">And we looked that our stems should meet,</span> -<span class="i0">(He had us fair for a prey,)</span> -<span class="i0">Shifting his helm midway,</span> -<span class="i0">Sheered off, and ran for the fleet;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -<span class="i0">There, without skulking or sham,</span> -<span class="i0">He fought them gun for gun;</span> -<span class="i0">And ever he sought to ram,</span> -<span class="i0">But could finish never a one.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From the first of the iron shower</span> -<span class="i0">Till we sent our parting shell,</span> -<span class="i0">’Twas just one savage hour</span> -<span class="i0">Of the roar and the rage of hell.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With the lessening smoke and thunder,</span> -<span class="i0">Our glasses around we aim,—</span> -<span class="i0">What is that burning yonder?</span> -<span class="i0">Our <i>Philippi</i>—aground and in flame!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Below, ’twas still all a-roar,</span> -<span class="i0">As the ships went by the shore,</span> -<span class="i0">But the fire of the Fort had slacked,</span> -<span class="i0">(So fierce their volleys had been,)—</span> -<span class="i0">And now with a mighty din,</span> -<span class="i0">The whole fleet came grandly in,</span> -<span class="i0">Though sorely battered and wracked.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So, up the Bay we ran,</span> -<span class="i0">The Flag to port and ahead,—</span> -<span class="i0">And a pitying rain began</span> -<span class="i0">To wash the lips of our dead.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A league from the Fort we lay,</span> -<span class="i0">And deemed that the end must lag,—</span> -<span class="i0">When lo! looking down the Bay,</span> -<span class="i0">There flaunted the Rebel Rag:—</span> -<span class="i0">The Ram is again under way</span> -<span class="i0">And heading dead for the Flag!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Steering up with the stream,</span> -<span class="i0">Boldly his course he lay,</span> -<span class="i0">Though the fleet all answered his fire,</span> -<span class="i0">And, as he still drew nigher,</span> -<span class="i0">Ever on bow and beam</span> -<span class="i0">Our Monitors pounded away;</span> -<span class="i0">How the <i>Chickasaw</i> hammered away!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Quickly breasting the wave,</span> -<span class="i0">Eager the prize to win,</span> -<span class="i0">First of us all the brave</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Monongahela</i> went in</span> -<span class="i0">Under full head of steam;—</span> -<span class="i0">Twice she struck him abeam,</span> -<span class="i0">Till her stem was a sorry work,</span> -<span class="i0">(She might have run on a crag!)</span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Lackawanna</i> hit fair,</span> -<span class="i0">He flung her aside like cork,</span> -<span class="i0">And still he held for the Flag.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">High in the mizzen shroud,</span> -<span class="i0">(Lest the smoke his sight o’erwhelm,)</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Our Admiral’s voice rang loud;</span> -<span class="i0">“Hard-a-starboard your helm!</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Starboard, and run him down!</i>”</span> -<span class="i0">Starboard it was,—and so,</span> -<span class="i0">Like a black squall’s lifting frown,</span> -<span class="i0">Our mighty bow bore down</span> -<span class="i0">On the iron beak of the Foe.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We stood on the deck together,</span> -<span class="i0">Men that had looked on death</span> -<span class="i0">In battle and stormy weather;</span> -<span class="i0">Yet a little we held our breath,</span> -<span class="i0">When, with the hush of death,</span> -<span class="i0">The great ships drew together.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our Captain strode to the bow,</span> -<span class="i0">Drayton, courtly and wise,</span> -<span class="i0">Kindly cynic, and wise,</span> -<span class="i0">(You hardly had known him now,</span> -<span class="i0">The flame of fight in his eyes!)—</span> -<span class="i0">His brave heart eager to feel</span> -<span class="i0">How the oak would tell on the steel!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, as the space grew short,</span> -<span class="i0">A little he seemed to shun us;</span> -<span class="i0">Out peered a form grim and lanky,</span> -<span class="i0">And a voice yelled, “<i>Hard-a-port!</i></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Hard-a-port!—here’s the damned Yankee</i></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Coming right down on us!</i>”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He sheered, but the ships ran foul</span> -<span class="i0">With a gnarring shudder and growl:</span> -<span class="i0">He gave us a deadly gun;</span> -<span class="i0">But as he passed in his pride,</span> -<span class="i0">(Rasping right alongside!)</span> -<span class="i0">The old Flag, in thunder-tones</span> -<span class="i0">Poured in her port broadside,</span> -<span class="i0">Rattling his iron hide</span> -<span class="i0">And cracking his timber-bones!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Just then, at speed on the Foe,</span> -<span class="i0">With her bow all weathered and brown,</span> -<span class="i0">The great <i>Lackawanna</i> came down</span> -<span class="i0">Full tilt, for another blow;—</span> -<span class="i0">We were forging ahead,</span> -<span class="i0">She reversed—but, for all our pains,</span> -<span class="i0">Rammed the old <i>Hartford</i>, instead,</span> -<span class="i0">Just for’ard the mizzen chains!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! how the masts did buckle and bend,</span> -<span class="i0">And the stout hull ring and reel,</span> -<span class="i0">As she took us right on end!</span> -<span class="i0">(Vain were engine and wheel,</span> -<span class="i0">She was under full steam,)—</span> -<span class="i0">With the roar of a thunder-stroke</span> -<span class="i0">Her two thousand tons of oak</span> -<span class="i0">Brought up on us, right abeam!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A wreck, as it looked, we lay,—</span> -<span class="i0">(Rib and plank shear gave way</span> -<span class="i0">To the stroke of that giant wedge!)</span> -<span class="i0">Here, after all, we go—</span> -<span class="i0">The old ship is gone!—ah, no,</span> -<span class="i0">But cut to the water’s edge.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Never mind then,—at him again!</span> -<span class="i0">His flurry now can’t last long;</span> -<span class="i0">He’ll never again see land,—</span> -<span class="i0">Try that on <i>him</i>, Marchand!</span> -<span class="i0">On him again, brave Strong!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Heading square at the hulk,</span> -<span class="i0">Full on his beam we bore;</span> -<span class="i0">But the spine of the huge Sea-Hog</span> -<span class="i0">Lay on the tide like a log,</span> -<span class="i0">He vomited flame no more.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By this, he had found it hot;—</span> -<span class="i0">Half the fleet, in an angry ring,</span> -<span class="i0">Closed round the hideous thing,</span> -<span class="i0">Hammering with solid shot,</span> -<span class="i0">And bearing down, bow on bow;</span> -<span class="i0">He has but a minute to choose,—</span> -<span class="i0">Life or renown?—which now</span> -<span class="i0">Will the Rebel Admiral lose?</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cruel, haughty, and cold,</span> -<span class="i0">He ever was strong and bold;</span> -<span class="i0">Shall he shrink from a wooden stem?</span> -<span class="i0">He will think of that brave band</span> -<span class="i0">He sank in the <i>Cumberland</i>;</span> -<span class="i0">Ay, he will sink like them.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nothing left but to fight</span> -<span class="i0">Boldly his last sea-fight!</span> -<span class="i0">Can he strike? By Heaven, ’tis true!</span> -<span class="i0">Down comes the traitor Blue,</span> -<span class="i0">And up goes the captive White!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up went the White! Ah, then</span> -<span class="i0">The hurrahs that once and again</span> -<span class="i0">Rang from three thousand men</span> -<span class="i0">All flushed and savage with fight!</span> -<span class="i0">Our dead lay cold and stark;</span> -<span class="i0">But our dying, down in the dark,</span> -<span class="i0">Answered as best they might,</span> -<span class="i0">Lifting their poor lost arms,</span> -<span class="i0">And cheering for God and Right!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ended the mighty noise,</span> -<span class="i0">Thunder of forts and ships.</span> -<span class="i0">Down we went to the hold,</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, our dear dying boys!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -<span class="i0">How we pressed their poor brave lips</span> -<span class="i0">(Ah, so pallid and cold!)</span> -<span class="i0">And held their hands to the last,</span> -<span class="i0">(Those who had hands to hold).</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still thee, O woman heart!</span> -<span class="i0">(So strong an hour ago;)</span> -<span class="i0">If the idle tears must start,</span> -<span class="i0">’Tis not in vain they flow.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They died, our children dear.</span> -<span class="i0">On the drear berth-deck they died,—</span> -<span class="i0">Do not think of them here—</span> -<span class="i0">Even now their footsteps near</span> -<span class="i0">The immortal, tender sphere—</span> -<span class="i0">(Land of love and cheer!</span> -<span class="i0">Home of the Crucified!).</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the glorious deed survives;</span> -<span class="i0">Our threescore, quiet and cold,</span> -<span class="i0">Lie thus, for a myriad lives</span> -<span class="i0">And treasure—millions untold,—</span> -<span class="i0">(Labor of poor men’s lives,</span> -<span class="i0">Hunger of weans and wives,</span> -<span class="i0">Such is war-wasted gold).</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our ship and her fame to-day</span> -<span class="i0">Shall float on the storied Stream</span> -<span class="i0">When mast and shroud have crumbled away,</span> -<span class="i0">And her long white deck is a dream.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One daring leap in the dark,</span> -<span class="i0">Three mortal hours, at the most,—</span> -<span class="i0">And hell lies stiff and stark</span> -<span class="i0">On a hundred leagues of coast.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the mighty Gulf is ours,—</span> -<span class="i0">The bay is lost and won,</span> -<span class="i0">An Empire is lost and won!</span> -<span class="i0">Land, if thou yet hast flowers,</span> -<span class="i0">Twine them in one more wreath</span> -<span class="i0">Of tenderest white and red,</span> -<span class="i0">(Twin buds of glory and death!)</span> -<span class="i0">For the brows of our brave dead,</span> -<span class="i0">For thy Navy’s noblest son.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Joy, O Land, for thy sons,</span> -<span class="i0">Victors by flood and field!</span> -<span class="i0">The traitor walls and guns</span> -<span class="i0">Have nothing left but to yield;</span> -<span class="i0">(Even now they surrender!)</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the ships shall sail once more,</span> -<span class="i0">And the cloud of war sweep on</span> -<span class="i0">To break on the cruel shore;—</span> -<span class="i0">But Craven is gone,</span> -<span class="i0">He and his hundred are gone.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The flags flutter up and down</span> -<span class="i0">At sunrise and twilight dim,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -<span class="i0">The cannons menace and frown,—</span> -<span class="i0">But never again for him,</span> -<span class="i0">Him and the hundred.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Dahlgrens are dumb,</span> -<span class="i0">Dumb are the mortars;</span> -<span class="i0">Never more shall the drum</span> -<span class="i0">Beat to colors and quarters,—</span> -<span class="i0">The great guns are silent.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O brave heart and loyal!</span> -<span class="i0">Let all your colors dip;—</span> -<span class="i0">Mourn him proud ship!</span> -<span class="i0">From main deck to royal.</span> -<span class="i0">God rest our Captain,</span> -<span class="i0">Rest our lost hundred!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Droop, flag and pennant!</span> -<span class="i0">What is your pride for?</span> -<span class="i0">Heaven, that he died for,</span> -<span class="i0">Rest our Lieutenant,</span> -<span class="i0">Rest our brave threescore!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Mother Land! this weary life</span> -<span class="i2">We led, we lead, is ’long of thee;</span> -<span class="i0">Thine the strong agony of strife,</span> -<span class="i2">And thine the lonely sea.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thine the long decks all slaughter-sprent,</span> -<span class="i2">The weary rows of cots that lie</span> -<span class="i0">With wrecks of strong men, marred and rent,</span> -<span class="i2">’Neath Pensacola’s sky.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And thine the iron caves and dens</span> -<span class="i2">Wherein the flame our war-fleet drives;</span> -<span class="i0">The fiery vaults, whose breath is men’s</span> -<span class="i2">Most dear and precious lives!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, ever when with storm sublime</span> -<span class="i2">Dread Nature clears our murky air,</span> -<span class="i0">Thus in the crash of falling crime</span> -<span class="i2">Some lesser guilt must share.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Full red the furnace fires must glow</span> -<span class="i2">That melt the ore of mortal kind;</span> -<span class="i0">The mills of God are grinding slow,</span> -<span class="i2">But ah, how close they grind!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To-day the Dahlgren and the drum</span> -<span class="i2">Are dread Apostles of His Name;</span> -<span class="i0">His kingdom here can only come</span> -<span class="i2">By chrism of blood and flame.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Be strong: already slants the gold</span> -<span class="i2">Athwart these wild and stormy skies;</span> -<span class="i0">From out this blackened waste, behold</span> -<span class="i2">What happy homes shall rise!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But see thou well no traitor gloze,</span> -<span class="i2">No striking hands with Death and Shame,</span> -<span class="i0">Betray the sacred blood that flows</span> -<span class="i2">So freely for thy name.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And never fear a victor foe—</span> -<span class="i2">Thy children’s hearts are strong and high;</span> -<span class="i0">Nor mourn too fondly; well they know</span> -<span class="i2">On deck or field to die.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor shalt thou want one willing breath,</span> -<span class="i2">Though, ever smiling round the brave,</span> -<span class="i0">The blue sea bear us on to death,</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">The green were one wide grave.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_27.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="146" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_04.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="107" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE LOYAL FISHER.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">The wife in the cot is lonely</span> -<span class="i5">Since the fisher went away,</span> -<span class="i0">And the sun-burnt child it hath not smil’d</span> -<span class="i2">This many and many a day.