<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<div id="tp">
<h1>Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.</h1>
<h2 class="no-break">By Herman Melville.</h2>
<p>NEW YORK:<br/>
Harper & Brothers, Publishers,<br/>
Franklin Square<br/>
1866.</p>
</div>
<div id="verso">
<p>Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and sixty-six, by<br/>
<span class="smallcaps">Harper & Brothers</span>,<br/>
In the Clerk’s Office of
the District Court of the Southern District of New York.</p>
</div>
<div id="dedication">
<p>The Battle-Pieces<br/>
in this volume are dedicated<br/>
to the memory of the<br/>
THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND<br/>
who in the war<br/>
for the maintenance of the Union<br/>
fell devotedly<br/>
under the flag of their fathers.</p>
</div>
<div class="section">
<p>[With few exceptions, the Pieces in this volume originated in an impulse
imparted by the fall of Richmond. They were composed without reference
to collective arrangement, but being brought together in review,
naturally fall into the order assumed.</p>
<p>The events and incidents of the conflict—making up a whole, in varied
amplitude, corresponding with the geographical area covered by the
war—from these but a few themes have been taken, such as for any cause
chanced to imprint themselves upon the mind.</p>
<p>The aspects which the strife as a memory assumes are as manifold as are
the moods of involuntary meditation—moods variable, and at times widely
at variance. Yielding instinctively, one after another, to feelings not
inspired from any one source exclusively, and unmindful, without
purposing to be, of consistency, I seem, in most of these verses, to
have but placed a harp in a window, and noted the contrasted airs which
wayward wilds have played upon the strings.]</p>
</div>
<div class="poem" id="poem1">
<h3>The Portent.</h3>
<h5>(1859.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem1_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem1_1">Hanging from the beam,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_2"> Slowly swaying (such the law),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_3">Gaunt the shadow on your green,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_4"> Shenandoah!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_5">The cut is on the crown</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_6">(Lo, John Brown),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_7">And the stabs shall heal no more.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem1_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem1_8">Hidden in the cap</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_9"> Is the anguish none can draw;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_10">So your future veils its face,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_11"> Shenandoah!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_12">But the streaming beard is shown</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_13">(Weird John Brown),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem1_14">The meteor of the the war.</div>
</div></div>
<h2>Contents.</h2>
<table summary="" >
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem2">Misgivings</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem3">The Conflict of Convictions</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem4">Apathy and Enthusiasm</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem5">The March into Virginia</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem6">Lyon</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem7">Ball’s Bluff</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem8">Dupont’s Round Fight</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem9">The Stone Fleet</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem10">Donelson</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem11">The Cumberland</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem12">In the Turret</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem13">The Temeraire</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem14">A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem15">Shiloh</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem16">The Battle for the Mississipppi</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem17">Malvern Hill</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem18">The Victor of Antietam</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem19">Battle of Stone River</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem20">Running the Batteries</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem21">Stonewall Jackson</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem22">Stonewall Jackson (ascribed to a Virginian)</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem23">Gettysburg</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem24">The House-top</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem25">Look-out Mountain</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem26">Chattanooga</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem27">The Armies of the Wilderness</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem28">On the Photograph of a Corps Commander</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem29">The Swamp Angel</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem30">The Battle for the Bay</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem31">Sheridan at Cedar Creek</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem32">In the Prison Pen</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem33">The College Colonel</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem34">The Eagle of the Blue</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem35">A Dirge for McPherson</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem36">At the Cannon’s Mouth</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem37">The March to the Sea</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem38">The Frenzy in the Wake</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem39">The Fall of Richmond</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem40">The Surrender at Appomattox</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem41">A Canticle</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem42">The Martyr</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem43">“The Coming Storm”</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem44">Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem45">The Muster</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem46">Aurora-Borealis</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem47">The Released Rebel Prisoner</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem48">A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem49">“Formerly a Slave.”</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem50">The Apparition</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem51">Magnanimity Baffled</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem52">On the Slain Collegians</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem53">America</SPAN></td>
</tr>
</table>
<h3>Verses Inscriptive and Memorial</h3>
<table summary="" >
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem54">On the Home Guards who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem55">Inscription for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem56">The Fortitude of the North Under the Disaster of the Second Manassas</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem57">On the Men of Maine killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem58">An Epitaph</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem59">Inscription for Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem60">The Mound by the Lake</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem61">On the Slain at Chickamauga</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem62">An uninscribed Monument on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem63">On Sherman’s Men Who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem64">On the Grave of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem65">A Requiem for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem66">On a natural Monument in a field of Georgia</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem67">Commemorative of a Naval Victory</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem68">Presentation to the Authorities, by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the Surrender of Lee</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem69">The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem70">The Scout toward Aldie</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem71">Lee in the Capitol</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#poem72">A Meditation</SPAN></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <SPAN href="#supplement">Supplement</SPAN></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="poem" id="poem2">
<h3>Misgivings.</h3>
<h5>(1860.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem2_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem2_1"> When ocean-clouds over inland hills</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_2"> Sweep storming in late autumn brown,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_3"> And horror the sodden valley fills,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_4"> And the spire falls crashing in the town,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_5"> I muse upon my country’s ills—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_6"> The tempest bursting from the waste of Time</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_7">On the world’s fairest hope linked with man’s foulest crime.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem2_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem2_8"> Nature’s dark side is heeded now—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_9"> (Ah! optimist-cheer disheartened flown)—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_10"> A child may read the moody brow</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_11"> Of yon black mountain lone.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_12"> With shouts the torrents down the gorges go,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_13"> And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem2_14">The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem3">
<h3>The Conflict of Convictions.<SPAN name="fnt1" href="#fn1"><sup>[1]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h5>(1860-1.)</h5>
<div class="note" id="fn1">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt1">[1]</SPAN> The gloomy lull of the early part of the winter of 1860-1, seeming
big with final disaster to our institutions, affected some minds that
believed them to constitute one of the great hopes of mankind, much as
the eclipse which came over the promise of the first French Revolution
affected kindred natures, throwing them for the time into doubt and
misgivings universal.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem3_1">On starry heights</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_2"> A bugle wails the long recall;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_3">Derision stirs the deep abyss,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_4"> Heaven’s ominous silence over all.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_5">Return, return, O eager Hope,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_6"> And face man’s latter fall.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_7">Events, they make the dreamers quail;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_8">Satan’s old age is strong and hale,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_9">A disciplined captain, gray in skill,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_10">And Raphael a white enthusiast still;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_11">Dashed aims, at which Christ’s martyrs pale,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_12">Shall Mammon’s slaves fulfill?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem3_13"><i> (Dismantle the fort,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_14"><i> Cut down the fleet—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_15"><i> Battle no more shall be!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_16"><i> While the fields for fight in æons to come</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_17"><i> Congeal beneath the sea.)</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem3_18">The terrors of truth and dart of death</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_19"> To faith alike are vain;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_20">Though comets, gone a thousand years,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_21"> Return again,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_22">Patient she stands—she can no more—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_23">And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem3_24"><i> (At a stony gate,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_25"><i> A statue of stone,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_26"><i> Weed overgrown—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_27"><i> Long ’twill wait!)</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem3_28">But God his former mind retains,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_29"> Confirms his old decree;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_30">The generations are inured to pains,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_31"> And strong Necessity</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_32">Surges, and heaps Time’s strand with wrecks.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_33"> The People spread like a weedy grass,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_34"> The thing they will they bring to pass,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_35">And prosper to the apoplex.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_36">The rout it herds around the heart,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_37"> The ghost is yielded in the gloom;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_38">Kings wag their heads—Now save thyself</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_39"> Who wouldst rebuild the world in bloom.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem3_40"><i> (Tide-mark</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_41"><i> And top of the ages’ strike,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_42"><i> Verge where they called the world to come,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_43"><i> The last advance of life—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_44"><i> Ha ha, the rust on the Iron Dome!)</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem3_45">Nay, but revere the hid event;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_46"> In the cloud a sword is girded on,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_47">I mark a twinkling in the tent</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_48"> Of Michael the warrior one.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_49">Senior wisdom suits not now,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_50">The light is on the youthful brow.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem3_51"><i> (Ay, in caves the miner see:</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_52"><i> His forehead bears a blinking light;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_53"><i> Darkness so he feebly braves—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_54"><i> A meagre wight!)</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem3_55">But He who rules is old—is old;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_56">Ah! faith is warm, but heaven with age is cold.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem3_57"><i> (Ho ho, ho ho,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_58"><i> The cloistered doubt</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_59"><i> Of olden times</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_60"><i> Is blurted out!)</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s11">
<div class="line" id="poem3_61">The Ancient of Days forever is young,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_62"> Forever the scheme of Nature thrives;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_63">I know a wind in purpose strong—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_64"> It spins <i>against</i> the way it drives.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_65">What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_66">So deep must the stones be hurled</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_67">Whereon the throes of ages rear</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_68">The final empire and the happier world.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s12">
<div class="line" id="poem3_69"><i> (The poor old Past,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_70"><i> The Future’s slave,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_71"><i> She drudged through pain and crime</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_72"><i> To bring about the blissful Prime,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_73"><i> Then—perished.</i> There’s <i>a grave!)</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s13">
<div class="line" id="poem3_74"> Power unanointed may come—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_75">Dominion (unsought by the free)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_76"> And the Iron Dome,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_77">Stronger for stress and strain,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_78">Fling her huge shadow athwart the main;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_79">But the Founders’ dream shall flee.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_80">Agee after age shall be</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_81">As age after age has been,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_82">(From man’s changeless heart their way they win);</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s14">
<div class="line" id="poem3_83">And death be busy with all who strive—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem3_84">Death, with silent negative.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem3_s15">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_85"> Yea, and Nay—</div>
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_86"> Each hath his say;</div>
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_87"> But God He keeps the middle way.</div>
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_88"> None was by</div>
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_89"> When He spread the sky;</div>
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem3_90"> Wisdom is vain, and prophesy.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem4">
<h3>Apathy and Enthusiasm.</h3>
<h5>(1860-1.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem4_s1">
<h6>I.</h6>
<div class="line" id="poem4_1">O the clammy cold November,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_2"> And the winter white and dead,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_3">And the terror dumb with stupor,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_4"> And the sky a sheet of lead;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_5">And events that came resounding</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_6"> With the cry that <i>All was lost</i>,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_7">Like the thunder-cracks of massy ice</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_8"> In intensity of frost—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_9">Bursting one upon another</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_10"> Through the horror of the calm.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_11"> The paralysis of arm</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_12">In the anguish of the heart;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_13">And the hollowness and dearth.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_14"> The appealings of the mother</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_15"> To brother and to brother</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_16">Not in hatred so to part—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_17">And the fissure in the hearth</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_18"> Growing momently more wide.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_19">Then the glances ’tween the Fates,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_20"> And the doubt on every side,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_21">And the patience under gloom</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_22">In the stoniness that waits</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_23">The finality of doom.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem4_s2">
<h6>II.</h6>
<div class="line" id="poem4_24">So the winter died despairing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_25"> And the weary weeks of Lent;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_26">And the ice-bound rivers melted,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_27"> And the tomb of Faith was rent.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_28">O, the rising of the People</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_29"> Came with springing of the grass,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_30">They rebounded from dejection</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_31"> And Easter came to pass.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_32">And the young were all elation</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_33"> Hearing Sumter’s cannon roar,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_34">And they thought how tame the Nation</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_35"> In the age that went before.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_36">And Michael seemed gigantical,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_37"> The Arch-fiend but a dwarf;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_38">And at the towers of Erebus</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_39"> Our striplings flung the scoff.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_40">But the elders with foreboding</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_41"> Mourned the days forever o’er,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_42">And re called the forest proverb,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_43"> The Iroquois’ old saw:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_44"><i>Grief to every graybeard</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem4_45"><i> When young Indians lead the war.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem5">