</span> -<span class="i0">And the schools of mack’rel come unscared</span> -<span class="i2">To the shoals of the inner bay.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the fisherman said one spring-time:</span> -<span class="i2">“Dear wife, I have set my sail</span> -<span class="i0">These twenty years to the northern meres,</span> -<span class="i2">The icebergs, the mist and gale,</span> -<span class="i0">And my country hath paid the shot, good wife,</span> -<span class="i2">However I chanced to fail.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Yes, paid for my sailor’s knowledge,</span> -<span class="i2">And the skill of my ready hand;</span> -<span class="i0">And the blue on my arm, as a sacred charm,</span> -<span class="i2">Is the flag that guards the land.</span> -<span class="i0">The time has come to pay that debt,</span> -<span class="i2">Tho’ my life it should demand.”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So bravely the loyal fisher</span> -<span class="i2">Sailed for the southern sea,</span> -<span class="i0">Never a hook nor a bait he took</span> -<span class="i2">For the deadly fishery;</span> -<span class="i0">But the staunchest man at the straining rope</span> -<span class="i2">In the northerner was he.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the bloody deck of the <i>Hartford</i></span> -<span class="i2">At last the fisher lay,</span> -<span class="i0">The azure charm pricked on his arm</span> -<span class="i2">Was striped with red that day;</span> -<span class="i0">And his debt of twenty years was paid</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">With a life in Mobile Bay.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_23.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="195" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_33.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="69" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">SHERMAN’S MARCH TO THE SEA.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By SAMUEL H. M. BYERS.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [General Sherman, in a recent conversation with -the editor of this collection, declared that it was this poem with its -phrase, “march to the sea,” that threw a glamour of romance over the -campaign which it celebrates. Said General Sherman: “The thing was -nothing more or less than a change of base, an operation perfectly -familiar to every military man, but a poet got hold of it, gave it the -captivating label, ‘The March to the Sea,’ and the unmilitary public -made a romance out of it.” It may be remarked that the General’s -modesty overlooks the important fact that the romance lay really in -his own deed of derring-do; the poet merely recorded it, or at most -interpreted it to the popular intelligence. The glory of the great -campaign was Sherman’s and his army’s; the joy of celebrating it was -the poet’s; the admiring memory of it is the people’s.—<span -class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_21.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<p class="f150"><b>SHERMAN’S MARCH TO THE SEA.</b></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_o.jpg" width="36" height="37" alt="O" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Our camp-fires shone bright on the mountain</span> -<span class="i5">That frowned on the river below,</span> -<span class="i0">As we stood by our guns in the morning,</span> -<span class="i2">And eagerly watched for the foe;</span> -<span class="i0">When a rider came out of the darkness</span> -<span class="i2">That hung over mountain and tree,</span> -<span class="i0">And shouted: “Boys, up and be ready!</span> -<span class="i2">For Sherman will march to the sea.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman</span> -<span class="i2">Went up from each valley and glen,</span> -<span class="i0">And the bugles re-echoed the music</span> -<span class="i2">That came from the lips of the men;</span> -<span class="i0">For we knew that the stars in our banner</span> -<span class="i2">More bright in their splendor would be,</span> -<span class="i0">And that blessings from Northland would greet us</span> -<span class="i2">When Sherman marched down to the sea.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then forward, boys! forward to battle!</span> -<span class="i2">We marched on our wearisome way,</span> -<span class="i0">We stormed the wild hills of Resaca,</span> -<span class="i2">God bless those who fell on that day!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory,</span> -<span class="i2">Frowned down on the flag of the free,</span> -<span class="i0">But the East and the West bore our standard</span> -<span class="i2">And Sherman marched on to the sea.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still onward we pressed till our banners</span> -<span class="i2">Swept out from Atlanta’s grim walls,</span> -<span class="i0">And the blood of the patriot dampened</span> -<span class="i2">The soil where the traitor flag falls.</span> -<span class="i0">We paused not to weep for the fallen,</span> -<span class="i2">Who slept by each river and tree.</span> -<span class="i0">Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel</span> -<span class="i2">As Sherman marched down to the sea.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, proud was our army that morning,</span> -<span class="i2">That stood where the pine darkly towers,</span> -<span class="i0">When Sherman said: “Boys, you are weary,</span> -<span class="i2">But to-day fair Savannah is ours!”</span> -<span class="i0">Then sang we the song of our chieftain,</span> -<span class="i2">That echoed o’er river and lea,</span> -<span class="i0">And the stars in our banner shone brighter</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">When Sherman marched down to the sea.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_08.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="72" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_05.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="115" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">SHERMAN’S MARCH</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By A Soldier.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Their lips are still as the lips of the dead,</span> -<span class="i5">The gaze of their eyes is straight ahead;</span> -<span class="i0">The tramp, tramp, tramp of ten thousand feet</span> -<span class="i0">Keep time to that muffled, monotonous beat,—</span> -<span class="i10">Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ten thousand more! and still they come</span> -<span class="i0">To fight a battle for Christendom!</span> -<span class="i0">With cannon and caissons, and flags unfurled,</span> -<span class="i0">The foremost men in all the world!</span> -<span class="i10">Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The foe is entrenched on the frowning hill,—</span> -<span class="i0">A natural fortress, strengthened by skill;</span> -<span class="i0">But vain are the walls to those who face</span> -<span class="i0">The champions of the human race!</span> -<span class="i10">Rub a dub dub; rub a dub dub!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“By regiment! Forward into line!”</span> -<span class="i0">Then sabres and guns and bayonets shine.</span> -<span class="i0">Oh ye, who feel your fate at last,</span> -<span class="i0">Repeat the old prayer as your hearts beat fast!</span> -<span class="i10">Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, ye who waited and prayed so long</span> -<span class="i0">That Right might have a fair fight with Wrong,</span> -<span class="i0">No more in fruitless marches shall plod,</span> -<span class="i0">But smite the foe with the wrath of God!</span> -<span class="i10">Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Death! what a charge that carried the hill!</span> -<span class="i0">That carried, and kept, and holds it still!</span> -<span class="i0">The foe is broken and flying with fear,</span> -<span class="i0">While far on their route our drummers I hear,—</span> -<span class="i10 space-below3">Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_16.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="71" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_13.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="100" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE YEAR OF JUBILEE.</h2> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [A body of negro troops entered Richmond singing -this song when the Union forces took possession of the Confederate -capital. It is an interesting fact, illustrative of the elasticity -of spirit shown by the losers in the great contest, that the song, -which might have been supposed to be peculiarly offensive to their -wounded pride and completely out of harmony with their deep depression -and chagrin, became at once a favorite among them, and was sung, -with applause, by young men and maidens in wellnigh every house in -Virginia.—<span class="smcap">Editor</span>.] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_s.jpg" width="28" height="41" alt="S" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa,</span> -<span class="i5">Wid de muffstash on he face,</span> -<span class="i0">Go long de road some time dis mornin’,</span> -<span class="i2">Like he gwine leabe de place?</span> -<span class="i0">He see de smoke way up de ribber</span> -<span class="i2">Whar de Lincum gunboats lay;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -<span class="i0">He took he hat an’ leff berry sudden,</span> -<span class="i2">And I spose he’s runned away.</span> -<span class="i6">De massa run, ha, ha!</span> -<span class="i6">De darkey stay, ho, ho!</span> -<span class="i6">It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’,</span> -<span class="i6">An’ de yar ob jubilo.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He six foot one way an’ two foot todder,</span> -<span class="i2">An’ he weigh six hundred poun’;</span> -<span class="i0">His coat so big he couldn’t pay de tailor,</span> -<span class="i2">An’ it won’t reach half way roun’;</span> -<span class="i0">He drill so much dey calls him cap’n,</span> -<span class="i2">An he git so mighty tanned,</span> -<span class="i0">I spec he’ll try to fool dem Yankees,</span> -<span class="i2">For to tink he contraband.</span> -<span class="i6">De massa run, ha, ha!</span> -<span class="i6">De darkey stay, ho, ho!</span> -<span class="i6">It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’,</span> -<span class="i6">An’ de yar ob jubilo.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">De darkeys got so lonesome libb’n</span> -<span class="i2">In de log hut on de lawn,</span> -<span class="i0">Dey moved dere tings into massa’s parlor</span> -<span class="i2">For to keep it while he gone.</span> -<span class="i0">Dar’s wine an’ cider in de kitchin,</span> -<span class="i2">An’ de darkeys dey hab some,</span> -<span class="i0">I spec it will be all fiscated,</span> -<span class="i2">When de Lincum sojers come.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -<span class="i6">De massa run, ha, ha!</span> -<span class="i6">De darkey stay, ho, ho!</span> -<span class="i6">It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’,</span> -<span class="i6">An’ de yar ob jubilo.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">De oberseer he makes us trubble,</span> -<span class="i2">An’ he dribe us roun’ a spell,</span> -<span class="i0">We lock him up in de smoke-house cellar,</span> -<span class="i2">Wid de key flung in de well.</span> -<span class="i0">De whip am lost, de han’-cuff broke,</span> -<span class="i2">But de massy hab his pay;</span> -<span class="i0">He big an’ ole enough for to know better</span> -<span class="i2">Dan to went an’ run away.</span> -<span class="i6">De massa run, ha, ha!</span> -<span class="i6">De darkey stay, ho, ho!</span> -<span class="i6">It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’,</span> -<span class="i6 space-below3">An’ de yar ob jubilo.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_22.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="150" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_01.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="78" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE CONQUERED BANNER.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By Abram J. Ryan.</span></p> - -<p class="blockquot2 space-below3"> [This poem appeared very soon after the -surrender of the Confederate armies, and was probably the first, as -it is the finest, poetical expression of reverent regret for the Lost -Cause, without any touch of bitterness in its loss. The author was a -Catholic priest, who wrote a number of poems of merit, though none -that appealed so strongly as this one does to the generous sympathy of -the victor with the sorrow of the vanquished. The author was born in -Norfolk, Va., August 15, 1839, and died in Louisville, Ky., April 22, -1886.—<span class="smcap">Editor</span>.] </p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_29.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="168" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p204.jpg" alt="The Conquered Banner" width="400" height="616" /> -</div> -<p class="f150"><b>THE CONQUERED BANNER.</b></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_f.jpg" width="28" height="36" alt="F" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Furl that Banner, for ’tis weary,</span> -<span class="i4">Round its staff ’tis drooping dreary:</span> -<span class="i3">Furl it, fold it,—it is best;</span> -<span class="i0">For there’s not a man to wave it,</span> -<span class="i0">And there’s not a sword to save it,</span> -<span class="i0">And there’s not one left to lave it</span> -<span class="i0">In the blood which heroes gave it,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -<span class="i0">And its foes now scorn and brave it:</span> -<span class="i3">Furl it, hide it,—let it rest!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Take the Banner down! ’tis tattered;</span> -<span class="i0">Broken is its staff and shattered,</span> -<span class="i0">And the valiant hosts are scattered</span> -<span class="i4">Over whom it floated high.</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, ’tis hard for us to fold it,</span> -<span class="i0">Hard to think there’s none to hold it,</span> -<span class="i0">Hard that those who once unrolled it</span> -<span class="i4">Now must furl it with a sigh!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Furl that Banner—furl it sadly;</span> -<span class="i0">Once ten thousands hailed it gladly,</span> -<span class="i0">And ten thousands wildly, madly</span> -<span class="i4">Swore it should forever wave—</span> -<span class="i0">Swore that foemen’s sword could never</span> -<span class="i0">Hearts like theirs entwined dissever,</span> -<span class="i0">And that flag should float forever</span> -<span class="i4">O’er their freedom, or their grave!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Furl it!—for the hands that grasped it,</span> -<span class="i0">And the hearts that fondly clasped it,</span> -<span class="i4">Cold and dead are lying low;</span> -<span class="i0">And the Banner—it is trailing,</span> -<span class="i0">While around it sounds the wailing,</span> -<span class="i4">Of its people in their woe;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For though conquered, they adore it—</span> -<span class="i0">Love the cold dead hands that bore it,</span> -<span class="i0">Weep for those who fell before it,</span> -<span class="i0">Pardon those who trailed and tore it;</span> -<span class="i0">And, oh, wildly they deplore it,</span> -<span class="i4">Now to furl and fold it so!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Furl that Banner! True, ’tis gory,</span> -<span class="i0">Yet ’tis wreathed around with glory,</span> -<span class="i0">And ’twill live in song and story</span> -<span class="i4">Though its folds are in the dust!</span> -<span class="i0">For its fame on brightest pages,</span> -<span class="i0">Penned by poets and by sages,</span> -<span class="i0">Shall go sounding down the ages—</span> -<span class="i4">Furl its folds though now we must!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Furl that Banner, softly, slowly;</span> -<span class="i0">Treat it gently—it is holy,</span> -<span class="i4">For it droops above the dead;</span> -<span class="i0">Touch it not—unfold it never;</span> -<span class="i0">Let it droop there, furled forever,—</span> -<span class="i4">For its people’s hopes are fled.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_02.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="104" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">SOMEBODY’S DARLING.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By MARIA LA CONTE.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="27" height="36" alt="I" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Into a ward of the whitewashed halls</span> -<span class="i4">Where the dead and the dying lay,</span> -<span class="i0">Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls,</span> -<span class="i2">Somebody’s darling was borne one day—</span> -<span class="i0">Somebody’s darling, so young and brave;</span> -<span class="i2">Wearing yet on his sweet pale face—</span> -<span class="i0">Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave—</span> -<span class="i2">The lingering light of his boyhood’s grace.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Matted and damp are the curls of gold</span> -<span class="i2">Kissing the snow of that fair young brow,</span> -<span class="i0">Pale are the lips of delicate mould—</span> -<span class="i2">Somebody’s darling is dying now.</span> -<span class="i0">Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow</span> -<span class="i2">Brush his wandering waves of gold;</span> -<span class="i0">Cross his hands on his bosom now—</span> -<span class="i2">Somebody’s darling is still and cold.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Kiss him once for somebody’s sake,</span> -<span class="i2">Murmur a prayer soft and low;</span> -<span class="i0">One bright curl from its fair mates take—</span> -<span class="i2">They were somebody’s pride, you know.</span> -<span class="i0">Somebody’s hand hath rested here—</span> -<span class="i2">Was it a mother’s, soft and white?</span> -<span class="i0">Or have the lips of a sister fair</span> -<span class="i2">Been baptized in their waves of light?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God knows best. He has somebody’s love,</span> -<span class="i2">Somebody’s heart enshrined him there,</span> -<span class="i0">Somebody wafts his name above,</span> -<span class="i2">Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.</span> -<span class="i0">Somebody wept when he marched away,</span> -<span class="i2">Looking so handsome, brave, and grand;</span> -<span class="i0">Somebody’s kiss on his forehead lay,</span> -<span class="i2">Somebody clung to his parting hand.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Somebody’s watching and waiting for him,</span> -<span class="i2">Yearning to hold him again to her heart;</span> -<span class="i0">And there he lies with his blue eyes dim,</span> -<span class="i2">And the smiling, childlike lips apart.</span> -<span class="i0">Tenderly bury the fair young dead—</span> -<span class="i2">Pausing to drop on his grave a tear.</span> -<span class="i0">Carve on the wooden slab o’er his head:</span> -<span class="i2">“Somebody’s darling slumbers here.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_15.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="93" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By SARAH T. BOLTON.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="48" height="36" alt="W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4b drop-cap">What, was it a dream? am I all alone</span> -<span class="i5">In the dreary night and the drizzling rain?</span> -<span class="i0">Hist!—ah, it was only the river’s moan;</span> -<span class="i2">They have left me behind with the mangled slain.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, now I remember it all too well!</span> -<span class="i2">We met, from the battling ranks apart;</span> -<span class="i0">Together our weapons flashed and fell,</span> -<span class="i2">And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done,</span> -<span class="i2">It was all too dark to see his face;</span> -<span class="i0">But I heard his death groans, one by one,</span> -<span class="i2">And he holds me still in a cold embrace.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He spoke but once, and I could not hear</span> -<span class="i2">The words he said, for the cannon’s roar;</span> -<span class="i0">But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear,—</span> -<span class="i2">O God! I had heard that voice before!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Had heard it before at our mother’s knee,</span> -<span class="i2">When we lisped the words of our evening prayer!</span> -<span class="i0">My brother! would I had died for thee,—</span> -<span class="i2">This burden is more than my soul can bear!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I pressed my lips to his death-cold cheek,</span> -<span class="i2">And begged him to show me by word or sign,</span> -<span class="i0">That he knew and forgave me; he could not speak,</span> -<span class="i2">But he nestled his poor cold face to mine.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The blood flowed fast from my wounded side,</span> -<span class="i2">And then for a while I forgot my pain,</span> -<span class="i0">And over the lakelet we seemed to glide</span> -<span class="i2">In our little boat, two boys again.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then, in my dream, we stood alone</span> -<span class="i2">On a forest path where the shadows fell;</span> -<span class="i0">And I heard again the tremulous tone</span> -<span class="i2">And the tender words of his last farewell.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But that parting was years, long years ago,</span> -<span class="i2">He wandered away to a foreign land;</span> -<span class="i0">And our dear old mother will never know</span> -<span class="i2">That he died to-night by his brother’s hand.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="r25" /> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The soldiers who buried the dead away</span> -<span class="i2">Disturbed not the clasp of that last embrace,</span> -<span class="i0">But laid them to sleep till the judgment day,</span> -<span class="i2">Heart folded to heart, and face to face.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p211.jpg" alt="Driving Home the Cows" width="500" height="364" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">DRIVING HOME THE COWS.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_o.jpg" width="36" height="37" alt="O" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass,</span> -<span class="i5">He turned them into the river-lane;</span> -<span class="i0">One after another he let them pass,</span> -<span class="i2">Then fastened the meadow bars again.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under the willows, and over the hill,</span> -<span class="i2">He patiently followed their sober pace;</span> -<span class="i0">The merry whistle for once was still,</span> -<span class="i2">And something shadowed the sunny face.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only a boy! and his father had said</span> -<span class="i2">He never could let his youngest go;</span> -<span class="i0">Two already were lying dead</span> -<span class="i2">Under the feet of the trampling foe.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But after the evening work was done,</span> -<span class="i2">And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp,</span> -<span class="i0">Over his shoulder he slung his gun,</span> -<span class="i2">And stealthily followed the foot-path damp.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Across the clover and through the wheat,</span> -<span class="i2">With resolute heart and purpose grim,</span> -<span class="i0">Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,</span> -<span class="i2">And the blind bat’s flitting startled him.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thrice since then had the lanes been white,</span> -<span class="i2">And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;</span> -<span class="i0">And now when the cows came back at night,</span> -<span class="i2">The feeble father drove them home.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For news had come to the lonely farm</span> -<span class="i2">That three were lying where two had lain;</span> -<span class="i0">And the old man’s tremulous, palsied arm</span> -<span class="i2">Could never lean on a son’s again.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The summer day grew cold and late,</span> -<span class="i2">He went for the cows when the work was done;</span> -<span class="i0">But down the lane, as he opened the gate,</span> -<span class="i2">He saw them coming, one by one,—</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,</span> -<span class="i2">Shaking their horns in the evening wind;</span> -<span class="i0">Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,—</span> -<span class="i2">But who was it following close behind?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Loosely swung in the idle air</span> -<span class="i2">The empty sleeve of army blue;</span> -<span class="i0">And worn and pale from the crisping hair</span> -<span class="i2">Looked out a face that the father knew.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn,</span> -<span class="i2">And yield their dead unto life again;</span> -<span class="i0">And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn</span> -<span class="i2">In golden glory at last may wane.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;</span> -<span class="i2">For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb;</span> -<span class="i0">And under the silent evening skies,</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">Together they followed the cattle home.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_22.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="150" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p214.jpg" alt="After All" width="500" height="286" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">AFTER ALL.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> WILLIAM WINTER</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">The apples are ripe in the orchard,</span> -<span class="i5">The work of the reaper is done,</span> -<span class="i0">And the golden woodlands redden</span> -<span class="i1">In the blood of the dying sun.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At the cottage door the grandsire</span> -<span class="i1">Sits pale in his easy-chair,</span> -<span class="i0">While the gentle wind of twilight</span> -<span class="i1">Plays with his silver hair.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A woman is kneeling beside him;</span> -<span class="i1">A fair young head is pressed,</span> -<span class="i0">In the first wild passion of sorrow,</span> -<span class="i1">Against his agéd breast.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And far from over the distance</span> -<span class="i1">The faltering echoes come</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Of the flying blast of trumpet</span> -<span class="i1">And the rattling roll of the drum.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the grandsire speaks in a whisper:</span> -<span class="i1">“The end, no man can see;</span> -<span class="i0">But we gave him to his country,</span> -<span class="i1">And we give our prayers to thee.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The violets star the meadows,</span> -<span class="i1">The rosebuds fringe the door,</span> -<span class="i0">And over the grassy orchard</span> -<span class="i1">The pink-white blossoms pour.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the grandsire’s chair is empty,</span> -<span class="i1">The cottage is dark and still;</span> -<span class="i0">There’s a nameless grave in the battle-field,</span> -<span class="i1">And a new one under the hill.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And a pallid, tearless woman</span> -<span class="i1">By the cold hearth sits alone,</span> -<span class="i0">And the old clock in the corner</span> -<span class="i1">Ticks on with a steady drone.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_28.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="90" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">“HE’LL SEE IT WHEN HE WAKES.”</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> FRANK LEE.</p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [In “Bugle Echoes” Mr. Francis F. Browne -introduces this poem with the following note: “In one of the battles -in Virginia, a gallant young Mississippian had fallen, and at night, -just before burying him, there came a letter from his betrothed. One -of the burial group took the letter and laid it upon the breast of the -dead soldier, with the words: ‘Bury it with him. He’ll see it when he -wakes.’”—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a.jpg" width="38" height="36" alt="A" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Amid the clouds of battle-smoke</span> -<span class="i5">The sun had died away,</span> -<span class="i0">And where the storm of battle broke</span> -<span class="i2">A thousand warriors lay.</span> -<span class="i0">A band of friends upon the field</span> -<span class="i2">Stood round a youthful form</span> -<span class="i0">Who, when the war-cloud’s thunder pealed,</span> -<span class="i2">Had perished in the storm.</span> -<span class="i0">Upon his forehead, on his hair,</span> -<span class="i2">The coming moonlight breaks,</span> -<span class="i0">And each dear brother standing there</span> -<span class="i2">A tender farewell takes.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But ere they laid him in his home</span> -<span class="i2">There came a comrade near,</span> -<span class="i0">And gave a token that had come</span> -<span class="i2">From her the dead held dear.</span> -<span class="i0">A moment’s doubt upon them pressed,</span> -<span class="i2">Then one the letter takes,</span> -<span class="i0">And lays it low upon his breast—</span> -<span class="i2">“He’ll see it when he wakes.”</span> -<span class="i0">O thou who dost in sorrow wait,</span> -<span class="i2">Whose heart with anguish breaks,</span> -<span class="i0">Though thy dear message came too late,</span> -<span class="i2">“He’ll see it when he wakes.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more amid the fiery storm</span> -<span class="i2">Shall his strong arm be seen;</span> -<span class="i0">No more his young and manly form</span> -<span class="i2">Tread Mississippi’s green;</span> -<span class="i0">And e’en thy tender words of love—</span> -<span class="i2">The words affection speaks—</span> -<span class="i0">Came all too late; but oh! thy love</span> -<span class="i2">“Will see them when he wakes.”</span> -<span class="i0">No jars disturb his gentle rest,</span> -<span class="i2">No noise his slumber breaks,</span> -<span class="i0">But thy words sleep upon his breast—</span> -<span class="i2">“He’ll see them when he wakes.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_04.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="107" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE RÉVEILLE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> BRET HARTE.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_h.jpg" width="38" height="37" alt="H" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands,</span> -<span class="i5">And of arméd men the hum;</span> -<span class="i0">Lo! a nation’s hosts have gathered</span> -<span class="i2">Round the quick-alarming drum—</span> -<span class="i8">Saying: “Come,</span> -<span class="i8">Freemen, come!</span> -<span class="i0">Ere your heritage be wasted,” said the quick-alarming drum.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Let me of my heart take counsel:</span> -<span class="i2">War is not of life the sum;</span> -<span class="i0">Who shall stay and reap the harvest</span> -<span class="i2">When the autumn days shall come?”</span> -<span class="i8">But the drum</span> -<span class="i8">Echoed: “Come!</span> -<span class="i0">Death shall reap the braver harvest,” said the solemn-sounding drum.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“But when won the coming battle,</span> -<span class="i2">What of profit springs therefrom?