<h3>The March into Virginia,</h3>
<h4>Ending in the First Manassas.</h4>
<h5>(July, 1861.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem5_1">Did all the lets and bars appear</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_2"> To every just or larger end,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_3">Whence should come the trust and cheer?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_4"> Youth must its ignorant impulse lend—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_5">Age finds place in the rear.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_6"> All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_7">The champions and enthusiasts of the state:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_8"> Turbid ardors and vain joys</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_9"> Not barrenly abate—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_10"> Stimulants to the power mature,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_11"> Preparatives of fate.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem5_12">Who here forecasteth the event?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_13">What heart but spurns at precedent</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_14">And warnings of the wise,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_15">Contemned foreclosures of surprise?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem5_16">The banners play, the bugles call,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_17">The air is blue and prodigal.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_18"> No berrying party, pleasure-wooed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_19">No picnic party in the May,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_20">Ever went less loth than they</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_21"> Into that leafy neighborhood.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_22">In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_23">Moloch’s uninitiate;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_24">Expectancy, and glad surmise</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_25">Of battle’s unknown mysteries.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_26">All they feel is this: ’tis glory,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_27">A rapture sharp, though transitory,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_28">Yet lasting in belaureled story.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_29">So they gayly go to fight,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_30">Chatting left and laughing right.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem5_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem5_31">But some who this blithe mood present,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_32"> As on in lightsome files they fare,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_33">Shall die experienced ere three days are spent—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_34"> Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_35">Or shame survive, and, like to adamant,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem5_36"> The throe of Second Manassas share.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem6">
<h3>Lyon.</h3>
<h4>Battle of Springfield, Missouri.</h4>
<h5>(August, 1861.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem6_1">Some hearts there are of deeper sort,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_2"> Prophetic, sad,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_3">Which yet for cause are trebly clad;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_4"> Known death they fly on:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_5">This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem6_6">“They are more than twenty thousand strong,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_7"> We less than five,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_8">Too few with such a host to strive”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_9"> “Such counsel, fie on!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_10">’Tis battle, or ’tis shame;” and firm stood Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem6_11">“For help at need in van we wait—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_12"> Retreat or fight:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_13">Retreat the foe would take for flight,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_14"> And each proud scion</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_15">Feel more elate; the end must come,” said Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem6_16">By candlelight he wrote the will,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_17"> And left his all</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_18">To Her for whom ’twas not enough to fall;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_19"> Loud neighed Orion</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_20">Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem6_21">The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_22"> With guard-fires lit;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_23">Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_24"> “A field to die on”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_25">Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem6_26">We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_27"> Fate seemed malign;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_28">His horse the Leader led along the line—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_29"> Star-browed Orion;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_30">Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem6_31">There came a sound like the slitting of air</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_32"> By a swift sharp sword—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_33">A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_34"> Of black Orion</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_35">Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem6_36">“General, you’re hurt—this sleet of balls!”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_37"> He seemed half spent;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_38">With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_39"> “The field to die on;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_40">But not—not yet; the day is long,” breathed Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem6_41">For a time becharmed there fell a lull</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_42"> In the heart of the fight;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_43">The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_44"> Warm noon-winds sigh on,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_45">And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem6_46">Texans and Indians trim for a charge:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_47"> “Stand ready, men!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_48">Let them come close, right up, and then</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_49"> After the lead, the iron;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_50">Fire, and charge back!” So strength returned to Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s11">
<div class="line" id="poem6_51">The Iowa men who held the van,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_52"> Half drilled, were new</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_53">To battle: “Some one lead us, then we’ll do”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_54"> Said Corporal Tryon:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_55">“Men! <i>I</i> will lead,” and a light glared in Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s12">
<div class="line" id="poem6_56">On they came: they yelped, and fired;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_57"> His spirit sped;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_58">We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_59"> Nor stayed the iron,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_60">Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem6_s13">
<div class="line" id="poem6_61">This seer foresaw his soldier-doom,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_62"> Yet willed the fight.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_63">He never turned; his only flight</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_64"> Was up to Zion,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem6_65">Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem7">
<h3>Ball’s Bluff.</h3>
<h4>A Reverie.</h4>
<h5>(October, 1861.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem7_1">One noonday, at my window in the town,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_2"> I saw a sight—saddest that eyes can see—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_3"> Young soldiers marching lustily</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_4"> Unto the wars,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_5">With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_6"> While all the porches, walks, and doors</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_7">Were rich with ladies cheering royally.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem7_8">They moved like Juny morning on the wave,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_9"> Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_10"> (It was the breezy summer time),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_11"> Life throbbed so strong,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_12">How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_13"> Would come to thin their shining throng?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_14">Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem7_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem7_15">Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_16"> By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_17"> On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft);</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_18"> Some marching feet</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_19">Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_20"> Wakeful I mused, while in the street</div>
<div class="line" id="poem7_21">Far footfalls died away till none were left.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem8">
<h3>Dupont’s Round Fight.</h3>
<h5>(November, 1861.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem8_1">In time and measure perfect moves</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_2"> All Art whose aim is sure;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_3">Evolving ryhme and stars divine</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_4"> Have rules, and they endure.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem8_5">Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_6"> And, warring so, prevailed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_7">In geometric beauty curved,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_8"> And in an orbit sailed.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem8_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem8_9">The rebel at Port Royal felt</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_10"> The Unity overawe,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_11">And rued the spell. A type was here,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem8_12"> And victory of Law.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem9">
<h3>The Stone Fleet.<SPAN name="fnt2" href="#fn2"><sup>[2]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h4>An Old Sailor’s Lament.</h4>
<h5>(December, 1861.)</h5>
<div class="note" id="fn2">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt2">[2]</SPAN> “The terrible Stone Fleet on a mission as pitiless as the granite
that freights it, sailed this morning from Port Royal, and before two
days are past will have made Charleston an inland city. The ships are
all old whalers, and cost the government from $2500 to $5000 each. Some
of them were once famous ships.—” (From Newspaper Correspondences of the
day.)</p>
<p>Sixteen vessels were accordingly sunk on the bar at the river entrance.
Their names were as follows:</p>
<ul>
<li>Amazon,</li>
<li>America,</li>
<li>American,</li>
<li>Archer,</li>
<li>Courier,</li>
<li>Fortune,</li>
<li>Herald,</li>
<li>Kensington,</li>
<li>Leonidas,</li>
<li>Maria Theresa,</li>
<li>Potomac,</li>
<li>Rebecca Simms,</li>
<li>L.C. Richmond,</li>
<li>Robin Hood,</li>
<li>Tenedos,</li>
<li>William Lee.</li>
</ul>
<p>All accounts seem to agree that the object proposed was not
accomplished. The channel is even said to have become ultimately
benefited by the means employed to obstruct it.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem9_1">I have a feeling for those ships,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_2"> Each worn and ancient one,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_3">With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_4"> Ay, it was unkindly done.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_5"> But so they serve the Obsolete—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_6"> Even so, Stone Fleet!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem9_7">You’ll say I’m doting; do but think</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_8"> I scudded round the Horn in one—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_9">The Tenedos, a glorious</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_10"> Good old craft as ever run—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_11"> Sunk (how all unmeet!)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_12"> With the Old Stone Fleet.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem9_13">An India ship of fame was she,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_14"> Spices and shawls and fans she bore;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_15">A whaler when her wrinkles came—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_16"> Turned off! till, spent and poor,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_17"> Her bones were sold (escheat)!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_18"> Ah! Stone Fleet.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem9_19">Four were erst patrician keels</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_20"> (Names attest what families be),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_21">The Kensington, and Richmond too,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_22"> Leonidas, and Lee:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_23"> But now they have their seat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_24"> With the Old Stone Fleet.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem9_25">To scuttle them—a pirate deed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_26"> Sack them, and dismast;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_27">They sunk so slow, they died so hard,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_28"> But gurgling dropped at last.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_29"> Their ghosts in gales repeat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_30"> <i>Woe’s us, Stone Fleet!</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem9_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem9_31">And all for naught. The waters pass—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_32"> Currents will have their way;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_33">Nature is nobody’s ally; ’tis well;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_34"> The harbor is bettered—will stay.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_35"> A failure, and complete,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem9_36"> Was your Old Stone Fleet.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem10">
<h3>Donelson.</h3>
<h5>(February, 1862.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem10_1">The bitter cup</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_2"> Of that hard countermand</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_3">Which gave the Envoys up,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_4">Still was wormwood in the mouth,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_5"> And clouds involved the land,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_6">When, pelted by sleet in the icy street,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_7"> About the bulletin-board a band</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_8">Of eager, anxious people met,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_9">And every wakeful heart was set</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_10">On latest news from West or South.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_11">“No seeing here,” cries one—“don’t crowd—”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_12">“You tall man, pray you, read aloud.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s2">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_13">Important.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_14"><i> We learn that General Grant,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_15"><i> Marching from Henry overland,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_16"><i>And joined by a force up the Cumberland sent</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_17"><i> (Some thirty thousand the command),</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_18"><i>On Wednesday a good position won—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_19"><i>Began the siege of Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem10_20"><i>The stronghold crowns a river-bluff,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_21"><i> A good broad mile of leveled top;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_22"><i>Inland the ground rolls off</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_23"><i> Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_24"><i>A wilderness of trees and brush.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_25"><i> The spaded summit shows the roods</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_26"><i>Of fixed intrenchments in their hush;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_27"><i> Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_28"><i>Perplex the base.—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_29"><i> The welcome weather</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_30"><i> Is clear and mild; ’tis much like May.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_31"><i>The ancient boughs that lace together</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_32"><i>Along the stream, and hang far forth,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_33"><i> Strange with green mistletoe, betray</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_34"><i>A dreamy contrast to the North.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem10_35"><i>Our troops are full of spirits—say</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_36"><i> The siege won’t prove a creeping one.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_37"><i>They purpose not the lingering stay</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_38"><i>Of old beleaguerers; not that way;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_39"><i> But, full of</i> vim <i>from Western prairies won,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_40"><i> They’ll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem10_41">Washed by the storm till the paper grew</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_42">Every shade of a streaky blue,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_43">That bulletin stood. The next day brought</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_44">A second.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s6">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_45">Later from the Fort.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_46"><i>Grant’s investment is complete—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_47"><i> A semicircular one.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_48"><i>Both wings the Cumberland’s margin meet,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_49"><i>Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_50"><i> On Wednesday this good work was done;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_51"><i> But of the doers some lie prone.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_52"><i>Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_53"><i>The bold inclosing line we wrought for</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_54"><i>Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_55"><i>A limb or life. But back we forced</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_56"><i>Reserves and all; made good our hold;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_57"><i>And so we rest.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem10_58"><i> Events unfold.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_59"><i>On Thursday added ground was won,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_60"><i> A long bold steep: we near the Den.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_61"><i>Later the foe came shouting down</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_62"><i> In sortie, which was quelled; and then</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_63"><i>We stormed them on their left.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_64"><i>A chilly change in the afternoon;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_65"><i>The sky, late clear, is now bereft</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_66"><i>Of sun. Last night the ground froze hard—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_67"><i>Rings to the enemy as they run</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_68"><i>Within their works. A ramrod bites</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_69"><i>The lip it meets. The cold incites</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_70"><i>To swinging of arms with brisk rebound.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_71"><i>Smart blows ’gainst lusty chests resound.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem10_72"><i>Along the outer line we ward</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_73"><i> A crackle of skirmishing goes on.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_74"><i>Our lads creep round on hand and knee,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_75"><i> They fight from behind each trunk and stone;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_76"><i> And sometimes, flying for refuge, one</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_77"><i>Finds ’tis an enemy shares the tree.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_78"><i>Some scores are maimed by boughs shot off</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_79"><i> In the glades by the Fort’s big gun.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_80"><i> We mourn the loss of colonel Morrison,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_81"><i> Killed while cheering his regiment on.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_82"><i>Their far sharpshooters try our stuff;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_83"><i>And ours return them puff for puff:</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_84"><i>’Tis diamond-cutting-diamond work.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_85"><i> Woe on the rebel cannoneer</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_86"><i>Who shows his head. Our fellows lurk</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_87"><i> Like Indians that waylay the deer</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_88"><i>By the wild salt-spring.—The sky is dun,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_89"><i>Fordooming the fall of Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem10_90"><i>Stern weather is all unwonted here.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_91"><i> The people of the country own</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_92"><i>We brought it. Yea, the earnest North</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_93"><i>Has elementally issued forth</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_94"><i> To storm this Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s10">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_95">Further.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_96"><i> A yelling rout</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_97"><i>Of ragamuffins broke profuse</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_98"><i> To-day from out the Fort.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_99"><i> Sole uniform they wore, a sort</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_100"><i>Of patch, or white badge (as you choose)</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_101"><i> Upon the arm. But leading these,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_102"><i>Or mingling, were men of face</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_103"><i>And bearing of patrician race,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_104"><i>Splendid in courage and gold lace—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_105"><i> The officers. Before the breeze</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_106"><i>Made by their charge, down went our line;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_107"><i>But, rallying, charged back in force,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_108"><i>And broke the sally; yet with loss.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_109"><i>This on the left; upon the right</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_110"><i>Meanwhile there was an answering fight;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_111"><i> Assailants and assailed reversed.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_112"><i>The charge too upward, and not down—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_113"><i>Up a steep ridge-side, toward its crown,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_114"><i> A strong redoubt. But they who first</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_115"><i>Gained the fort’s base, and marked the trees</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_116"><i>Felled, heaped in horned perplexities,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_117"><i> And shagged with brush; and swarming there</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_118"><i>Fierce wasps whose sting was present death—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_119"><i>They faltered, drawing bated breath,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_120"><i> And felt it was in vain to dare;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_121"><i>Yet still, perforce, returned the ball,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_122"><i>Firing into the tangled wall</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_123"><i>Till ordered to come down. They came;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_124"><i>But left some comrades in their fame,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_125"><i>Red on the ridge in icy wreath</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_126"><i>And hanging gardens of cold Death.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_127"><i> But not quite unavenged these fell;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_128"><i>Our ranks once out of range, a blast</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_129"><i> Of shrapnel and quick shell</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_130"><i>Burst on the rebel horde, still massed,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_131"><i> Scattering them pell-mell.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_132"><i> (This fighting—judging what we read—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_133"><i> Both charge and countercharge,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_134"><i> Would seem but Thursday’s told at large,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_135"><i> Before in brief reported.—Ed.)</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_136"><i>Night closed in about the Den</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_137"><i> Murky and lowering. Ere long, chill rains.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_138"><i>A night not soon to be forgot,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_139"><i> Reviving old rheumatic pains</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_140"><i>And longings for a cot.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s11">
<div class="line" id="poem10_141"><i> No blankets, overcoats, or tents.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_142"><i>Coats thrown aside on the warm march here—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_143"><i>We looked not then for changeful cheer;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_144"><i>Tents, coats, and blankets too much care.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_145"><i> No fires; a fire a mark presents;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_146"><i> Near by, the trees show bullet-dents.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_147"><i>Rations were eaten cold and raw.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_148"><i> The men well soaked, come snow; and more—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_149"><i>A midnight sally. Small sleeping done—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_150"><i> But such is war;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_151"><i>No matter, we’ll have Fort Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s12">
<div class="line" id="poem10_152"> “Ugh! ugh!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_153">’Twill drag along—drag along”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_154">Growled a cross patriot in the throng,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_155">His battered umbrella like an ambulance-cover</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_156">Riddled with bullet-holes, spattered all over.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_157">“Hurrah for Grant!” cried a stripling shrill;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_158">Three urchins joined him with a will,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_159">And some of taller stature cheered.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_160">Meantime a Copperhead passed; he sneered.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_161"> “Win or lose,” he pausing said,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_162">“Caps fly the same; all boys, mere boys;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_163">Any thing to make a noise.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_164"> Like to see the list of the dead;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_165">These ‘<i>craven Southerners</i>’ hold out;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_166">Ay, ay, they’ll give you many a bout”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_167"> “We’ll beat in the end, sir”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_168">Firmly said one in staid rebuke,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_169">A solid merchant, square and stout.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_170"> “And do you think it? that way tend, sir”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_171">Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_172">Of splenetic pity. “Yes, I do”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_173">His yellow death’s head the croaker shook:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_174">“The country’s ruined, that I know”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_175">A shower of broken ice and snow,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_176"> In lieu of words, confuted him;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_177">They saw him hustled round the corner go,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_178"> And each by-stander said—Well suited him.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s13">
<div class="line" id="poem10_179">Next day another crowd was seen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_180">In the dark weather’s sleety spleen.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_181">Bald-headed to the storm came out</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_182">A man, who, ’mid a joyous shout,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_183">Silently posted this brief sheet:</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s14">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_184">Glorious Victory of the Fleet!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s15">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_185">Friday’s great event!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s16">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_186">The enemy’s water-batteries beat!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s17">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_187">We silenced every gun!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s18">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_188">The old Commodore’s compliments sent</div>
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_189">Plump into Donelson!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s19">
<div class="line" id="poem10_190">“Well, well, go on!” exclaimed the crowd</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_191">To him who thus much read aloud.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_192">“That’s all,” he said. “What! nothing more”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_193">“Enough for a cheer, though—hip, hurrah!”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_194">“But here’s old Baldy come again—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_195">More news!—” And now a different strain.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s20">
<div class="line" id="poem10_196"><i>(Our own reporter a dispatch compiles,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_197"><i> As best he may, from varied sources.)</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s21">
<div class="line" id="poem10_198"><i>Large re-enforcements have arrived—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_199"><i> Munitions, men, and horses—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_200"><i>For Grant, and all debarked, with stores.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s22">
<div class="line" id="poem10_201"><i> The enemy’s field-works extend six miles—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_202"><i>The gate still hid; so well contrived.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s23">
<div class="line" id="poem10_203"><i>Yesterday stung us; frozen shores</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_204"><i> Snow-clad, and through the drear defiles</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s24">
<div class="line" id="poem10_205"><i>And over the desolate ridges blew</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_206"><i>A Lapland wind.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_207"><i> The main affair</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_208"><i> Was a good two hours’ steady fight</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_209"><i>Between our gun-boats and the Fort.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_210"><i> The Louisville’s wheel was smashed outright.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_211"><i>A hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound ball</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_212"><i>Came planet-like through a starboard port,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_213"><i>Killing three men, and wounding all</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_214"><i>The rest of that gun’s crew,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_215"><i>(The captain of the gun was cut in two);</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_216"><i>Then splintering and ripping went—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_217"><i>Nothing could be its continent.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_218"><i> In the narrow stream the Louisville,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_219"><i>Unhelmed, grew lawless; swung around,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_220"><i> And would have thumped and drifted, till</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_221"><i>All the fleet was driven aground,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_222"><i>But for the timely order to retire.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s25">
<div class="line" id="poem10_223"><i>Some damage from our fire, ’tis thought,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_224"><i>Was done the water-batteries of the Fort.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s26">
<div class="line" id="poem10_225"><i>Little else took place that day,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_226"><i> Except the field artillery in line</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_227"><i>Would now and then—for love, they say—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_228"><i> Exchange a valentine.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_229"><i>The old sharpshooting going on.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_230"><i>Some plan afoot as yet unknown;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_231"><i>So Friday closed round Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s27">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_232">Later.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_233"><i> Great suffering through the night—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_234"><i>A stinging one. Our heedless boys</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_235"><i> Were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_236"><i> Hapless wounded men were frozen.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_237"><i>During day being struck down out of sight,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_238"><i>And help-cries drowned in roaring noise,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_239"><i>They were left just where the skirmish shifted—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_240"><i>Left in dense underbrush now-drifted.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_241"><i>Some, seeking to crawl in crippled plight,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_242"><i>So stiffened—perished.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_243"><i> Yet in spite</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_244"><i>Of pangs for these, no heart is lost.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_245"><i>Hungry, and clothing stiff with frost,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_246"><i>Our men declare a nearing sun</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_247"><i>Shall see the fall of Donelson.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_248"><i> And this they say, yet not disown</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_249"><i>The dark redoubts round Donelson,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_250"><i> And ice-glazed corpses, each a stone—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_251"><i> A sacrifice to Donelson;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_252"><i>They swear it, and swerve not, gazing on</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_253"><i>A flag, deemed black, flying from Donelson.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_254"><i>Some of the wounded in the wood</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_255"><i> Were cared for by the foe last night,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_256"><i>Though he could do them little needed good,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_257"><i> Himself being all in shivering plight.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_258"><i>The rebel is wrong, but human yet;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_259"><i>He’s got a heart, and thrusts a bayonet.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_260"><i>He gives us battle with wondrous will—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_261"><i>The bluff’s a perverted Bunker Hill.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s28">
<div class="line" id="poem10_262">The stillness stealing through the throng</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_263">The silent thought and dismal fear revealed;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_264"> They turned and went,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_265"> Musing on right and wrong</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_266"> And mysteries dimly sealed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_267">Breasting the storm in daring discontent;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_268">The storm, whose black flag showed in heaven,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_269">As if to say no quarter there was given</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_270"> To wounded men in wood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_271"> Or true hearts yearning for the good—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_272">All fatherless seemed the human soul.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_273">But next day brought a bitterer bowl—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_274"> On the bulletin-board this stood;</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s29">
<div class="line" id="poem10_275"><i> Saturday morning at 3 A.M.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_276"><i> A stir within the Fort betrayed</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_277"><i> That the rebels were getting under arms;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_278"><i> Some plot these early birds had laid.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_279"><i> But a lancing sleet cut him who stared</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_280"><i> Into the storm. After some vague alarms,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_281"><i> Which left our lads unscared,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_282"><i> Out sallied the enemy at dim of dawn,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_283"><i> With cavalry and artillery, and went</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_284"><i> In fury at our environment.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_285"><i> Under cover of shot and shell</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_286"><i> Three columns of infantry rolled on,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_287"><i> Vomited out of Donelson—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_288"><i> Rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_289"><i> Surged at our line, and swelled and poured</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_290"><i> Like breaking surf. But unsubmerged</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_291"><i> Our men stood up, except where roared</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_292"><i> The enemy through one gap. We urged</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_293"><i> Our all of manhood to the stress,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_294"><i> But still showed shattered in our desperateness.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_295"><i> Back set the tide,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_296"><i> But soon afresh rolled in;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_297"><i> And so it swayed from side to side—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_298"><i> Far batteries joining in the din,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_299"><i> Though sharing in another fray—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_300"><i> Till all became an Indian fight,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_301"><i> Intricate, dusky, stretching far away,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_302"><i> Yet not without spontaneous plan</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_303"><i> However tangled showed the plight;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_304"><i> Duels all over ’tween man and man,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_305"><i> Duels on cliff-side, and down in ravine,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_306"><i> Duels at long range, and bone to bone;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_307"><i> Duels every where flitting and half unseen.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_308"><i> Only by courage good as their own,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_309"><i> And strength outlasting theirs,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_310"><i> Did our boys at last drive the rebels off.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_311"><i> Yet they went not back to their distant lairs</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_312"><i> In strong-hold, but loud in scoff</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_313"><i> Maintained themselves on conquered ground—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_314"><i> Uplands; built works, or stalked around.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_315"><i> Our right wing bore this onset. Noon</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_316"><i> Brought calm to Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s30">