</span> -<span class="i0">What if conquest, subjugation,</span> -<span class="i2">Even greater ills become?”</span> -<span class="i8">But the drum</span> -<span class="i8">Answered: “Come!</span> -<span class="i0">You must do the sum to prove it,” said the Yankee-answering drum.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“What if, ’mid the cannon’s thunder,</span> -<span class="i2">Whistling shot and bursting bomb,</span> -<span class="i0">When my brothers fall around me,</span> -<span class="i2">Should my heart grow cold and numb?”</span> -<span class="i8">But the drum</span> -<span class="i8">Answered: “Come!</span> -<span class="i0">Better there in death united than in life a recreant—Come!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus they answered—hoping, fearing,</span> -<span class="i2">Some in faith and doubting some,</span> -<span class="i0">Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming,</span> -<span class="i2">Said: “My chosen people, come!”</span> -<span class="i8">Then the drum,</span> -<span class="i8">Lo! was dumb;</span> -<span class="i0">For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered:</span> -<span class="i8">“Lord, we come!”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_11.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="109" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">RÉVEILLE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> MICHAEL O’CONNOR.</p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [The author of this poem was a sergeant in -the 140th regiment of New York volunteers, who died at the age of -25 years, at Potomac Station, Va., December 28, 1862.—<span -class="smcap">Editor.</span>]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">The morning is cheery, my boys, arouse!</span> -<span class="i5">The dew shines bright on the chestnut boughs,</span> -<span class="i0">And the sleepy mist on the river lies,</span> -<span class="i0">Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes.</span> -<span class="i8">Awake! awake! awake!</span> -<span class="i10">O’er field and wood and brake,</span> -<span class="i8">With glories newly born,</span> -<span class="i10">Comes on the blushing morn.</span> -<span class="i14">Awake! awake!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You have dreamed of your homes and friends all night;</span> -<span class="i0">You have basked in your sweethearts’ smiles so bright;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Come, part with them all for a while again,—</span> -<span class="i0">Be lovers in dreams; when awake, be men,</span> -<span class="i8">Turn out! turn out! turn out!</span> -<span class="i10">You have dreamed full long, I know.</span> -<span class="i8">Turn out! turn out! turn out!</span> -<span class="i10">The east is all aglow.</span> -<span class="i14">Turn out! turn out!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From every valley and hill they come</span> -<span class="i0">The clamoring voices of fife and drum;</span> -<span class="i0">And out in the fresh, cool morning air</span> -<span class="i0">The soldiers are swarming everywhere.</span> -<span class="i4">Fall in! fall in! fall in!</span> -<span class="i10">Every man in his place</span> -<span class="i6">Fall in! fall in! fall in!</span> -<span class="i10">Each with a cheerful face.</span> -<span class="i14 space-below3">Fall in! fall in!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_26.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="134" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_25.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="93" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE WHITE ROSE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> JOSEPH O’CONNOR.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="27" height="36" alt="I" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">It is a withered rose,</span> -<span class="i5">That like a rose’s corpse, full dry and wan,</span> -<span class="i6">Finds here its last repose,</span> -<span class="i0">Its lustre dulled, its form and softness crushed,</span> -<span class="i0">The tender life with which its petals flushed,</span> -<span class="i0">And all its soul of subtle fragrance gone;</span> -<span class="i4">A primal rose that bloomed</span> -<span class="i0">Among the kindling brands, as white as frost,</span> -<span class="i4">Where Zillah stood undoomed,</span> -<span class="i0">Or from Mahomet’s forehead fluttered fair</span> -<span class="i0">To earth, when Al Borak cleft through the air</span> -<span class="i0">In flight to heaven, might leave so frail a ghost.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">The poet moralist</span> -<span class="i0">Has ever taken sombre joy to sing</span> -<span class="i4">Upon a theme so trist,</span> -<span class="i0">And write in dust of roses lessons grim—</span> -<span class="i0">That pleasures must be snatched ere they grow dim,</span> -<span class="i0">For germs of death in folds of beauty cling;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">That since the roses die,</span> -<span class="i0">No mortal loveliness may long endure;</span> -<span class="i4">No joy outlast a sigh;</span> -<span class="i0">No passion’s thrill, no labor’s work remain</span> -<span class="i0">Beyond a season; that Decay doth reign;—</span> -<span class="i0">Though in the tyrant’s very riot, sure,</span> -<span class="i4">Some pledge of hope is found</span> -<span class="i0">That all the universe is not a grave</span> -<span class="i4">And life sits somewhere crowned.</span> -<span class="i0">Not Tasso’s soft persuasion unto sin</span> -<span class="i0">I find, dear rose, thy withered leaves within,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor any precept Epicurus gave;</span> -<span class="i4">To me thou dost not breathe</span> -<span class="i0">A thought of festivals, or memory</span> -<span class="i4">Of woven, wine-dipped wreath,</span> -<span class="i0">Or kisses on ripe lips, or fond regret</span> -<span class="i0">For bounds by time to fleeting pleasures set,</span> -<span class="i0">Or wish to bring thy beauty back to thee.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">To kiss thy leaves I bend,</span> -<span class="i0">And lo! The crash of cannon fills mine ears;</span> -<span class="i4">I see the banners blend</span> -<span class="i0">Into the battle smoke; and the long lines</span> -<span class="i0">Of marching men where glint of bayonet shines</span> -<span class="i0">Through clouds of dust; the hopes, the hates, the fears</span> -<span class="i4">Of old thrill through my heart;</span> -<span class="i0">Again the myriad ghosts of the great war</span> -<span class="i4">From out their cerements start;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Again the nation in the contest strains</span> -<span class="i0">Its every nerve; again the deep refrains</span> -<span class="i0">Of groan and cheer break on us from afar!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">What mystery of power</span> -<span class="i0">To fill the mind with visions such as these</span> -<span class="i4">Lies in this scentless flower?</span> -<span class="i0">’Tis three and twenty years this very June,</span> -<span class="i0">Since first it opened to the southern noon</span> -<span class="i0">And swung in languor to a southern breeze;</span> -<span class="i4">And on the stalwart breast</span> -<span class="i0">Of one that wore the blue, while yet in bloom,</span> -<span class="i4">’Twas set in gallant jest;</span> -<span class="i0">In the long march’s dust it drooped its head</span> -<span class="i0">And in the smoke of Gettysburg lay dead,</span> -<span class="i0">With many a life more precious finding doom.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Beside a farmer’s home</span> -<span class="i0">In shade and shine this rose of battle grew,</span> -<span class="i4">What time the rolling drum</span> -<span class="i0">Announced the crisis of the war at hand,</span> -<span class="i0">As Meade pressed swiftly north through Maryland,</span> -<span class="i0">And ever closer to Lee’s columns drew;</span> -<span class="i4">On that grim, weary march</span> -<span class="i0">Rain seldom fell; the June sun fiercely glowed</span> -<span class="i4">And seemed all things to parch;</span> -<span class="i0">The winds grew still, nor in their motion swung</span> -<span class="i0">The dust that round the lithe battalions clung</span> -<span class="i0">For miles, on many a winding country road.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">The women stood in groups</span> -<span class="i0">And watched with tear-wet eyes and smiling lips</span> -<span class="i4">The marching of the troops;</span> -<span class="i0">The smiles came at the sight of manhood stern</span> -<span class="i0">Moving to sacrifice with unconcern;</span> -<span class="i0">The tears were for the battle’s drear eclipse</span> -<span class="i4">That was so soon to fall</span> -<span class="i0">On many a home where then the sunshine slept—</span> -<span class="i4">The shadow of a pall;</span> -<span class="i0">And though their hopes went with the stripes and stars,</span> -<span class="i0">Or lingered far away with stars and bars,</span> -<span class="i0">Yet they were women still—and smiled and wept!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">And where this rosebud lush</span> -<span class="i0">Had blossomed into innocence and peace</span> -<span class="i4">Upon its modest bush,</span> -<span class="i0">A column halted for a rest at noon</span> -<span class="i0">And the tired soldiers, glad of such a boon,</span> -<span class="i0">Flung knapsacks off, stacked arms, and took their ease.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">And there to one that quaffed</span> -<span class="i0">From the deep farmhouse well, with careless zest,</span> -<span class="i4">A luscious draught,</span> -<span class="i0">A fair girl said, scorn lurking round her mouth:</span> -<span class="i0">“Dare these men meet the veterans of the South?”</span> -<span class="i0">Half earnestly she spoke, and half in jest.</span> -<span class="i4">The soldier’s serious eyes</span> -<span class="i0">An instant flashed, and then grew soft again,</span> -<span class="i4">While yet the quick surprise</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Was flushing his bronzed cheek; but he was born</span> -<span class="i0">To reverence womanhood, and not to scorn;</span> -<span class="i0">And so disdained to wound her with disdain.</span> -<span class="i4">He spoke with quiet grace</span> -<span class="i0">In even tones, a smile both quaint and grave</span> -<span class="i4">Upon his firm, strong face:</span> -<span class="i0">“To wear in the next battle give to me</span> -<span class="i0">A rose,” he said, “and then the rose will see!”</span> -<span class="i0">In sobered mood she plucked this flower and gave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">It seems another age</span> -<span class="i0">When things like these were done; the rose’s bloom</span> -<span class="i4">He took as battle gage,</span> -<span class="i0">And with his laughing comrades went his way,</span> -<span class="i0">Well knowing that the columns wide astray</span> -<span class="i0">Were fast converging for the day of doom!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">O streams of rippling steel</span> -<span class="i0">That northward flowed with current ever true!</span> -<span class="i4">In thought we watched you wheel</span> -<span class="i0">Among the hills, a winding to and fro,</span> -<span class="i0">The weapons sparkling o’er the men below</span> -<span class="i0">Like glancing foam above the waves of blue!</span> -<span class="i4">We knew your end and source,</span> -<span class="i0">And that your torrents, crowned with portents dire,</span> -<span class="i4">Would keep their onward course</span> -<span class="i0">Till in the battle’s plunge, with thunder’s roar,</span> -<span class="i0">And scorching flames, your cleansing tides should pour</span> -<span class="i0">Abroad, and save the nation as by fire!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">The first day of July,</span> -<span class="i0">Just north of Gettysburg, the fight began</span> -<span class="i4">Whose memory will not die.</span> -<span class="i0">There lay along the outskirts of a wood</span> -<span class="i0">A regiment busy in the work of blood;</span> -<span class="i0">And he that wore the rose watched every man,</span> -<span class="i4">Alert, unvexed, intense,</span> -<span class="i0">And kept the firing cool, and fierce, and fast;</span> -<span class="i4">In front in column dense</span> -<span class="i0">Stern Southern valor stormed, and would not flinch,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor be denied, yet could not win an inch—</span> -<span class="i0">Till far outflanked our lines gave way at last.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Behind the frightened town,</span> -<span class="i0">On Cemetery Hill the rout was stayed;</span> -<span class="i4">And there the men lay down</span> -<span class="i0">And slept content among the graves that night;</span> -<span class="i0">And there this pallid rose, in soft moonlight,</span> -<span class="i0">Upon its wearer’s heaving bosom swayed.</span> -<span class="i4">The gathering armies clashed,</span> -<span class="i0">And on the circling hills the second day,</span> -<span class="i4">Incessant cannon crashed;</span> -<span class="i0">And shot and shell tore up each reverent mound,</span> -<span class="i0">And flung the tombstones’ shattered fragments round—</span> -<span class="i4">Poor rose, that heard the din of such a fray!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">On the third day, behold!</span> -<span class="i0">It saw the climax of the battle come;</span> -<span class="i4">When calm, and stern, and bold</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -<span class="i0">The great Virginians charged and could not win,</span> -<span class="i0">Though manhood’s flower, as they have ever been</span> -<span class="i0">In field, and hall, and by the hearth of home.</span> -<span class="i4">How proud their column moved,</span> -<span class="i0">Up the long slope of death with stubborn tread,</span> -<span class="i4">Obeying him they loved!</span> -<span class="i0">And still against the storm of fire that scourged</span> -<span class="i0">Supporting squadrons backward as it surged,</span> -<span class="i0">How fierce they held their way unwearièd!</span> -<span class="i4">Mayhap with other foes</span> -<span class="i0">They might have won; but ever slow to yield</span> -<span class="i4">And ever prompt to close</span> -<span class="i0">Were Hancock’s men; and the Virginian shaft</span> -<span class="i0">That pierced our lines was shattered, head and haft,</span> -<span class="i0">Within the wound!—And Lee had lost the field.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Amid the eddied smoke,</span> -<span class="i0">The groans of dying men, and the glad cheer</span> -<span class="i4">Of victory that broke</span> -<span class="i0">From hill to hill, this thing of beauty died;</span> -<span class="i0">And he that wore and had forgot it, sighed</span> -<span class="i0">And thought of it again as something dear;</span> -<span class="i4">So from his breast he took</span> -<span class="i0">The rose and sent it home to have it set</span> -<span class="i4">Within this simple book,</span> -<span class="i0">The favorite of a girl he loved and lost,</span> -<span class="i0">And ’mid the leaves it lingers like a ghost—</span> -<span class="i0">Though they be gone, the flower abideth yet!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">And often when I gaze</span> -<span class="i0">Into its folds and see these visions fair,</span> -<span class="i4">Mine eyes are filled with haze</span> -<span class="i0">Of tears for him that wore it, true and brave;</span> -<span class="i0">Almost I turn to fling it on his grave</span> -<span class="i0">Beside the little flag that flutters there!