<div class="line" id="poem10_317">The reader ceased; the storm beat hard;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_318"> ’Twas day, but the office-gas was lit;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_319"> Nature retained her sulking-fit,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_320"> In her hand the shard.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_321">Flitting faces took the hue</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_322">Of that washed bulletin-board in view,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_323">And seemed to bear the public grief</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_324">As private, and uncertain of relief;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_325">Yea, many an earnest heart was won,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_326"> As broodingly he plodded on,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_327">To find in himself some bitter thing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_328">Some hardness in his lot as harrowing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_329"> As Donelson.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s31">
<div class="line" id="poem10_330">That night the board stood barren there,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_331"> Oft eyes by wistful people passing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_332"> Who nothing saw but the rain-beads chasing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_333">Each other down the wafered square,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_334">As down some storm-beat grave-yard stone.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_335">But next day showed—</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s32">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_336"> More news of last night.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s33">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_337">Story of Saturday afternoon.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s34">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_338">Vicissitudes of the war.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s35">
<div class="line" id="poem10_339"><i> The damaged gun-boats can’t wage fight</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_340"><i>For days; so says the Commodore.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_341"><i>Thus no diversion can be had.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_342"><i>Under a sunless sky of lead</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_343"><i> Our grim-faced boys in blacked plight</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_344"><i>Gaze toward the ground they held before,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_345"><i>And then on Grant. He marks their mood,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_346"><i>And hails it, and will turn the same to good.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_347"><i>Spite all that they have undergone,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_348"><i>Their desperate hearts are set upon</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_349"><i>This winter fort, this stubborn fort,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_350"><i>This castle of the last resort,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_351"><i> This Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s36">
<div class="line" id="poem10_352">1 P.M.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s37">
<div class="line" id="poem10_353"><i> An order given</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_354"><i> Requires withdrawal from the front</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_355"><i> Of regiments that bore the brunt</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_356"><i>Of morning’s fray. Their ranks all riven</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_357"><i>Are being replaced by fresh, strong men.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_358"><i>Great vigilance in the foeman’s Den;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_359"><i>He snuffs the stormers. Need it is</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_360"><i>That for that fell assault of his,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_361"><i>That rout inflicted, and self-scorn—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_362"><i>Immoderate in noble natures, torn</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_363"><i>By sense of being through slackness overborne—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_364"><i>The rebel be given a quick return:</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_365"><i>The kindest face looks now half stern.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_366"><i>Balked of their prey in airs that freeze,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_367"><i>Some fierce ones glare like savages.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_368"><i>And yet, and yet, strange moments are—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_369"><i>Well—blood, and tears, and anguished War!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_370"><i>The morning’s battle-ground is seen</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_371"><i> In lifted glades, like meadows rare;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_372"><i> The blood-drops on the snow-crust there</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_373"><i>Like clover in the white-week show—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_374"><i> Flushed fields of death, that call again—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_375"><i> Call to our men, and not in vain,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_376"><i>For that way must the stormers go.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s38">
<div class="line" id="poem10_377">3 P.M.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s39">
<div class="line" id="poem10_378"><i> The work begins.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_379"><i>Light drifts of men thrown forward, fade</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_380"><i> In skirmish-line along the slope,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_381"><i>Where some dislodgments must be made</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_382"><i> Ere the stormer with the strong-hold cope.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s40">
<div class="line" id="poem10_383"><i>Lew Wallace, moving to retake</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_384"><i>The heights late lost—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_385"><i> (Herewith a break.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_386"><i> Storms at the West derange the wires.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_387"><i>Doubtless, ere morning, we shall hear</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_388"><i>The end; we look for news to cheer—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_389"><i> Let Hope fan all her fires.)</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s41">
<div class="line" id="poem10_390">Next day in large bold hand was seen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_391">The closing bulletin:</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s42">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_392">Victory!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_393"><i> Our troops have retrieved the day</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_394"><i>By one grand surge along the line;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_395"><i>The spirit that urged them was divine.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_396"><i> The first works flooded, naught could stay</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_397"><i>The stormers: on! still on!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_398"><i>Bayonets for Donelson!</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s43">
<div class="line" id="poem10_399"><i>Over the ground that morning lost</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_400"><i>Rolled the blue billows, tempest-tossed,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_401"><i> Following a hat on the point of a sword.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_402"><i>Spite shell and round-shot, grape and canister,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_403"><i>Up they climbed without rail or banister—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_404"><i> Up the steep hill-sides long and broad,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_405"><i>Driving the rebel deep within his works.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_406"><i>’Tis nightfall; not an enemy lurks</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_407"><i> In sight. The chafing men</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_408"><i> Fret for more fight:</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_409"><i> “To-night, to-night let us take the Den”</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_410"><i>But night is treacherous, Grant is wary;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_411"><i>Of brave blood be a little chary.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_412"><i>Patience! the Fort is good as won;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_413"><i>To-morrow, and into Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s44">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_414">Later and last.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s45">
<div class="line smallcaps" id="poem10_415"> The Fort is ours.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s46">
<div class="line" id="poem10_416"><i> A flag came out at early morn</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_417"><i>Bringing surrender. From their towers</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_418"><i> Floats out the banner late their scorn.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_419"><i>In Dover, hut and house are full</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_420"><i> Of rebels dead or dying.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_421"><i> The national flag is flying</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_422"><i>From the crammed court-house pinnacle.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_423"><i>Great boat-loads of our wounded go</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_424"><i>To-day to Nashville. The sleet-winds blow;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_425"><i>But all is right: the fight is won,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_426"><i>The winter-fight for Donelson.</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_427"><i> Hurrah!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_428"><i>The spell of old defeat is broke,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_429"><i> The Habit of victory begun;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_430"><i>Grant strikes the war’s first sounding stroke</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_431"><i> At Donelson.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s47">
<div class="line" id="poem10_432"><i>For lists of killed and wounded, see</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_433"><i>The morrow’s dispatch: to-day ’tis victory.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s48">
<div class="line" id="poem10_434">The man who read this to the crowd</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_435"> Shouted as the end he gained;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_436"> And though the unflagging tempest rained,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_437"> They answered him aloud.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_438">And hand grasped hand, and glances met</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_439">In happy triumph; eyes grew wet.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_440">O, to the punches brewed that night</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_441">Went little water. Windows bright</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_442">Beamed rosy on the sleet without,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_443">And from the deep street came the frequent shout;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_444">While some in prayer, as these in glee,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_445">Blessed heaven for the winter-victory.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s49">
<div class="line" id="poem10_446">But others were who wakeful laid</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_447"> In midnight beds, and early rose,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_448"> And, feverish in the foggy snows,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_449">Snatched the damp paper—wife and maid.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_450"> The death-list like a river flows</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_451"> Down the pale sheet,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_452">And there the whelming waters meet.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem10_s50">
<div class="line" id="poem10_453"> Ah God! may Time with happy haste</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_454"> Bring wail and triumph to a waste,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_455"> And war be done;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_456"> The battle flag-staff fall athwart</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_457"> The curs’d ravine, and wither; naught</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_458"> Be left of trench or gun;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_459"> The bastion, let it ebb away,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_460"> Washed with the river bed; and Day</div>
<div class="line" id="poem10_461"> In vain seek Donelson.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem11">
<h3>The Cumberland.</h3>
<h5>(March, 1862.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem11_1">Some names there are of telling sound,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_2"> Whose voweled syllables free</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_3">Are pledge that they shall ever live renowned;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_4"> Such seem to be</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_5">A Frigate’s name (by present glory spanned)—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_6"> The Cumberland.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem11_7"> Sounding name as ere was sung,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_8"> Flowing, rolling on the tongue—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_9"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem11_10">She warred and sunk. There’s no denying</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_11"> That she was ended—quelled;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_12">And yet her flag above her fate is flying,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_13"> As when it swelled</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_14">Unswallowed by the swallowing sea: so grand—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_15"> The Cumberland.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem11_16"> Goodly name as ere was sung,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_17"> Roundly rolling on the tongue—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_18"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem11_19">What need to tell how she was fought—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_20"> The sinking flaming gun—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_21">The gunner leaping out the port—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_22"> Washed back, undone!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_23">Her dead unconquerably manned</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_24"> The Cumberland.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem11_25"> Noble name as ere was sung,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_26"> Slowly roll it on the tongue—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_27"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem11_28">Long as hearts shall share the flame</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_29"> Which burned in that brave crew,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_30">Her fame shall live—outlive the victor’s name;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_31"> For this is due.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_32">Your flag and flag-staff shall in story stand—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_33"> Cumberland!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem11_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem11_34"> Sounding name as ere was sung,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_35"> Long they’ll roll it on the tongue—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem11_36"> Cumberland! Cumberland!</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem12">
<h3>In the Turret.</h3>
<h5>(March, 1862.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem12_1">Your honest heart of duty, Worden,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_2"> So helped you that in fame you dwell;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_3">You bore the first iron battle’s burden</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_4"> Sealed as in a diving-bell.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_5">Alcides, groping into haunted hell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_6">To bring forth King Admetus’ bride,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_7">Braved naught more vaguely direful and untried.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_8"> What poet shall uplift his charm,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_9">Bold Sailor, to your height of daring,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_10"> And interblend therewith the calm,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_11">And build a goodly style upon your bearing.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem12_12">Escaped the gale of outer ocean—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_13"> Cribbed in a craft which like a log</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_14">Was washed by every billow’s motion—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_15"> By night you heard of Og</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_16">The huge; nor felt your courage clog</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_17">At tokens of his onset grim:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_18">You marked the sunk ship’s flag-staff slim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_19"> Lit by her burning sister’s heart;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_20">You marked, and mused: “Day brings the trial:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_21"> Then be it proved if I have part</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_22">With men whose manhood never took denial.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem12_23">A prayer went up—a champion’s. Morning</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_24"> Beheld you in the Turret walled</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_25">by adamant, where a spirit forewarning</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_26"> And all-deriding called:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_27">“Man, darest thou—desperate, unappalled—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_28">Be first to lock thee in the armored tower?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_29">I have thee now; and what the battle-hour</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_30"> To me shall bring—heed well—thou’lt share;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_31">This plot-work, planned to be the foeman’s terror,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_32"> To thee may prove a goblin-snare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_33">Its very strength and cunning—monstrous error!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem12_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem12_34">“Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_35"> If here thou seest thy welded tomb?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_36">And let huge Og with thunders batter—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_37"> Duty be still my doom,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_38">Though drowning come in liquid gloom;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_39">First duty, duty next, and duty last;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_40">Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!—”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_41"> So nerved, you fought wisely and well;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_42">And live, twice live in life and story;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_43"> But over your Monitor dirges swell,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem12_44">In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem13">
<h3>The Temeraire.<SPAN name="fnt3" href="#fn3"><sup>[3]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<p><i>(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by
the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)</i></p>
<div class="note" id="fn3">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt3">[3]</SPAN> The <i>Temeraire</i>, that storied ship of the old English fleet, and the
subject of the well-known painting by Turner, commends itself to the
mind seeking for some one craft to stand for the poetic ideal of those
great historic wooden warships, whose gradual displacement is lamented
by none more than by regularly educated navy officers, and of all
nations.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem13_1">The gloomy hulls, in armor grim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_2"> Like clouds o’er moors have met,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_3">And prove that oak, and iron, and man</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_4"> Are tough in fibre yet.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem13_5">But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_6"> No front of old display;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_7">The garniture, emblazonment,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_8"> And heraldry all decay.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem13_9">Towering afar in parting light,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_10"> The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_11">The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_12"> Of Ships-of-the-Line.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem13_13">The fighting Temeraire,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_14"> Built of a thousand trees,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_15">Lunging out her lightnings,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_16"> And beetling o’er the seas—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_17">O Ship, how brave and fair,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_18"> That fought so oft and well,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_19">On open decks you manned the gun</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_20"> Armorial.<SPAN name="fnt4" href="#fn4"><sup>[4]</sup></SPAN></div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_21">What cheering did you share,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_22"> Impulsive in the van,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_23">When down upon leagued France and Spain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_24"> We English ran—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_25">The freshet at your bowsprit</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_26"> Like the foam upon the can.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_27">Bickering, your colors</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_28"> Licked up the Spanish air,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_29">You flapped with flames of battle-flags—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_30"> Your challenge, Temeraire!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_31">The rear ones of our fleet</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_32"> They yearned to share your place,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_33">Still vying with the Victory</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_34"> Throughout that earnest race—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_35">The Victory, whose Admiral,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_36"> With orders nobly won,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_37">Shone in the globe of the battle glow—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_38"> The angel in that sun.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_39">Parallel in story,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_40"> Lo, the stately pair,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_41">As late in grapple ranging,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_42"> The foe between them there—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_43">When four great hulls lay tiered,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_44"> And the fiery tempest cleared,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_45">And your prizes twain appeared,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_46"> Temeraire!</div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn4">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt4">[4]</SPAN> Some of the cannon of old times, especially the brass ones, unlike
the more effective ordnance of the present day, were cast in shapes
which Cellini might have designed, were gracefully enchased, generally
with the arms of the country. A few of them—field-pieces—captured in
our earlier wars, are preserved in arsenals and navy-yards.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem13_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem13_47">But Trafalgar’ is over now,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_48"> The quarter-deck undone;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_49">The carved and castled navies fire</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_50"> Their evening-gun.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_51">O, Tital Temeraire,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_52"> Your stern-lights fade away;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_53">Your bulwarks to the years must yield,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_54"> And heart-of-oak decay.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_55">A pigmy steam-tug tows you,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_56"> Gigantic, to the shore—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_57">Dismantled of your guns and spars,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_58"> And sweeping wings of war.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_59">The rivets clinch the iron-clads,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_60"> Men learn a deadlier lore;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_61">But Fame has nailed your battle-flags—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_62"> Your ghost it sails before:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_63">O, the navies old and oaken,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem13_64"> O, the Temeraire no more!</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem14">
<h3>A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem14_1">Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_2"> More ponderous than nimble;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_3">For since grimed War here laid aside</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_4">His Orient pomp, ’twould ill befit</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_5"> Overmuch to ply</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_6">The Rhyme’s barbaric cymbal.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem14_7">Hail to victory without the gaud</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_8"> Of glory; zeal that needs no fans</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_9">Of banners; plain mechanic power</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_10">Plied cogently in War now placed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_11"> Where War belongs—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_12">Among the trades and artisans.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem14_13">Yet this was battle, and intense—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_14"> Beyond the strife of fleets heroic;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_15">Deadlier, closer, calm ’mid storm;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_16">No passion; all went on by crank,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_17"> Pivot, and screw,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_18">And calculations of caloric.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem14_19">Needless to dwell; the story’s known.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_20"> the ringing of those plates on plates</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_21">Still ringeth round the world—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_22">The clangor of that blacksmith’s fray.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_23"> The anvil-din</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_24">Resounds this message from the Fates:</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem14_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem14_25">War shall yet be, and to the end;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_26"> But war-paint shows the streaks of weather;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_27">War yet shall be, but warriors</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_28">Are now but operatives; War’s made</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_29"> Less grand than Peace,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem14_30">And a singe runs through lace and feather.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem15">
<h3>Shiloh.</h3>
<h4>A Requiem.</h4>
<h5>(April, 1862.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem15_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem15_1">Skimming lightly, wheeling still,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_2"> The swallows fly low</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_3">Over the field in clouded days,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_4"> The forest-field of Shiloh—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_5">Over the field where April rain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_6">Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_7">Through the pause of night</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_8">That followed the Sunday fight</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_9"> Around the church of Shiloh—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_10">The church so lone, the log-built one,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_11">That echoed to many a parting groan</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_12"> And natural prayer</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_13">Of dying foemen mingled there—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_14">Foemen at morn, but friends at eve—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_15"> Fame or country least their care:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_16">(What like a bullet can undeceive!)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_17"> But now they lie low,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_18">While over them the swallows skim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem15_19"> And all is hushed at Shiloh.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem16">
<h3>The Battle for the Mississipppi.</h3>
<h5>(April, 1862.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem16_1">When Israel camped by Migdol hoar,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_2"> Down at her feet her shawm she threw,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_3">But Moses sung and timbrels rung</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_4"> For Pharaoh’s standed crew.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_5">So God appears in apt events—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_6"> The Lord is a man of war!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_7">So the strong wind to the muse is given</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_8"> In victory’s roar.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem16_9">Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_10"> The fight by night—the fray</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_11">Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_12"> And led it up to day.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_13">Dully through din of larger strife</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_14"> Shall bay that warring gun;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_15">But none the less to us who live</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_16"> It peals—an echoing one.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem16_17">The shock of ships, the jar of walls,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_18"> The rush through thick and thin—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_19">The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_20"> Eddies, and shells that spin—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_21">The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_22"> The jam of gun-boats driven,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_23">Or fired, or sunk—made up a war</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_24"> Like Michael’s waged with leven.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem16_25">The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_26"> The odds which hard beset;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_27">The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_28"> Passed on and thundered yet;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_29">While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_30"> The Ram Manassas—hark the yell!—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_31">Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_32"> The River gave a startled swell.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem16_33">They fought through lurid dark till dawn;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_34"> The war-smoke rolled away</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_35">With clouds of night, and showed the fleet</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_36"> In scarred yet firm array,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_37">Above the forts, above the drift</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_38"> Of wrecks which strife had made;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_39">And Farragut sailed up to the town</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_40"> And anchored—sheathed the blade.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem16_41">The moody broadsides, brooding deep,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_42"> Hold the lewd mob at bay,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_43">While o’er the armed decks’ solemn aisles</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_44"> The meek church-pennons play;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_45">By shotted guns the sailors stand,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_46"> With foreheads bound or bare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_47">The captains and the conquering crews</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_48"> Humble their pride in prayer.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem16_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem16_49">They pray; and after victory, prayer</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_50"> Is meet for men who mourn their slain;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_51">The living shall unmoor and sail,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_52"> But Death’s dark anchor secret deeps detain.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_53">Yet glory slants her shaft of rays</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_54"> Far through the undisturbed abyss;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_55">There must be other, nobler worlds for them</div>
<div class="line" id="poem16_56"> Who nobly yield their lives in this.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem17">
<h3>Malvern Hill.</h3>
<h5>(July, 1862.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem17_57">Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_58"> In prime of morn and May,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_59">Recall ye how McClellan’s men</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_60"> Here stood at bay?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_61">While deep within yon forest dim</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_62"> Our rigid comrades lay—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_63">Some with the cartridge in their mouth,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_64">Others with fixed arms lifted South—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_65"> Invoking so</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_66">The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem17_67">The spires of Richmond, late beheld</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_68"> Through rifts in musket-haze,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_69">Were closed from view in clouds of dust</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_70"> On leaf-walled ways,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_71">Where streamed our wagons in caravan;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_72"> And the Seven Nights and Days</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_73">Of march and fast, retreat and fight,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_74">Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_75"> Does the elm wood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_76">Recall the haggard beards of blood?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem17_77">The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_78"> We followed (it never fell!)—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_79">In silence husbanded our strength—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_80"> Received their yell;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_81">Till on this slope we patient turned</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_82"> With cannon ordered well;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_83">Reverse we proved was not defeat;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_84">But ah, the sod what thousands meet!—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_85"> Does Malvern Wood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_86">Bethink itself, and muse and brood?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem17_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem17_87"><i> We elms of Malvern Hill</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_88"><i> Remember every thing;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_89"><i> But sap the twig will fill:</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_90"><i> Wag the world how it will,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem17_91"><i> Leaves must be green in Spring.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem18">
<h3>The Victor of Antietam.<SPAN name="fnt5" href="#fn5"><sup>[5]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h5>(1862.)</h5>
<div class="note" id="fn5">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt5">[5]</SPAN> Whatever just military criticism, favorable or otherwise, has at any
time been made upon General McClellan’s campaigns, will stand. But if,
during the excitement of the conflict, aught was spread abroad tending
the unmerited disparagement of the man, it must necessarily die out,
though not perhaps without leaving some traces, which may or may not
prove enduring. Some there are whose votes aided in the re-election of
Abraham Lincoln, who yet believed, and retain the belief, that General
McClellan, to say the least, always proved himself a patriotic and
honorable soldier. The feeling which surviving comrades entertain for
their late commnder is one which, from its passion, is susceptible of