—</span> -<span class="i4">Then sigh for power to close</span> -<span class="i0">Within the amber clear of poetry</span> -<span class="i4">This pale and withered rose</span> -<span class="i0">That else must pass and crumble into dust</span> -<span class="i0">And squander in some wild and windy gust</span> -<span class="i0">The essence I would set in melody—</span> -<span class="i4">The feelings of the time</span> -<span class="i0">When first it bloomed; the deeds of sacrifice,</span> -<span class="i4">The thoughts and acts sublime,</span> -<span class="i0">The scenes of battle with their woe and scaith,</span> -<span class="i0">The courtesy and courage, love and faith—</span> -<span class="i0 space-below3">That I can read within it with mine eyes!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_03.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="96" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_14.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> FRANCIS MILES FINCH.</p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [Suggested by the fact that the women -of Columbus, Miss., on their decoration day strewed flowers, -with impartial hands, upon the graves of northern and southern -soldiers.—<span class="smcap">Editor</span>.] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_b.jpg" width="33" height="36" alt="B" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">By the flow of the inland river,</span> -<span class="i5">Whence the fleets of the iron</span> -<span class="i10">have fled,</span> -<span class="i0">Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,</span> -<span class="i2">Asleep are the ranks of the dead;</span> -<span class="i0">Under the sod and the dew,</span> -<span class="i2">Waiting the judgment-day;</span> -<span class="i0">Under the one, the Blue;</span> -<span class="i2">Under the other, the Gray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These in the robings of glory,</span> -<span class="i2">Those in the gloom of defeat:</span> -<span class="i0">All with the battle-blood gory,</span> -<span class="i2">In the dusk of eternity meet;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Under the sod and the dew,</span> -<span class="i2">Waiting the judgment-day;</span> -<span class="i0">Under the laurel, the Blue;</span> -<span class="i2">Under the willow, the Gray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From the silence of sorrowful hours,</span> -<span class="i2">The desolate mourners go,</span> -<span class="i0">Lovingly laden with flowers,</span> -<span class="i2">Alike for the friends and the foe;</span> -<span class="i0">Under the sod and the dew,</span> -<span class="i2">Waiting the judgment-day;</span> -<span class="i0">Under the roses, the Blue;</span> -<span class="i2">Under the lilies, the Gray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So, with an equal splendor,</span> -<span class="i2">The morning sun-rays fall,</span> -<span class="i0">With a touch impartially tender,</span> -<span class="i2">On the blossoms blooming for all</span> -<span class="i0">Under the sod and the dew,</span> -<span class="i2">Waiting the judgment-day;</span> -<span class="i0">Broidered with gold, the Blue,</span> -<span class="i2">Mellowed with gold, the Gray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So, when the summer calleth,</span> -<span class="i2">On forest and field of grain,</span> -<span class="i0">With an equal murmur falleth,</span> -<span class="i2">The cooling drip of the rain;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Under the sod and the dew,</span> -<span class="i2">Waiting the judgment-day;</span> -<span class="i0">Wet with the rain, the Blue;</span> -<span class="i2">Wet with the rain, the Gray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sadly, but not with upbraiding,</span> -<span class="i2">The generous deed was done;</span> -<span class="i0">In the storm of the years that are fading,</span> -<span class="i2">No braver battle was won;</span> -<span class="i0">Under the sod and the dew,</span> -<span class="i2">Waiting the judgment-day,</span> -<span class="i0">Under the blossoms, the Blue;</span> -<span class="i2">Under the garlands, the Gray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more shall the war-cry sever,</span> -<span class="i2">Or the winding rivers be red;</span> -<span class="i0">They banish our anger forever,</span> -<span class="i2">When they laurel the graves of our dead.</span> -<span class="i0">Under the sod and the dew,</span> -<span class="i2">Waiting the judgment-day;</span> -<span class="i0">Love and tears for the Blue;</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">Tears and love for the Gray.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_20.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="72" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_19.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="96" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">READY.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> PHOEBE CARY.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_l.jpg" width="31" height="37" alt="L" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Loaded with gallant soldiers,</span> -<span class="i5">A boat shot in to the land,</span> -<span class="i0">And lay at the right of Rodman’s Point,</span> -<span class="i2">With her keel upon the sand.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lightly, gayly, they came to shore,</span> -<span class="i2">And never a man afraid;</span> -<span class="i0">When sudden the enemy opened fire</span> -<span class="i2">From his deadly ambuscade.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Each man fell flat on the bottom</span> -<span class="i2">Of the boat; and the captain said:</span> -<span class="i0">“If we lie here, we all are captured’</span> -<span class="i2">And the first who moves is dead!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then out spoke a negro sailor,</span> -<span class="i2">No slavish soul had he:</span> -<span class="i0">“Somebody’s got to die, boys,</span> -<span class="i2">And it might as well be me!”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Firmly he rose, and fearlessly</span> -<span class="i2">Stepped out into the tide;</span> -<span class="i0">He pushed the vessel safely off,</span> -<span class="i2">Then fell across her side:</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fell, pierced by a dozen bullets,</span> -<span class="i2">As the boat swung clear and free;</span> -<span class="i0">But there wasn’t a man of them there that day</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">Who was fitter to die than he!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_27.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="146" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_02.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="104" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">A GEORGIA VOLUNTEER.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_f.jpg" width="28" height="36" alt="F" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Far up the lonely mountain-side</span> -<span class="i5">My wandering footsteps led;</span> -<span class="i0">The moss lay thick beneath my feet,</span> -<span class="i2">The pine sighed overhead.</span> -<span class="i0">The trace of a dismantled fort</span> -<span class="i2">Lay in the forest nave,</span> -<span class="i0">And in the shadow near my path</span> -<span class="i2">I saw a soldier’s grave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The bramble wrestled with the weed</span> -<span class="i2">Upon the lowly mound,</span> -<span class="i0">The simple head-board, rudely writ,</span> -<span class="i2">Had rotted to the ground;</span> -<span class="i0">I raised it with a reverent hand,</span> -<span class="i2">From dust its words to clear;</span> -<span class="i0">But time had blotted all but these:</span> -<span class="i2">“A Georgia Volunteer.”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I saw the toad and scaly snake</span> -<span class="i2">From tangled covert start,</span> -<span class="i0">And hide themselves among the weeds</span> -<span class="i2">Above the dead man’s heart;</span> -<span class="i0">But undisturbed, in sleep profound,</span> -<span class="i2">Unheeding, there he lay;</span> -<span class="i0">His coffin but the mountain soil,</span> -<span class="i2">His shroud, Confederate gray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I heard the Shenandoah roll</span> -<span class="i2">Along the vale below,</span> -<span class="i0">I saw the Alleghanies rise</span> -<span class="i2">Toward the realms of snow.</span> -<span class="i0">The “Valley Campaign” rose to mind—</span> -<span class="i2">Its leader’s name—and then</span> -<span class="i0">I knew the sleeper had been one</span> -<span class="i2">Of Stonewall Jackson’s men.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet whence he came, what lip shall say—</span> -<span class="i2">Whose tongue will ever tell</span> -<span class="i0">What desolated hearths and hearts</span> -<span class="i2">Have been because he fell?</span> -<span class="i0">What sad-eyed maiden braids her hair—</span> -<span class="i2">Her hair which he held dear?</span> -<span class="i0">One lock of which, perchance lies with</span> -<span class="i2">The Georgia Volunteer!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What mother, with long-watching eyes</span> -<span class="i2">And white lips cold and dumb,</span> -<span class="i0">Waits with appalling patience for</span> -<span class="i2">Her darling boy to come?</span> -<span class="i0">Her boy! whose mountain grave swells up</span> -<span class="i2">But one of many a scar</span> -<span class="i0">Cut on the face of our fair land</span> -<span class="i2">By gory-handed war.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What fights he fought, what wounds he wore,</span> -<span class="i2">Are all unknown to fame;</span> -<span class="i0">Remember, on his lonely grave</span> -<span class="i2">There is not even a name!</span> -<span class="i0">That he fought well and bravely too,</span> -<span class="i2">And held his country dear,</span> -<span class="i0">We know, else he had never been</span> -<span class="i2">A Georgia Volunteer.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He sleeps—what need to question now</span> -<span class="i2">If he were wrong or right?</span> -<span class="i0">He knows, e’er this, whose cause was just</span> -<span class="i2">In God the Father’s sight.</span> -<span class="i0">He wields no warlike weapons now,</span> -<span class="i2">Returns no foeman’s thrust;</span> -<span class="i0">Who but a coward would revile</span> -<span class="i2">An honest soldier’s dust?</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Roll, Shenandoah, proudly roll</span> -<span class="i2">Adown thy rocky glen;</span> -<span class="i0">Above thee lies the grave of one</span> -<span class="i2">Of Stonewall Jackson’s men.</span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the cedar and the pine,</span> -<span class="i2">In solitude austere,</span> -<span class="i0">Unknown, unnamed, forgotten, lies</span> -<span class="i2">A Georgia Volunteer.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_22.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="150" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_24.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="86" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">“HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?”</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> BRET HARTE.</p> - -<p class="blockquot2 space-below3"> [There is nothing in the history of the Civil -War worthier of celebration in verse, or more to be honored in the -remembrance, than the organization and work of the United States -Sanitary Commission. When the conditions created by the stress of -the war became apparent, the compassion of kindly men and women in -the North was deeply stirred by the thought that there was suffering -among the soldiers which the government could not relieve, and that -there were wants which could not be supplied by military agencies. -The generous desire to minister to these wants and to relieve this -suffering was quickly organized into action with that business-like -sagacity which distinguishes the American character. The Sanitary -Commission was formed as the agent and almoner of the popular -generosity. It was supported entirely by voluntary contributions. -It was as thoroughly organized as the army commissariat itself, and -wherever there was a comfort needed, or a wounded or sick man to -be cared for, its supply wagons, its appliances, and its trained -nurses were found. The affectionate gratitude of the troops toward -the beneficent association is reflected in this poem.—<span -class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_06.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="209" /> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_09.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="103" /> -</div> -<p class="f150"><b>“HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?”</b></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_d.jpg" width="37" height="37" alt="D" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Down the picket-guarded lane</span> -<span class="i6">Rolled the comfort-laden wain,</span> -<span class="i0">Cheered by shouts that shook the plain,</span> -<span class="i6">Soldier-like and merry:</span> -<span class="i0">Phrases such as camps may teach,</span> -<span class="i0">Sabre-cuts of Saxon speech,</span> -<span class="i0">Such as “Bully!” “Them’s the peach!”</span> -<span class="i6">“Wade in, Sanitary!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Right and left the caissons drew</span> -<span class="i0">As the car went lumbering through,</span> -<span class="i0">Quick succeeding in review</span> -<span class="i6">Squadrons military;</span> -<span class="i0">Sunburnt men with beards like frieze,</span> -<span class="i0">Smooth-faced boys, and cries like these:</span> -<span class="i0">“U. S. San. Com.” “That’s the cheese!”</span> -<span class="i6">“Pass in, Sanitary!”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In such cheer it struggled on</span> -<span class="i0">Till the battle front was won;</span> -<span class="i0">Then the car, its journey done,</span> -<span class="i6">Lo! was stationary;</span> -<span class="i0">And where bullets whistling fly</span> -<span class="i0">Came the sadder, fainter cry:</span> -<span class="i0">“Help us, brothers, ere we die!—</span> -<span class="i6">Save us, Sanitary!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such the work. The phantom flies,</span> -<span class="i0">Wrapped in battle-clouds that rise;</span> -<span class="i0">But the brave—whose dying eyes,</span> -<span class="i6">Veiled and visionary,</span> -<span class="i0">See the jasper gates swung wide,</span> -<span class="i0">See the parted throng outside—</span> -<span class="i0">Hears the voice to those who ride:</span> -<span class="i6 space-below3">“Pass in, Sanitary!”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_32.jpg" alt="Banner" width="350" height="80" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_13.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="100" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE MEN.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> MAURICE BELL.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="27" height="36" alt="I" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">In the dusk of the forest shade</span> -<span class="i5">A sallow and dusty group reclined;</span> -<span class="i0">Gallops a horseman up the glade—</span> -<span class="i2">“Where will I your leader find?</span> -<span class="i0">Tidings I bring from the morning’s scout—</span> -<span class="i2">I’ve borne them o’er mound and moor and fen.”</span> -<span class="i0">“Well, sir, stay not hereabout,</span> -<span class="i2">Here are only a few of ‘the men.’</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Here no collar has bar or star,</span> -<span class="i2">No rich lacing adorns the sleeve;</span> -<span class="i0">Further on our officers are,</span> -<span class="i2">Let them your report receive.</span> -<span class="i0">Higher up on the hill up there,</span> -<span class="i2">Overlooking this shady glen,</span> -<span class="i0">There are their quarters—don’t stop here,</span> -<span class="i2">We are only some of ‘the men.’