versified representation, and such it receives.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem18_1">When tempest winnowed grain from bran;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_2">And men were looking for a man,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_3">Authority called you to the van,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_4"> McClellan:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_5">Along the line the plaudit ran,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_6">As later when Antietam’s cheers began.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem18_7">Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_8">Each Cause and Man, dear to the stars and Jove;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_9">Nor always can the wisest tell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_10">Deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_11">The struggler from the floundering ne’er-do-well.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_12">A pall-cloth on the Seven Days fell,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_13"> Mcclellan—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_14">Unprosperously heroical!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_15">Who could Antietam’s wreath foretell?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem18_16">Authority called you; then, in mist</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_17">And loom of jeopardy—dismissed.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_18">But staring peril soon appalled;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_19">You, the Discarded, she recalled—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_20">Recalled you, nor endured delay;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_21">And forth you rode upon a blasted way,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_22">Arrayed Pope’s rout, and routed Lee’s array,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_23"> McClellan:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_24">Your tent was choked with captured flags that day,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_25"> McClellan.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_26">Antietam was a telling fray.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem18_27">Recalled you; and she heard your drum</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_28">Advancing through the glastly gloom.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_29">You manned the wall, you propped the Dome,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_30">You stormed the powerful stormer home,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_31"> McClellan:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_32">Antietam’s cannon long shall boom.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem18_33">At Alexandria, left alone,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_34"> McClellan—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_35">Your veterans sent from you, and thrown</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_36">To fields and fortunes all unknown—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_37">What thoughts were yours, revealed to none,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_38">While faithful still you labored on—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_39">Hearing the far Manassas gun!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_40"> McClellan,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_41">Only Antietam could atone.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem18_42">You fought in the front (an evil day,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_43"> McClellan)—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_44">The fore-front of the first assay;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_45">The Cause went sounding, groped its way;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_46">The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_47">Quills thwarted swords; divided sway;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_48">The rebel flushed in his lusty May:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_49">You did your best, as in you lay,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_50"> McClellan.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_51">Antietam’s sun-burst sheds a ray.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem18_52">Your medalled soldiers love you well,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_53"> McClellan:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_54">Name your name, their true hearts swell;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_55">With you they shook dread Stonewall’s spell,<SPAN name="fnt6" href="#fn6"><sup>[6]</sup></SPAN></div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_56">With you they braved the blended yell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_57">Of rebel and maligner fell;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_58">With you in shame or fame they dwell,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_59"> McClellan:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_60">Antietam-braves a brave can tell.</div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn6">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt6">[6]</SPAN> At Antietam Stonewall Jackson led one wing of Lee’s army, consequenty
sharing that day in whatever may be deemed to have been the fortunes of
his superior.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem18_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem18_61">And when your comrades (now so few,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_62"> McClellan—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_63">Such ravage in deep files they rue)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_64">Meet round the board, and sadly view</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_65">The empty places; tribute due</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_66">They render to the dead—and you!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_67">Absent and silent o’er the blue;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_68">The one-armed lift the wine to <i>you</i>,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_69"> McClellan,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem18_70">And great Antietam’s cheers renew.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem19">
<h3>Battle of Stone River, Tennessee.</h3>
<h4>A View from Oxford Cloisters.</h4>
<h5>(January, 1863.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem19_1">With Tewksbury and Barnet heath</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_2"> In days to come the field shall blend,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_3">The story dim and date obscure;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_4"> In legend all shall end.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_5">Even now, involved in forest shade</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_6"> A Druid-dream the strife appears,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_7">The fray of yesterday assumes</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_8"> The haziness of years.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_9"> In North and South still beats the vein</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_10"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem19_11">Our rival Roses warred for Sway—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_12"> For Sway, but named the name of Right;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_13">And Passion, scorning pain and death,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_14"> Lent sacred fervor to the fight.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_15">Each lifted up a broidered cross,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_16"> While crossing blades profaned the sign;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_17">Monks blessed the fraticidal lance,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_18"> And sisters scarfs could twine.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_19"> Do North and South the sin retain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_20"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem19_21">But Rosecrans in the cedarn glade,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_22"> And, deep in denser cypress gloom,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_23">Dark Breckenridge, shall fade away</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_24"> Or thinly loom.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_25">The pale throngs who in forest cowed</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_26"> Before the spell of battle’s pause,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_27">Forefelt the stillness that shall dwell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_28"> On them and on their wars.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_29"> North and South shall join the train</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_30"> Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem19_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem19_31">But where the sword has plunged so deep,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_32"> And then been turned within the wound</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_33">By deadly Hate; where Climes contend</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_34"> On vasty ground—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_35">No warning Alps or seas between,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_36"> And small the curb of creed or law,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_37">And blood is quick, and quick the brain;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_38"> Shall North and South their rage deplore,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_39"> And reunited thrive amain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem19_40"> Like Yorkist and Lancastrian?</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem20">
<h3>Running the Batteries,</h3>
<h4>As observed from the Anchorage above Vicksburgh.</h4>
<h5>(April, 1863.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem20_1">A moonless night—a friendly one;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_2"> A haze dimmed the shadowy shore</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_3">As the first lampless boat slid silent on;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_4"> Hist! and we spake no more;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_5">We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem20_6">We felt the dew, and seemed to feel</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_7"> The secret like a burden laid.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_8">The first boat melts; and a second keel</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_9"> Is blent with the foliaged shade—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_10">Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem20_11">Unspied as yet. A third—a fourth—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_12"> Gun-boat and transport in Indian file</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_13">Upon the war-path, smooth from the North;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_14"> But the watch may they hope to beguile?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_15">The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem20_16">A flame leaps out; they are seen;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_17"> Another and another gun roars;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_18">We tell the course of the boats through the screen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_19"> By each further fort that pours,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_20">And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem20_21">Converging fires. We speak, though low:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_22"> “That blastful furnace can they thread”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_23">“Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_24"> Came out all right, we read;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_25">The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem20_26">How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_27"> A golden growing flame appears—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_28">Confirms to a silvery steadfast one:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_29"> “The town is afire!” crows Hugh: “three cheers”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_30">Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem20_31">A purposed light; it shows our fleet;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_32"> Yet a little late in its searching ray,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_33">So far and strong, that in phantom cheat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_34"> Lank on the deck our shadows lay;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_35">The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem20_36">How dread to mark her near the glare</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_37"> And glade of death the beacon throws</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_38">Athwart the racing waters there;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_39"> One by one each plainer grows,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_40">Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem20_41">The impartial cresset lights as well</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_42"> The fixed forts to the boats that run;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_43">And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_44"> Back to each fortress dun:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_45">Ponderous words speaks every monster gun.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem20_46">Fearless they flash through gates of flame,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_47"> The salamanders hard to hit,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_48">Though vivid shows each bulky frame;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_49"> And never the batteries intermit,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_50">Nor the boats huge guns; they fire and flit.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s11">
<div class="line" id="poem20_51">Anon a lull. The beacon dies:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_52"> “Are they out of that strait accurst”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_53">But other flames now dawning rise,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_54"> Not mellowly brilliant like the first,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_55">But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s12">
<div class="line" id="poem20_56">A baleful brand, a hurrying torch</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_57"> Whereby anew the boats are seen—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_58">A burning transport all alurch!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_59"> Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_60">Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s13">
<div class="line" id="poem20_61">The effulgence takes an amber glow</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_62"> Which bathes the hill-side villas far;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_63">Affrighted ladies mark the show</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_64"> Painting the pale magnolia—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_65">The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s14">
<div class="line" id="poem20_66">The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_67"> Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_68">But the gauntlet now is nearly run,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_69"> The spleenful forts by fits reply,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_70">And the burning boat dies down in morning’s sky.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem20_s15">
<div class="line" id="poem20_71">All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_72"> Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_73">So burst we through their barriers</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_74"> And menaces every one:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem20_75">So Porter proves himself a brave man’s son.<SPAN name="fnt7" href="#fn7"><sup>[7]</sup></SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn7">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt7">[7]</SPAN>) Admiral Porter is son of the late Commodore Porter, commander of the
Frigate Essex on that Pacific cruise which ended in the desparate fight
off Valparaiso with the English frigates Cherub and Phœbe, in the year
1814.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="poem" id="poem21">
<h3>Stonewall Jackson.</h3>
<h4>Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville.</h4>
<h5>(May, 1863.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem21_1">The Man who fiercest charged in fight,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_2"> Whose sword and prayer were long—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_3"> Stonewall!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_4"> Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_5">How can we praise? Yet coming days</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_6"> Shall not forget him with this song.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem21_7">Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_8"> Vainly he died and set his seal—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_9"> Stonewall!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_10"> Earnest in error, as we feel;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_11">True to the thing he deemed was due,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_12"> True as John Brown or steel.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem21_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem21_13">Relentlessly he routed us;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_14"> But <i>we</i> relent, for he is low—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_15"> Stonewall!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_16"> Justly his fame we outlaw; so</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_17">We drop a tear on the bold Virginian’s bier,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem21_18"> Because no wreath we owe.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem22">
<h3>Stonewall Jackson.</h3>
<h4>(Ascribed to a Virginian.)</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem22_1">One man we claim of wrought renown</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_2"> Which not the North shall care to slur;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_3">A Modern lived who sleeps in death,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_4"> Calm as the marble Ancients are:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_5"> ’Tis he whose life, though a vapor’s wreath,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_6"> Was charged with the lightning’s burning breath—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_7"> Stonewall, stormer of the war.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem22_8">But who shall hymn the roman heart?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_9"> A stoic he, but even more:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_10">The iron will and lion thew</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_11"> Were strong to inflict as to endure:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_12"> Who like him could stand, or pursue?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_13"> His fate the fatalist followed through;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_14"> In all his great soul found to do</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_15"> Stonewall followed his star.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem22_16">He followed his star on the Romney march</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_17"> Through the sleet to the wintry war;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_18">And he followed it on when he bowed the grain—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_19"> The Wind of the Shenandoah;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_20"> At Gaines’s Mill in the giant’s strain—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_21"> On the fierce forced stride to Manassas-plain,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_22"> Where his sword with thunder was clothed again,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_23"> Stonewall followed his star.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem22_24">His star he followed athwart the flood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_25"> To Potomac’s Northern shore,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_26">When midway wading, his host of braves</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_27"> “<i>My Maryland!</i>“ loud did roar—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_28"> To red Antietam’s field of graves,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_29"> Through mountain-passes, woods and waves,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_30"> They followed their pagod with hymns and glaives,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_31"> For Stonewall followed a star.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem22_32">Back it led him to Marye’s slope,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_33"> Where the shock and the fame he bore;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_34">And to green Moss-Neck it guided him—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_35"> Brief respite from throes of war:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_36"> To the laurel glade by the Wilderness grim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_37"> Through climaxed victory naught shall dim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_38"> Even unto death it piloted him—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_39"> Stonewall followed his star.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem22_40">Its lead he followed in gentle ways</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_41"> Which never the valiant mar;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_42">A cap we sent him, bestarred, to replace</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_43"> The sun-scorched helm of war:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_44"> A fillet he made of the shining lace</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_45"> Childhood’s laughing brow to grace—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_46"> Not his was a goldsmith’s star.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem22_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem22_47">O, much of doubt in after days</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_48"> Shall cling, as now, to the war;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_49">Of the right and the wrong they’ll still debate,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_50"> Puzzled by Stonewall’s star:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_51"> “Fortune went with the North elate”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_52"> “Ay, but the south had Stonewall’s weight,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem22_53"> And he fell in the South’s vain war.”</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem23">
<h3>Gettysburg.</h3>
<h4>The Check.</h4>
<h5>(July, 1863.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem23_1">O pride of the days in prime of the months</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_2"> Now trebled in great renown,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_3">When before the ark of our holy cause</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_4"> Fell Dagon down—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_5">Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_6">Never his impious heart enlarged</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_7">Beyond that hour; god walled his power,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_8">And there the last invader charged.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem23_9">He charged, and in that charge condensed</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_10"> His all of hate and all of fire;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_11">He sought to blast us in his scorn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_12"> And wither us in his ire.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_13">Before him went the shriek of shells—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_14">Aerial screamings, taunts and yells;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_15">Then the three waves in flashed advance</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_16"> Surged, but were met, and back they set:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_17">Pride was repelled by sterner pride,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_18"> And Right is a strong-hold yet.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem23_19">Before our lines it seemed a beach</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_20"> Which wild September gales have strown</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_21">With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_22"> Pale crews unknown—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_23">Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_24">Died on the face of each lifeless one,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_25">And died along the winding marge of fight</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_26"> And searching-parties lone.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem23_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem23_27">Sloped on the hill the mounds were green,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_28"> Our center held that place of graves,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_29">And some still hold it in their swoon,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_30"> And over these a glory waves.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_31">The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,<SPAN name="fnt8" href="#fn8"><sup>[8]</sup></SPAN></div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_32">Shall soar transfigured in loftier light,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_33"> A meaning ampler bear;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_34">Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_35">Have laid the stone, and every bone</div>
<div class="line" id="poem23_36"> Shall rest in honor there.</div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn8">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt8">[8]</SPAN> Among numerous head-stones or monuments on Cemetery Hill, marred or
destroyed by the enemy’s concentrated fire, was one, somewhat
conspicuous, of a Federal officer killed before Richmond in 1862.</p>
<p>On the 4th of July 1865, the Gettysburg National Cemetery, on the same
height with the original burial-ground, was consecrated, and the
corner-stone laid of a commemorative pile.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="poem" id="poem24">
<h3>The House-top.</h3>
<h4>A Night Piece.</h4>
<h5>(July, 1863.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem24_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem24_1">No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_2">And binds the brain—a dense oppression, such</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_3">As tawny tigers feel in matted shades,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_4">Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_5">Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_6">Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_7">Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_8">Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_9">Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_10">Balefully glares red Arson—there-and there.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_11">The Town is taken by its rats—ship-rats.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_12">And rats of the wharves. All civil charms</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_13">And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_14">Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_15">Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_16">And man rebounds whole æons back in nature.<SPAN name="fnt9" href="#fn9"><sup>[9]</sup></SPAN></div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_17">Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_18">And ponderous drag that shakes the wall.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_19">Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_20">Of black artillery; he comes, though late;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_21">In code corroborating Calvin’s creed</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_22">And cynic tyrannies of honest kings;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_23">He comes, nor parlies; and the Town redeemed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_24">Give thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_25">The grimy slur on the Republic’s faith implied,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_26">Which holds that Man is naturally good,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem24_27">And—more—is Nature’s Roman, never to be scourged.</div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn9">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt9">[9]</SPAN> “I dare not write the horrible and inconceivable atrocities
committed,” says Froissart, in alluding to the remarkable sedition in
France during his time. The like may be hinted of some proceedings of
the draft-rioters.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="poem" id="poem25">
<h3>Look-out Mountain.</h3>
<h4>The Night Fight.</h4>
<h5>(November, 1863.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem25_1">Who inhabiteth the Mountain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_2"> That it shines in lurid light,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_3">And is rolled about with thunders,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_4"> And terrors, and a blight,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_5">Like Kaf the peak of Eblis—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_6"> Kaf, the evil height?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_7">Who has gone up with a shouting</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_8"> And a trumpet in the night?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem25_9">There is battle in the Mountain—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_10"> Might assaulteth Might;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_11">’Tis the fastness of the Anarch,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_12"> Torrent-torn, an ancient height;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_13">The crags resound the clangor</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_14"> Of the war of Wrong and Right;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_15">And the armies in the valley</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_16"> Watch and pray for dawning light.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem25_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem25_17">Joy, Joy, the day is breaking,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_18"> And the cloud is rolled from sight;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_19">There is triumph in the Morning</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_20"> For the Anarch’s plunging flight;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_21">God has glorified the Mountain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_22"> Where a Banner burneth bright,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_23">And the armies in the valley</div>
<div class="line" id="poem25_24"> They are fortified in right.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem26">
<h3>Chattanooga.</h3>
<h5>(November, 1863.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem26_1">A kindling impulse seized the host</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_2"> Inspired by heaven’s elastic air;<SPAN name="fnt10" href="#fn10"><sup>[10]</sup></SPAN></div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_3">Their hearts outran their General’s plan,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_4"> Though Grant commanded there—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_5"> Grant, who without reserve can dare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_6">And, “Well, go on and do your will”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_7"> He said, and measured the mountain then:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_8">So master-riders fling the rein—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_9"> But you must know your men.</div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn10">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt10">[10]</SPAN> Although the month was November, the day was in character an October
one—cool, clear, bright, intoxicatingly invigorating; one of those days
peculiar to the ripest hours of our American Autumn. This weather must
have had much to do with the spontaneous enthusiasm which seized the
troops—and enthusiasm aided, doubtless, by glad thoughts of the victory
of Look-out Mountain won the day previous, and also by the elation
attending the capture, after a fierce struggle, of the long ranges of
rifle-pits at the mountain’s base, where orders for the time should have
stopped the advance. But there and then it was that the army took the
bit between its teeth, and ran away with the generals to the victory
commemorated. General Grant, at Culpepper, a few weeks prior to crossing
the Rapidan for the Wilderness, expressed to a visitor his impression of
the impulse and the spectacle: Said he: “I never saw any thing like it:”
language which seems curiously undertoned, considering its application;
but from the taciturn Commander it was equivalent to a superlative or
hyperbole from the talkative.</p>
<p>The height of the Ridge, according to the account at hand, varies along
its length from six to seven hundred feet above the plain; it slopes at
an angle of about forty-five degrees.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem26_10">On yester-morn in grayish mist,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_11"> Armies like ghosts on hills had fought,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_12">And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_13"> The Cumberlands far had caught:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_14"> To-day the sunlit steeps are sought.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_15">Grant stood on cliffs whence all was plain,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_16"> And smoked as one who feels no cares;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_17">But mastered nervousness intense</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_18"> Alone such calmness wears.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem26_19">The summit-cannon plunge their flame</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_20"> Sheer down the primal wall,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_21">But up and up each linking troop</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_22"> In stretching festoons crawl—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_23"> Nor fire a shot. Such men appall</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_24">The foe, though brave. He, from the brink,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_25"> Looks far along the breadth of slope,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_26">And sees two miles of dark dots creep,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_27"> And knows they mean the cope.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem26_28">He sees them creep. Yet here and there</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_29"> Half hid ’mid leafless groves they go;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_30">As men who ply through traceries high</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_31"> Of turreted marbles show—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_32"> So dwindle these to eyes below.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_33">But fronting shot and flanking shell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_34"> Sliver and rive the inwoven ways;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_35">High tops of oaks and high hearts fall,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_36"> But never the climbing stays.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem26_37">From right to left, from left to right</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_38"> They roll the rallying cheer—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_39">Vie with each other, brother with brother,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_40"> Who shall the first appear—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_41"> What color-bearer with colors clear</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_42">In sharp relief, like sky-drawn Grant,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_43"> Whose cigar must now be near the stump—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_44">While in solicitude his back</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_45"> Heap slowly to a hump.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem26_46">Near and more near; till now the flags</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_47"> Run like a catching flame;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_48">And one flares highest, to peril nighest—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_49"> <i>He</i> means to make a name:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_50"> Salvos! they give him his fame.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_51">The staff is caught, and next the rush,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_52"> And then the leap where death has led;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_53">Flag answered flag along the crest,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_54"> And swarms of rebels fled.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem26_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem26_55">But some who gained the envied Alp,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_56"> And—eager, ardent, earnest there—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_57">Dropped into Death’s wide-open arms,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_58"> Quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_59"> Forever they slumber young and fair,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_60">The smile upon them as they died;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_61"> Their end attained, that end a height:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_62">Life was to these a dream fulfilled,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem26_63"> And death a starry night.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem27">
<h3>The Armies of the Wilderness.</h3>
<h5>(1683-64.)</h5>
<h6>I.</h6>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem27_1">Like snows the camps on southern hills</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_2"> Lay all the winter long,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_3">Our levies there in patience stood—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_4"> They stood in patience strong.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_5">On fronting slopes gleamed other camps</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_6"> Where faith as firmly clung:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_7">Ah, froward king! so brave miss—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_8"> The zealots of the Wrong.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem27_9"><i> In this strife of brothers</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_10"><i> (God, hear their country call),</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_11"><i> However it be, whatever betide,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_12"><i> Let not the just one fall.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem27_13">Through the pointed glass our soldiers saw</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_14"> The base-ball bounding sent;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_15">They could have joined them in their sport</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_16"> But for the vale’s deep rent.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_17">And others turned the reddish soil,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_18"> Like diggers of graves they bent:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_19">The reddish soil and tranching toil</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_20"> Begat presentiment.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem27_21"><i> Did the Fathers feel mistrust?</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_22"><i> Can no final good be wrought?</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_23"><i> Over and over, again and again</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_24"><i> Must the fight for the Right be fought?</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem27_25">They lead a Gray-back to the crag:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_26"> “Your earth-works yonder—tell us, man”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_27">“A prisoner—no deserter, I,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_28"> Nor one of the tell-tale clan”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_29">His rags they mark: “True-blue like you</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_30"> Should wear the color—your Country’s, man”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_31">He grinds his teeth: “However that be,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_32"> Yon earth-works have their plan.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem27_33"><i> Such brave ones, foully snared</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_34"><i> By Belial’s wily plea,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_35"><i> Were faithful unto the evil end—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_36"><i> Feudal fidelity.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem27_37">“Well, then, your camps—come, tell the names”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_38"> Freely he leveled his finger then:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_39">“Yonder—see—are our Georgians; on the crest,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_40"> The Carolinians; lower, past the glen,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_41">Virginians—Alabamians—Mississippians—Kentuckians</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_42"> (Follow my finger)—Tennesseeans; and the ten</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_43">Camps <i>there</i>—ask your grave-pits; they’ll tell.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_44"> Halloa! I see the picket-hut, the den</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_45">Where I last night lay.” “Where’s Lee”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_46"> “In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem27_47"><i> The tribes swarm up to war</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_48"><i> As in ages long ago,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_49"><i> Ere the palm of promise leaved</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_50"><i> And the lily of Christ did blow.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem27_51">Their mounted pickets for miles are spied</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_52"> Dotting the lowland plain,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_53">The nearer ones in their veteran-rags—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_54"> Loutish they loll in lazy disdain.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_55">But ours in perilous places bide</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_56"> With rifles ready and eyes that strain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_57">Deep through the dim suspected wood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_58"> Where the Rapidan rolls amain.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem27_59"><i> The Indian has passed away,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_60"><i> But creeping comes another—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_61"><i> Deadlier far. Picket,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_62"><i> Take heed—take heed of thy brother!</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s11">
<div class="line" id="poem27_63">From a wood-hung height, an outpost lone,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_64"> Crowned with a woodman’s fort,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_65">The sentinel looks on a land of dole,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_66"> Like Paran, all amort.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_67">Black chimneys, gigantic in moor-like wastes,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_68"> The scowl of the clouded sky retort;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_69">The hearth is a houseless stone again—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_70"> Ah! where shall the people be sought?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s12">