</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Yet stay, courier, if you bear</span> -<span class="i2">Tidings that a fight is near;</span> -<span class="i0">Tell them we’re ready, and that where</span> -<span class="i2">They wish us to be we’ll soon appear;</span> -<span class="i0">Tell them only to let us know</span> -<span class="i2">Where to form our ranks and when;</span> -<span class="i0">And we’ll teach the vaunting foe</span> -<span class="i2">That they’ve met with some of ‘the men.’</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“We’re <i>the men</i>, though our clothes are worn—</span> -<span class="i2">We’re <i>the men</i>, though we wear no lace—</span> -<span class="i0">We’re <i>the men</i>, who the foe have torn,</span> -<span class="i2">And scattered their ranks in dire disgrace—</span> -<span class="i0">We’re the men who have triumphed before—</span> -<span class="i2">We’re the men who will triumph again;</span> -<span class="i0">For the dust and the smoke and the cannon’s roar,</span> -<span class="i2">And the clashing bayonets—‘we’re the men.’</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ye who sneer at the battle-scars,</span> -<span class="i2">Of garments faded and soiled and bare,</span> -<span class="i0">Yet who have for the ‘stars and bars’</span> -<span class="i2">Praise and homage and dainty fare;</span> -<span class="i0">Mock the wearers and pass them on,</span> -<span class="i2">Refuse them kindly word—and then</span> -<span class="i0">Know if your freedom is ever won</span> -<span class="i2">By human agents—these are the men!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_21.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE GUERILLAS.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> S. TEACKLE WALLIS.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_a.jpg" width="38" height="36" alt="A" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Awake! and to horse my brothers,</span> -<span class="i5">For the dawn is glimmering gray,</span> -<span class="i0">And hark! in the crackling brushwood,</span> -<span class="i2">There are feet that tread this way.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Who cometh?” “A friend.” “What tidings?“</span> -<span class="i2">“O God! I sicken to tell,</span> -<span class="i0">For the earth seems earth no longer,</span> -<span class="i2">And its sights are the sights of hell.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“There’s rapine and fire and slaughter,</span> -<span class="i2">From the mountain down to the shore,</span> -<span class="i0">There’s blood on the trampled harvest,</span> -<span class="i2">And blood on the homestead floor.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“From the far-off conquered cities,</span> -<span class="i2">Comes the voice of a stifled wail,</span> -<span class="i0">And the shrieks and moans of the homeless</span> -<span class="i2">Ring like the dirge of a gale.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I have seen from the smoking village,</span> -<span class="i2">Our mothers and daughters fly,</span> -<span class="i0">I’ve seen where the little children,</span> -<span class="i2">Sank down in the furrows to die.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“On the banks of the battle-stained river,</span> -<span class="i2">I stood as the moonlight shone,</span> -<span class="i0">And it glared on the face of my brother,</span> -<span class="i2">As the sad wave swept him on.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Where my home was glad, are ashes,</span> -<span class="i2">And horror and shame had been there,</span> -<span class="i0">For I found on the fallen lintel,</span> -<span class="i2">This tress of my wife’s torn hair.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“They are turning the slave upon us,</span> -<span class="i2">And with more than the fiend’s worst art.</span> -<span class="i0">Have uncovered the fires of the savage,</span> -<span class="i2">That slept in his untaught heart.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“The ties to our hearts that bound him,</span> -<span class="i2">They have rent with curses away,</span> -<span class="i0">And madden him in their madness</span> -<span class="i2">To be almost as brutal as they.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“With halter and torch and Bible,</span> -<span class="i2">And hymns to the sound of the drum,</span> -<span class="i0">They preach the gospel of murder,</span> -<span class="i2">And pray for lust’s kingdom to come.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“To saddle! my brothers! to saddle!</span> -<span class="i2">Look up to the rising sun,</span> -<span class="i0">And ask of the God who shines there,</span> -<span class="i2">Whether deeds like these shall be done.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Whither the vandal cometh,</span> -<span class="i2">Press home to his heart with your steel,</span> -<span class="i0">And where’er at his bosom ye cannot,</span> -<span class="i2">Like the serpent, go strike at his heel.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Through thicket and wood go hunt him,</span> -<span class="i2">Creep up to his camp-fire side,</span> -<span class="i0">And let ten of his corpses blacken,</span> -<span class="i2">Where one of our brothers hath died.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“In his fainting footsore marches,</span> -<span class="i2">In his flight from the stricken fray,</span> -<span class="i0">In the snare of the lonely ambush,</span> -<span class="i2">The debts that we owe him, pay.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“In God’s hands alone is vengeance,</span> -<span class="i2">But he strikes with the hands of men,</span> -<span class="i0">And his blight would wither our manhood,</span> -<span class="i2">If we smote not the smiter again.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“By the graves where our fathers slumber,</span> -<span class="i2">By the shrines where our mothers prayed,</span> -<span class="i0">By our homes and hopes of freedom,</span> -<span class="i2">Let every man swear by his blade.—</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“That he will not sheathe nor stay it,</span> -<span class="i2">Till from point to hilt it glow,</span> -<span class="i0">With the flush of Almighty justice,</span> -<span class="i2">In the blood of the cruel foe.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They swore; and the answering sunlight</span> -<span class="i2">Leapt from their lifted swords,</span> -<span class="i0">And the hate in their hearts made echo,</span> -<span class="i2">To the wrath of their burning words.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_30.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="185" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_04.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="107" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER.</h2> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [There is nothing in this -sentimental song that enables one to read the riddle of its remarkable -popularity during the Civil War. It has no poetic merit; its rhythm is -commonplace, and the tune to which it was sung was of the flimsiest -musical structure, without even a trick of melody to commend it. Yet -the song was more frequently sung, on both sides, than any other, the -Southern soldiers inserting “gray” for “blue” in the sixth line of the -first stanza, with cheerful recklessness of the effect upon the rhyme. -The thing was heard in every camp every day and many times every day. -Men chanted it on the march, and women sang it to piano accompaniment -in all houses. A song which so strongly appealed to two great armies -and to an entire people is worthy of a place in all collections of war -poetry, even though criticism is baffled in the attempt to discover the -reason of its popularity.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>]</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_05.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="115" /> -</div> -<p class="f150"><b>WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER.</b></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_d.jpg" width="37" height="37" alt="D" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Dearest love, do you remember</span> -<span class="i5">When we last did meet,</span> -<span class="i0">How you told me that you loved me</span> -<span class="i2">Kneeling at my feet?</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, how proud you stood before me</span> -<span class="i2">In your suit of blue,</span> -<span class="i0">When you vowed to me and country</span> -<span class="i2">Ever to be true.</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Weeping, sad and lonely,</span> -<span class="i9">Hopes and fears, how vain;</span> -<span class="i9">Yet praying</span> -<span class="i9">When this cruel war is over,</span> -<span class="i9">Praying that we meet again.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the summer breeze is sighing</span> -<span class="i2">Mournfully along,</span> -<span class="i0">Or when autumn leaves are falling,</span> -<span class="i2">Sadly breathes the song.</span> -<span class="i0">Oft in dreams I see thee lying</span> -<span class="i2">On the battle plain,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Lonely, wounded, even dying,</span> -<span class="i2">Calling, but in vain.</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Weeping, sad, etc.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If, amid the din of battle,</span> -<span class="i2">Nobly you should fall,</span> -<span class="i0">Far away from those who love you,</span> -<span class="i2">None to hear you call,</span> -<span class="i0">Who would whisper words of comfort?</span> -<span class="i2">Who would soothe your pain?</span> -<span class="i0">Ah, the many cruel fancies</span> -<span class="i2">Ever in my brain!</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Weeping, sad, etc.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But our country called you, darling,</span> -<span class="i2">Angels cheer your way!</span> -<span class="i0">While our nation’s sons are fighting,</span> -<span class="i2">We can only pray.</span> -<span class="i0">Nobly strike for God and country,</span> -<span class="i2">Let all nations see</span> -<span class="i0">How we love the starry banner,</span> -<span class="i2">Emblem of the free.</span> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Weeping, sad, etc.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/p252.jpg" alt="Cavalry Song" width="500" height="611" /> -</div> -<h2 class="non-vis nobreak">CAVALRY Song</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_o.jpg" width="36" height="37" alt="O" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Our good steeds snuff the evening air,</span> -<span class="i4"> Our pulses with their purpose tingle;</span> -<span class="i0">The foeman’s fires are twinkling there;</span> -<span class="i0">He leaps to hear our sabres jingle!</span> -<span class="i0">Halt!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Each carbine sends its whizzing ball;</span> -<span class="i0">Now, cling! clang! forward all,</span> -<span class="i4">Into the fight!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dash on beneath the smoking dome;</span> -<span class="i2">Through level lightnings gallop nearer!</span> -<span class="i0">One look to heaven! No thoughts of home:</span> -<span class="i2">The guidons that we bear are dearer.</span> -<span class="i4">Charge!</span> -<span class="i0">Cling! clang! forward all,</span> -<span class="i0">Heaven help those whose horses fall!</span> -<span class="i4">Cut left and right!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They flee before our fierce attack!</span> -<span class="i2">They fall! they spread in broken surges!</span> -<span class="i0">Now, comrades, bear our wounded back,</span> -<span class="i2">And leave the foeman to his dirges.</span> -<span class="i4">Wheel!</span> -<span class="i0">The bugles sound the swift recall;</span> -<span class="i0">Cling! clang! backward all!</span> -<span class="i4 space-below3">Home, and good-night!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_08.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="72" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_33.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="69" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">CAVALRY SONG.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> ROSSITER W. RAYMOND.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_o.jpg" width="36" height="37" alt="O" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">Our bugles sound gayly. To horse and away!</span> -<span class="i6">And over the mountains breaks the day;</span> -<span class="i0">Then ho! brothers, ho! for the ride or the fight,</span> -<span class="i0">There are deeds to be done ere we slumber to-night!</span> -<span class="i4">And whether we fight or whether we fall</span> -<span class="i4">By sabre-stroke or rifle-ball,</span> -<span class="i4">The hearts of the free will remember us yet,</span> -<span class="i4">And our country, our country will never forget!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then mount and away! let the coward delight</span> -<span class="i0">To be lazy all day and safe all night;</span> -<span class="i0">Our joy is a charger, flecked with foam,</span> -<span class="i0">And the earth is our bed and the saddle our home;</span> -<span class="i4">And whether we fight, etc.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">See yonder the ranks of the traitorous foe,</span> -<span class="i0">And bright in the sunshine bayonets glow!</span> -<span class="i0">Breathe a prayer, but no sigh; think for what you would fight;</span> -<span class="i0">Then charge! with a will, boys, and God for the right!</span> -<span class="i4">And whether we fight, etc.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We have gathered again the red laurels of war;</span> -<span class="i0">We have followed the traitors fast and far;</span> -<span class="i0">But some who rose gayly this morn with the sun</span> -<span class="i0">Lie bleeding and pale on the field they have won!</span> -<span class="i4 space-below3">But whether we fight, etc.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_31.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="140" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_02.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="104" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE CAVALRY CHARGE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_h.jpg" width="38" height="37" alt="H" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Hark! the rattling roll of the musketeers,</span> -<span class="i6">And the ruffled drums, and the rallying cheers,</span> -<span class="i0">And the rifles burn with a keen desire</span> -<span class="i0">Like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire,</span> -<span class="i0">And the singing shot and the shrieking shell</span> -<span class="i0">And the splintered fire on the shattered hell,</span> -<span class="i0">And the great white breaths of the cannon smoke</span> -<span class="i0">As the growling guns by batteries spoke;</span> -<span class="i0">And the ragged gaps in the walls of blue</span> -<span class="i0">Where the iron surge rolled heavily through,</span> -<span class="i0">That the Colonel builds with a breath again</span> -<span class="i0">As he cleaves the din with his “<i>Close up, men!</i>”</span> -<span class="i0">And the groan torn out from the blackened lips,</span> -<span class="i0">And the prayer doled slow with the crimsoned drips,</span> -<span class="i0">And the beaming look in the dying eye</span> -<span class="i0">As under the cloud the stars go by,</span> -<span class="i0">“<i>But his soul marched on!</i>” the Captain said,</span> -<span class="i0">For the Boy in Blue can never be dead!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the troopers sit in their saddles all</span> -<span class="i0">Like statues carved in an ancient hall,</span> -<span class="i0">And they watch the whirl from their breathless ranks,</span> -<span class="i0">And their spurs are close to the horses’ flanks,</span> -<span class="i0">And the fingers work of the sabre hand—</span> -<span class="i0">Oh, to bid them live, and to make them grand!</span> -<span class="i0">And the bugle sounds to the charge at last,</span> -<span class="i0">And away they plunge, and the front is passed!</span> -<span class="i0">And the jackets blue grow red as they ride,</span> -<span class="i0">And the scabbards too, that clank by their side,</span> -<span class="i0">And the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod</span> -<span class="i0">As they gallop right on o’er the plashy red sod—</span> -<span class="i0">Right into the cloud all spectral and dim,</span> -<span class="i0">Right up to the guns black-throated and grim,</span> -<span class="i0">Right down on the hedges bordered with steel,</span> -<span class="i0">Right through the dense columns—then “<i>Right about wheel!</i>”</span> -<span class="i0">Hurrah! a new swath through the harvest again!</span> -<span class="i0 space-below3">Hurrah for the Flag! To the battle, Amen!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_23.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="195" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_09.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="103" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE CAVALRY CHARGE.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_w.jpg" width="48" height="36" alt="W" /> -</div> -<span class="i4b drop-cap">With bray of the trumpet</span> -<span class="i7">And roll of the drum,</span> -<span class="i0">And keen ring of bugle,</span> -<span class="i2">The cavalry come.</span> -<span class="i0">Sharp clank the steel scabbards,</span> -<span class="i2">The bridle-chains ring,</span> -<span class="i0">And foam from red nostrils</span> -<span class="i2">The wild chargers fling.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tramp! tramp! o’er the greensward</span> -<span class="i2">That quivers below,</span> -<span class="i0">Scarce held by the curb-bit</span> -<span class="i2">The fierce horses go!</span> -<span class="i0">And the grim-visaged colonel,</span> -<span class="i2">With ear-rending shout,</span> -<span class="i0">Peals forth to the squadrons</span> -<span class="i2">The order: “<i>Trot out!</i>”</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One hand on the sabre,</span> -<span class="i2">And one on the rein,</span> -<span class="i0">The troopers move forward</span> -<span class="i2">In line on the plain.</span> -<span class="i0">As rings the word “<i>Gallop!</i>”</span> -<span class="i2">The steel scabbards clank,</span> -<span class="i0">And each rowel is pressed</span> -<span class="i2">To a horse’s hot flank:</span> -<span class="i0">And swift is their rush</span> -<span class="i2">As the wild torrent’s flow,</span> -<span class="i0">When it pours from the crag</span> -<span class="i2">On the valley below.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Charge!</i>” thunders the leader:</span> -<span class="i2">Like shaft from the bow</span> -<span class="i0">Each mad horse is hurled</span> -<span class="i2">On the wavering foe.</span> -<span class="i0">A thousand bright sabres</span> -<span class="i2">Are gleaming in air:</span> -<span class="i0">A thousand dark horses</span> -<span class="i2">Are dashed on the square.</span> -<span class="i0">Resistless and reckless</span> -<span class="i2">Of aught may betide,</span> -<span class="i0">Like demons, not mortals,</span> -<span class="i2">The wild troopers ride.</span> -<span class="i0">Cut right! and cut left!—</span> -<span class="i2">For the parry who needs?</span> -<span class="i0">The bayonets shiver</span> -<span class="i2">Like wind-scattered reeds.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vain—vain the red volley</span> -<span class="i2">That bursts from the square,—</span> -<span class="i0">The random-shot bullets</span> -<span class="i2">Are wasted in air.</span> -<span class="i0">Triumphant, remorseless,</span> -<span class="i2">Unerring as death,—</span> -<span class="i0">No sabre that’s stainless</span> -<span class="i2">Returns to its sheath.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wounds that are dealt</span> -<span class="i2">By that murderous steel</span> -<span class="i0">Will never yield case</span> -<span class="i2">For the surgeon to heal.</span> -<span class="i0">Hurrah! they are broken—</span> -<span class="i2">Hurrah! boys, they fly!</span> -<span class="i0">None linger save those</span> -<span class="i2">Who but linger to die.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Rein up your hot horses</span> -<span class="i2">And call in your men,—</span> -<span class="i0">The trumpet sounds “<i>Rally</i></span> -<span class="i2"><i>To colors!</i>” again.</span> -<span class="i0">Some saddles are empty,</span> -<span class="i2">Some comrades are slain,</span> -<span class="i0">And some noble horses</span> -<span class="i2">Lie stark on the plain;</span> -<span class="i0">But war’s a chance game, boys,</span> -<span class="i2">And weeping is vain.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_17.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="88" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">ROLL-CALL.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> N. G. SHEPHERD.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_c2.jpg" width="33" height="38" alt="C" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">“Corporal Green!” the Orderly cried;</span> -<span class="i5">“Here!” was the answer, loud and clear,</span> -<span class="i2">From the lips of the soldier who stood near,—</span> -<span class="i0">And “Here!” was the word the next replied.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Cyrus Drew!”—then a silence fell:</span> -<span class="i2">This time no answer followed the call;</span> -<span class="i2">Only his rear-man had seen him fall:</span> -<span class="i0">Killed or wounded—he could not tell.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There they stood in the failing light,</span> -<span class="i2">These men of battle, with grave, dark looks,</span> -<span class="i2">As plain to be read as open books,</span> -<span class="i0">While slowly gathered the shades of night.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The fern on the hill-sides was splashed with blood,</span> -<span class="i2">And down in the corn where the poppies grew</span> -<span class="i2">Were redder stains than the poppies knew;</span> -<span class="i0">And crimson-dyed was the river’s flood.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the foe had crossed from the other side</span> -<span class="i2">That day, in the face of a murderous fire</span> -<span class="i2">That swept them down in its terrible ire,</span> -<span class="i0">And their life-blood went to color the tide.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Herbert Kline!” At the call there came</span> -<span class="i2">Two stalwart soldiers into the line,</span> -<span class="i2">Bearing between them this Herbert Kline,</span> -<span class="i0">Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ezra Kerr!”—and a voice answered, “Here!”</span> -<span class="i2">“Hiram Kerr!”—but no man replied.</span> -<span class="i2">They were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed,</span> -<span class="i0">And a shudder crept through the cornfield near.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ephraim Deane!”—then a soldier spoke:</span> -<span class="i2">“Deane carried our regiment’s colors,” he said;</span> -<span class="i2">“Where our ensign was shot I left him dead,</span> -<span class="i0">Just after the enemy wavered and broke.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Close to the road-side his body lies;</span> -<span class="i2">I paused a moment and gave him a drink;</span> -<span class="i2">He murmured his mother’s name, I think,</span> -<span class="i0">And Death came with it, and closed his eyes.”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twas a victory; yes, but it cost us dear,—</span> -<span class="i2">For that company’s roll, when called at night,</span> -<span class="i2">Of a hundred men who went into the fight,</span> -<span class="i0">Numbered but twenty that answered “Here!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_15.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="93" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">READING THE LIST.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i2.jpg" width="27" height="36" alt="I" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">“Is there any news of the war?” she said.</span> -<span class="i4">“Only a list of the wounded and dead,”</span> -<span class="i4">Was the man’s reply,</span> -<span class="i4">Without lifting his eye</span> -<span class="i4">To the face of the woman standing by.</span> -<span class="i0">“’Tis the very thing I want,” she said;</span> -<span class="i0">“Read me a list of the wounded and dead.”</span> -<span class="i0">He read the list—’twas a sad array</span> -<span class="i0">Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the very midst, was a pause to tell</span> -<span class="i0">Of a gallant youth who fought so well</span> -<span class="i0">That his comrades asked: “Who is he, pray?”</span> -<span class="i0">“The only son of the Widow Gray,”</span> -<span class="i4">Was the proud reply</span> -<span class="i4">Of his captain nigh—</span> -<span class="i0">What ails the woman standing near?</span> -<span class="i0">Her face has the ashen hue of fear!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Well, well, read on; is he wounded? Quick!</span> -<span class="i0">O God! but my heart is sorrow-sick!</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Is he wounded?” “No; he fell, they say,</span> -<span class="i0">Killed outright on that fatal day!”</span> -<span class="i0">But see, the woman has swooned away!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sadly she opened her eyes to the light;</span> -<span class="i0">Slowly recalled the events of the fight;</span> -<span class="i0">Faintly she murmured: “Killed outright!</span> -<span class="i0">It has cost me the life of my only son;</span> -<span class="i0">But the battle is fought, and the victory won;</span> -<span class="i0">The will of the Lord, let it be done!”</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God pity the cheerless Widow Gray,</span> -<span class="i0">And send from the halls of eternal day</span> -<span class="i0">The light of his peace to illumine her way.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0 space-below3">[Southern.]</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_08.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="72" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_19.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="96" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">A WOMAN OF THE WAR.</h2> -<p class="f120"><span class="smcap">By</span> ROSSITER JOHNSON.</p> - -<p class="blockquot2"> [The tenderly pathetic story told in this -poem is true. Its heroine was Margaret Augusta Peterson, a volunteer -nurse in St. Mary’s Hospital at Rochester, New York. She died in the -manner related, on the first of September, 1864, and lies buried in -Mount Hope Cemetery, Rochester, as does also the young surgeon, her -lover.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_t.jpg" width="34" height="36" alt="T" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Through the sombre arch of that gateway tower</span> -<span class="i6">Where my humblest townsman rides at last,</span> -<span class="i0">You may spy the bells of a nodding flower,</span> -<span class="i2">On a double mound that is thickly grassed.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And between the spring and the summer time,</span> -<span class="i2">Or ever the lilac’s bloom is shed,</span> -<span class="i0">When they come with banners and wreaths and rhyme,</span> -<span class="i2">To deck the tombs of the nation’s dead,</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They find there a little flag in the grass,</span> -<span class="i2">And fling a handful of roses down,</span> -<span class="i0">And pause a moment before they pass</span> -<span class="i2">To the captain’s grave with the gilded crown.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But if perchance they seek to recall</span> -<span class="i2">What name, what deeds, these honors declare,</span> -<span class="i0">They cannot tell, they are silent all</span> -<span class="i2">As the noiseless harebell nodding there.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She was tall, with an almost manly grace,</span> -<span class="i2">And young, with strange wisdom for one so young,</span> -<span class="i0">And fair with more than a woman’s face;</span> -<span class="i2">With dark, deep eyes, and a mirthful tongue.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The poor and the fatherless knew her smile;</span> -<span class="i2">The friend in sorrow had seen her tears;</span> -<span class="i0">She had studied the ways of the rough world’s guile,</span> -<span class="i2">And read the romance of historic years.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What she might have been in these times of ours,</span> -<span class="i2">At once it is easy and hard to guess;</span> -<span class="i0">For always a riddle are half-used powers,</span> -<span class="i2">And always a power is lovingness.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But her fortunes fell upon evil days—</span> -<span class="i2">If days are evil when evil dies,—</span> -<span class="i0">And she was not one who could stand at gaze</span> -<span class="i2">Where the hopes of humanity fall and rise.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor could she dance to the viol’s tune,</span> -<span class="i2">When the drum was throbbing throughout the land,</span> -<span class="i0">Or dream in the light of the summer moon</span> -<span class="i2">When Treason was clenching his mailèd hand.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through the long gray hospital’s corridor</span> -<span class="i2">She journeyed many a mournful league,</span> -<span class="i0">And her light foot fell on the oaken floor</span> -<span class="i2">As if it never could know fatigue.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She stood by the good old surgeon’s side,</span> -<span class="i2">And the sufferers smiled as they saw her stand;</span> -<span class="i0">She wrote, and the mothers marvelled and cried</span> -<span class="i2">At their darling soldiers’ feminine hand.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She was last in the ward when the lights burned low,</span> -<span class="i2">And sleep called a truce to his foeman Pain;</span> -<span class="i0">At the midnight cry she was first to go,</span> -<span class="i2">To bind up the bleeding wound again.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For sometimes the wreck of a man would rise,</span> -<span class="i2">Weird and gaunt in the watch-lamp’s gleam,</span> -<span class="i0">And tear away bandage and splints and ties,</span> -<span class="i2">Fighting the battle all o’er in his dream.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No wonder the youngest surgeon felt</span> -<span class="i2">A charm in the presence of that brave soul,</span> -<span class="i0">Through weary weeks, as she nightly knelt</span> -<span class="i2">With the letter from home or the doctor’s dole.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He heard her called, and he heard her blessed,</span> -<span class="i2">With many a patriot’s parting breath;</span> -<span class="i0">And ere his soul to itself confessed,</span> -<span class="i2">Love leaped to life in those vigils of death.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Oh, fly to your home!” came a whisper dread,</span> -<span class="i2">“For now the pestilence walks by night.”</span> -<span class="i0">“The greater the need of me here,” she said,</span> -<span class="i2">And bared her arm for the lancet’s bite.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Was there death, green death, in the atmosphere?</span> -<span class="i2">Was the bright steel poisoned? Who can tell!</span> -<span class="i0">Her weeping friends gathered beside her bier,</span> -<span class="i2">And the clergyman told them all was well.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Well—alas that it should be so!</span> -<span class="i2">When a nation’s debt reaches reckoning-day—</span> -<span class="i0">Well for it to be able, but woe</span> -<span class="i2">To the generation that’s called to pay!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down from the long gray hospital came</span> -<span class="i2">Every boy in blue who could walk the floor;</span> -<span class="i0">The sick and the wounded, the blind and the lame,</span> -<span class="i2">Formed two long files from her father’s door.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There was grief in many a manly breast,</span> -<span class="i2">While men’s tears fell as the coffin passed;</span> -<span class="i0">And thus she went to the world of rest,</span> -<span class="i2">Martial and maidenly up to the last.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And that youngest surgeon, was he to blame?—</span> -<span class="i2">He held the lancet—Heaven only knows.</span> -<span class="i0">No matter; his heart broke all the same,</span> -<span class="i2">And he laid him down, and never arose.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So Death received, in his greedy hand,</span> -<span class="i2">Two precious coins of the awful price</span> -<span class="i0">That purchased freedom for this dear land—</span> -<span class="i2">For master and bondman—yea, bought it twice.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such fates too often such women are for!</span> -<span class="i2">God grant the Republic a large increase,</span> -<span class="i0">To match the heroes in time of war,</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">And mother the children in time of peace.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_20.jpg" alt="Banner" width="300" height="72" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_28.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="90" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">GLORY HALLELUJAH! OR,<br />JOHN BROWN’S BODY.</h2> - -<p class="blockquot2 space-below3"> [The strong hold which this song and the -three which follow it (“Marching thro’ Georgia,” “The Battle-Cry of -Freedom” and “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp”) had upon the favor of the Union -soldiers during the war entitles them to insertion here in spite of -their lack of poetic merit. The critics, from the time of Mr. Richard -Grant White’s collection until now, have condemned them as doggerel, -but songs that were sung with enthusiasm by all the soldiers of the -republic during the dark years of the Civil War cannot be denied the -possession of merit, whether criticism is able to recognize it or -not.—<span class="smcap">Editor.</span>] </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_04.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="107" /> -</div> -<p class="f150"><b>GLORY HALLELUJAH! OR<br />JOHN BROWN’S BODY.</b></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_j.jpg" width="33" height="37" alt="J" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">John Brown’s body lies a-mould’ring in the grave,</span> -<span class="i4"> John Brown’s body lies a-mould’ring in the grave,</span> -<span class="i0">John Brown’s body lies a-mould’ring in the grave,</span> -<span class="i6">His soul is marching on!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4"><i>Chorus</i>.—Glory! Glory Hallelujah!</span> -<span class="i13">Glory! Glory Hallelujah!</span> -<span class="i13">Glory! Glory Hallelujah!</span> -<span class="i13">His soul is marching on.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He’s gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!</span> -<span class="i0">He’s gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!</span> -<span class="i0">He’s gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!</span> -<span class="i6">His soul is marching on.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">John Brown’s knapsack is strapped upon his back.</span> -<span class="i6">His soul is marching on.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His pet lambs will meet him on the way,</span> -<span class="i6">And they’ll go marching on.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,</span> -<span class="i6">As they go marching on.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now for the Union let’s give three rousing cheers,</span> -<span class="i6">As we go marching on.</span> -<span class="i16 space-below3">Hip, hip, hip, hip, Hurrah!</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_22.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="150" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_24.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="86" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_b.jpg" width="33" height="36" alt="B" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Bring the good old bugle, boys! we’ll sing another song—</span> -<span class="i6">Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along—</span> -<span class="i0">Sing it as we used to sing it fifty thousand strong,</span> -<span class="i4">While we were marching through Georgia.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—“Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the jubilee!</span> -<span class="i9">Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!”</span> -<span class="i9">So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How the darkeys shouted when they heard the joyful sound!</span> -<span class="i0">How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary found!</span> -<span class="i0">How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground,</span> -<span class="i4">While we were marching through Georgia.—<i>Chorus</i>.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, and there were Union men who wept with joyful tears,</span> -<span class="i0">When they saw the honor’d flag they had not seen for years;</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers,</span> -<span class="i4">While we were marching through Georgia.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Sherman’s dashing Yankee boys will never reach the coast!”</span> -<span class="i0">So the saucy rebels said—and ’twas a handsome boast,</span> -<span class="i0">Had they not forgot, alas! to reckon on a host,</span> -<span class="i4">While we were marching through Georgia.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So we made a thoroughfare for Freedom and her train,</span> -<span class="i0">Sixty miles in latitude—three hundred to the main;</span> -<span class="i0">Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain,</span> -<span class="i4 space-below3">While we were marching through Georgia.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_26.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="134" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_21.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="89" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_y.jpg" width="39" height="37" alt="Y" /> -</div> -<span class="i4a drop-cap">Yes, we’ll rally round the flag, boys, we’ll rally once again,</span> -<span class="i5">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,</span> -<span class="i0">We will rally from the hill-side, we’ll gather from the plain,</span> -<span class="i2">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—The Union forever, hurrah! boys, hurrah,</span> -<span class="i11">Down with the traitor, up with the star,</span> -<span class="i9">While we rally round the flag, boys, rally once again,</span> -<span class="i11">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before,</span> -<span class="i2">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,</span> -<span class="i0">And we’ll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more,</span> -<span class="i2">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true, and brave,</span> -<span class="i2">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,</span> -<span class="i0">And altho’ they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave,</span> -<span class="i2">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So we’re springing to the call from the East and from the West,</span> -<span class="i2">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom,</span> -<span class="i0">And we’ll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love the best,</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_12.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="152" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter2"> - <img src="images/detail_07.jpg" alt="Banner" width="400" height="141" /> -</div> -<h2 class="nobreak">TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/letter_i.jpg" width="27" height="36" alt="I" /> -</div> -<span class="i4 drop-cap">In the prison cell I sit,</span> -<span class="i5">Thinking, mother dear, of you,</span> -<span class="i0">And our bright and happy home so far away,</span> -<span class="i2">And the tears they fill my eyes,</span> -<span class="i0">Spite of all that I can do,</span> -<span class="i2">Tho’ I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i>—Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,</span> -<span class="i11">Oh, cheer up, comrades, they will come,</span> -<span class="i9">And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air again,</span> -<span class="i11">Of freedom in our own beloved home.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the battle front we stood</span> -<span class="i2">When the fiercest charge they made,</span> -<span class="i0">And they swept us off a hundred men or more,</span> -<span class="i2">But before we reached their lines</span> -<span class="i0">They were beaten back dismayed,</span> -<span class="i2">And we heard the cry of vict’ry o’er and o’er.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So within the prison cell</span> -<span class="i2">We are waiting for the day</span> -<span class="i0">That shall come to open wide the iron door,</span> -<span class="i2">And the hollow eye grows bright,</span> -<span class="i0">And the poor heart almost gay.</span> -<span class="i2 space-below3">As we think of seeing friends and home once more.—<i>Chorus.</i></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="f150 space-below3"><b>END OF VOL. II.</b></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/detail_18.jpg" alt="Banner" width="250" height="256" /> -</div> -<hr class="r25" /> -<p class="f150"><b>Knickerbocker Nuggets.</b></p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Nugget</span>—“A diminutive mass of precious metal.”</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p class="blockquot2">“Little gems of bookmaking.”—<i>Commercial Gazette</i>, Cincinnati.</p> - -<p class="blockquot2 space-below2">“For many a long day nothing has been thought out or worked out so sure -to prove entirely pleasing to cultured book-lovers.”—<i>The Bookmaker.</i></p> - -<p>I—<b>Gesta Romanorum.</b> Tales of the old monks. -Edited by <span class="smcap">C. 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Two vols.    $2 00</p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“The perfection of artistic -bookmaking.”—<i>San Francisco Chronicle.</i></p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“This work is most delightful literature, which -finds a fitting place in this collection, bound in volumes of striking -beauty.” —<i>Troy Times.</i></p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“Hunt had just that delightful knowledge of the -Italian poets that one would most desire for oneself, together with an -exquisite style of his own wherein to make his presentation of them to -English readers perfect.”—<i>New York Critic.</i></p> - -<p class="blockquot1">The first series, comprising the foregoing -eighteen volumes, in handsome case,    $19.00</p> - -<p>XV.—<b>Thoughts of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.</b> -Translated by <span class="smcap">George Long.</span>    $1 00</p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“The thoughts of the famous Roman are worthy of a new introduction -to the army of readers through a volume so dainty and pleasing.” -—<i>Intelligencer.</i></p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“As a book for hard study, as a book to inspire reverie, as a -book for five minutes or an hour, it is both delightful and -profitable.”—<i>Journal of Education.</i></p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“It is an interesting little book, and we feel indebted to the -translator for this presentation of his work.”—<i>Presbyterian.</i></p> - -<p>XVI.—<b>Æsop’s Fables.</b> Rendered chiefly from original sources. By -Rev. <span class="smcap">Thomas James</span>, M.A.<br />With 100 illustrations of <span class="smcap">John -Tenniell.</span>    $1 25</p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“It is wonderful the hold these parables have had upon the human -attention; told to children, and yet of no less interest to men and -women.”—<i>Chautauqua Herald.</i></p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“For many a long day nothing has been thought out or worked out so sure -to prove entirely pleasing to cultured book-lovers.”—<i>The Bookmaker.</i></p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“These classic studies adorned with morals were never more neatly -prepared for the public eye.”—<i>The Milwaukee Wisconsin.</i></p> - -<p>XVII.—<b>Ancient Spanish Ballads.</b> Historic and Romantic. -Translated, with notes, by <span class="smcap">J. G. Lockhart</span>. Reprinted from -the revised edition of 1841, with 60 illustrations by <span class="smcap">Allan</span>, -<span class="smcap">Roberts</span>, <span class="smcap">Simson</span>, <span class="smcap">Warren</span>, -<span class="smcap">Aubrey</span>, and <span class="smcap">Harvey.</span>    $1 50</p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“A mass of popular poetry which has never yet -received the attention to which it is entitled.”—<i>Boston Journal -of Education.</i></p> - -<p class="blockquot1">“The historical and artistic settings of these -mediæval poetic gems enhance the value and attractiveness of the book.” -—<i>Buffalo Chronicle Advocate.</i></p> - -<p>XVIII.—<b>The Wit and Wisdom of Sydney Smith.</b> A -selection of the most memorable passages in his Writings and -Conversations.    $1 00</p> - -<p>XIX.—<b>The Ideals of the Republic; or Great Words from Great -Americans.</b> Comprising:—The “Declaration of Independence, -1776.” “The Constitution of the United States, 1779.” “Washington’s -Circular Letter, 1783.” “Washington’s First Inaugural, 1789.” -“Washington’s Second Inaugural, 1793.” “Washington’s Farewell Address.” -“Lincoln’s First Inaugural, 1861.” “Lincoln’s Second Inaugural, 1865.” -“Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, 1863.”    $1 00</p> - -<p>XX.—<b>Selections from Thomas De Quincey.</b> -Comprising:—“On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts.” -“Three Memorable Murders.” “The Spanish Nun.”    $1 00</p> - -<p class="space-below2">XXI.—<b>Tales by Heinrich Zschökke.</b> Comprising:—“A -New Year’s Eve,” “The Broken Pitcher,” “Jonathan Frock,” “A Walpurgis -Night.” Translated by <span class="smcap">Parke Godwin</span> and <span -class="smcap">William P. Prentice</span>.</p> - -<p class="f150"><b><i>In Preparation.</i></b></p> - -<p><b>American War Ballads.</b> A selection of the more noteworthy of -the Ballads and Lyrics which were produced during the Revolution, the -War of 1812, and the Civil War. Edited, with notes, by <span class="smcap">Geo. Cary -Eggleston</span>. With original illustrations.</p> - -<p><b>French Ballads.</b> Printed in the original text, selected and -edited, with notes, by Prof. <span class="smcap">T. F. Crane</span>.</p> - -<p class="space-below2"><b>German Ballads.</b> Printed in the original text.</p> - -<p class="center">G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span><br /> -New York and London</p> -<hr class="r25" /> - -<div class="transnote bbox"> -<p class="f120 space-above1">Transcriber Notes:</p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="indent">Uncertain or antiquated spellings or ancient words were not corrected.</p> -<p class="indent">Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations - in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of American War Ballads and Lyrics, Vol. -2 (of 2), by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN WAR BALLADS, LYRICS, VOL 2 *** - -***** This file should be named 54211-h.htm or 54211-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/2/1/54211/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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