<div class="line" id="poem27_71"><i> Since the venom such blastment deals,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_72"><i> The south should have paused, and thrice,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_73"><i> Ere with heat of her hate she hatched</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_74"><i> The egg with the cockatrice.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s13">
<div class="line" id="poem27_75">A path down the mountain winds to the glade</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_76"> Where the dead of the Moonlight Fight lie low;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_77">A hand reaches out of the thin-laid mould</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_78"> As begging help which none can bestow.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_79">But the field-mouse small and busy ant</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_80"> Heap their hillocks, to hide if they may the woe:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_81">By the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_82"> And the drum which the drummer-boy dying let go.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s14">
<div class="line" id="poem27_83"><i> Dust to dust, and blood for blood—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_84"><i> Passion and pangs! Has Time</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_85"><i> Gone back? or is this the Age</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_86"><i> Of the world’s great Prime?</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s15">
<div class="line" id="poem27_87">The wagon mired and cannon dragged</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_88"> Have trenched their scar; the plain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_89">Tramped like the cindery beach of the damned—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_90"> A site for the city of Cain.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_91">And stumps of forests for dreary leagues</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_92"> Like a massacre show. The armies have lain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_93">By fires where gums and balms did burn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_94"> And the seeds of Summer’s reign.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s16">
<div class="line" id="poem27_95"><i> Where are the birds and boys?</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_96"><i> Who shall go chestnutting when</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_97"><i> October returns? The nuts—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_98"><i> O, long ere they grow again.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s17">
<div class="line" id="poem27_99">They snug their huts with the chapel-pews,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_100"> In court-houses stable their steeds—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_101">Kindle their fires with indentures and bonds,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_102"> And old Lord Fairfax’s parchment deeds;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_103">And Virginian gentlemen’s libraries old—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_104"> Books which only the scholar heeds—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_105">Are flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_106"> And gardens are left to weeds.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s18">
<div class="line" id="poem27_107"><i> Turned adrift into war</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_108"><i> Man runs wild on the plain,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_109"><i> Like the jennets let loose</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_110"><i> On the Pampas—zebras again.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s19">
<div class="line" id="poem27_111">Like the Pleiads dim, see the tents through the storm—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_112"> Aloft by the hill-side hamlet’s graves,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_113">On a head-stone used for a hearth-stone there</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_114"> The water is bubbling for punch for our braves.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_115">What if the night be drear, and the blast</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_116"> Ghostly shrieks? their rollicking staves</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_117">Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_118"> What care they if Winter raves?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s20">
<div class="line" id="poem27_119"><i> Is life but a dream? and so,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_120"><i> In the dream do men laugh aloud?</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_121"><i> So strange seems mirth in a camp,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_122"><i> So like a white tent to a shroud.</i></div>
</div>
<h6>II.</h6>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s21">
<div class="line" id="poem27_123">The May-weed springs; and comes a Man</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_124"> And mounts our Signal Hill;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_125">A quiet Man, and plain in garb—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_126"> Briefly he looks his fill,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_127">Then drops his gray eye on the ground,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_128"> Like a loaded mortar he is still:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_129">Meekness and grimness meet in him—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_130"> The silent General.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s22">
<div class="line" id="poem27_131"><i> Were men but strong and wise,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_132"><i> Honest as Grant, and calm,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_133"><i> War would be left to the red and black ants,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_134"><i> And the happy world disarm.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s23">
<div class="line" id="poem27_135">That eve a stir was in the camps,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_136"> Forerunning quiet soon to come</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_137">Among the streets of beechen huts</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_138"> No more to know the drum.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_139">The weed shall choke the lowly door,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_140"> And foxes peer within the gloom,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_141">Till scared perchange by Mosby’s prowling men,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_142"> Who ride in the rear of doom.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s24">
<div class="line" id="poem27_143"><i> Far West, and farther South,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_144"><i> Wherever the sword has been,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_145"><i> Deserted camps are met,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_146"><i> And desert graves are seen.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s25">
<div class="line" id="poem27_147">The livelong night they ford the flood;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_148"> With guns held high they silent press,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_149">Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets’ sheen—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_150"> On Morning’s banks their ranks they dress;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_151">Then by the forests lightly wind,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_152"> Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_153">Borne by the cavalry scouting on—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_154"> Sounding the Wilderness.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s26">
<div class="line" id="poem27_155"><i> Like shoals of fish in spring</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_156"><i> That visit Crusoe’s isle,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_157"><i> The host in the lonesome place—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_158"><i> The hundred thousand file.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s27">
<div class="line" id="poem27_159">The foe that held his guarded hills</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_160"> Must speed to woods afar;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_161">For the scheme that was nursed by the Culpepper hearth</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_162"> With the slowly-smoked cigar—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_163">The scheme that smouldered through winter long</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_164"> Now bursts into act—into waw—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_165">The resolute scheme of a heart as calm</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_166"> As the Cyclone’s core.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s28">
<div class="line" id="poem27_167"><i> The fight for the city is fought</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_168"><i> In Nature’s old domain;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_169"><i> Man goes out to the wilds,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_170"><i> And Orpheus’ charm is vain.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s29">
<div class="line" id="poem27_171">In glades they meet skull after skull</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_172"> Where pine-cones lay—the rusted gun,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_173">Green shoes full of bones, the mouldering coat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_174"> And cuddled-up skeleton;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_175">And scores of such. Some start as in dreams,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_176"> And comrades lost bemoan:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_177">By the edge of those wilds Stonewall had charged—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_178"> But the Year and the Man were gone.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s30">
<div class="line" id="poem27_179"><i> At the height of their madness</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_180"><i> The night winds pause,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_181"><i> Recollecting themselves;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_182"><i> But no lull in these wars.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s31">
<div class="line" id="poem27_183">A gleam!—a volley! And who shall go</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_184"> Storming the swarmers in jungles dread?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_185">No cannon-ball answers, no proxies are sent—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_186"> They rush in the shrapnel’s stead.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_187">Plume and sash are vanities now—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_188"> Let them deck the pall of the dead;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_189">They go where the shade is, perhaps into Hades,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_190"> Where the brave of all times have led.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s32">
<div class="line" id="poem27_191"><i> There’s a dust of hurrying feet,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_192"><i> Bitten lips and bated breath,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_193"><i> And drums that challenge to the grave,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_194"><i> And faces fixed, forefeeling death.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s33">
<div class="line" id="poem27_195">What husky huzzahs in the hazy groves—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_196"> What flying encounters fell;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_197">Pursuer and pursued like ghosts disappear</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_198"> In gloomed shade—their end who shall tell?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_199">The crippled, a ragged-barked stick for a crutch,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_200"> Limp to some elfin dell—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_201">Hobble from the sight of dead faces—white</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_202"> As pebbles in a well.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s34">
<div class="line" id="poem27_203"><i> Few burial rites shall be;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_204"><i> No priest with book and band</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_205"><i> Shall come to the secret place</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_206"><i> Of the corpse in the foeman’s land.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s35">
<div class="line" id="poem27_207">Watch and fast, march and fight—clutch your gun?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_208"> Day-fights and night-fights; sore is the strees;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_209">Look, through the pines what line comes on?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_210"> Longstreet slants through the hauntedness?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_211">’Tis charge for charge, and shout for yell:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_212"> Such battles on battles oppress—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_213">But Heaven lent strength, the Right strove well,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_214"> And emerged from the Wilderness.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s36">
<div class="line" id="poem27_215"><i> Emerged, for the way was won;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_216"><i> But the Pillar of Smoke that led</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_217"><i> Was brand-like with ghosts that went up</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_218"><i> Ashy and red.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s37">
<div class="line" id="poem27_219">None can narrate that strife in the pines,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_220"> A seal is on it—Sabaean lore!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_221">Obscure as the wood, the entangled rhyme</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_222"> But hints at the maze of war—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_223">Vivid glimpses or livid through peopled gloom,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_224"> And fires which creep and char—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_225">A riddle of death, of which the slain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_226"> Sole solvers are.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem27_s38">
<div class="line" id="poem27_227"><i> Long they withhold the roll</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_228"><i> Of the shroudless dead. It is right;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_229"><i> Not yet can we bear the flare</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem27_230"><i> Of the funeral light.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem28">
<h3>On the Photograph of a Corps Commander.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem28_1">Ay, man is manly. Here you see</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_2"> The warrior-carriage of the head,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_3">And brave dilation of the frame;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_4"> And lighting all, the soul that led</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_5">In Spottsylvania’s charge to victory,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_6"> Which justifies his fame.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem28_7">A cheering picture. It is good</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_8"> To look upon a Chief like this,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_9">In whom the spirit moulds the form.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_10"> Here favoring Nature, oft remiss,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_11">With eagle mien expressive has endued</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_12"> A man to kindle strains that warm.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem28_13">Trace back his lineage, and his sires,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_14"> Yeoman or noble, you shall find</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_15">Enrolled with men of Agincourt,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_16"> Heroes who shared great Harry’s mind.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_17">Down to us come the knightly Norman fires,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_18"> And front the Templars bore.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem28_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem28_19">Nothing can lift the heart of man</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_20"> Like manhood in a fellow-man.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_21">The thought of heaven’s great King afar</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_22"> But humbles us—too weak to scan;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_23">But manly greatness men can span,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem28_24"> And feel the bonds that draw.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem29">
<h3>The Swamp Angel.<SPAN name="fnt11" href="#fn11"><sup>[11]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<div class="note" id="fn11">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt11">[11]</SPAN> The great Parrott gun, planted in the marshes of James Island, and
employed in the prolonged, though at times intermitted bombardment of
Charleston, was known among our soldiers as the Swamp Angel.</p>
<p>St. Michael’s, characterized by its venerable tower, was the historic
and aristrocratic church of the town.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem29_1">There is a coal-black Angel</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_2"> With a thick Afric lip,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_3">And he dwells (like the hunted and harried)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_4"> In a swamp where the green frogs dip.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_5">But his face is against a City</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_6"> Which is over a bay of the sea,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_7">And he breathes with a breath that is blastment,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_8"> And dooms by a far decree.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem29_9">By night there is fear in the City,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_10"> Through the darkness a star soareth on;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_11">There’s a scream that screams up to the zenith,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_12"> Then the poise of a meteor lone—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_13">Lighting far the pale fright of the faces,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_14"> And downward the coming is seen;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_15">Then the rush, and the burst, and the havoc,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_16"> And wails and shrieks between.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem29_17">It comes like the thief in the gloaming;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_18"> It comes, and none may foretell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_19">The place of the coming—the glaring;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_20"> They live in a sleepless spell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_21">That wizens, and withers, and whitens;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_22"> It ages the young, and the bloom</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_23">Of the maiden is ashes of roses—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_24"> The Swamp Angel broods in his gloom.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem29_25">Swift is his messengers’ going,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_26"> But slowly he saps their halls,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_27">As if by delay deluding.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_28"> They move from their crumbling walls</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_29">Farther and farther away;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_30"> But the Angel sends after and after,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_31">By night with the flame of his ray—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_32"> By night with the voice of his screaming—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_33">Sends after them, stone by stone,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_34"> And farther walls fall, farther portals,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_35">And weed follows weed through the Town.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem29_36">Is this the proud City? the scorner</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_37"> Which never would yield the ground?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_38">Which mocked at the coal-black Angel?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_39"> The cup of despair goes round.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_40">Vainly she calls upon Michael</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_41"> (The white man’s seraph was he),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_42">For Michael has fled from his tower</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_43"> To the Angel over the sea.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem29_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem29_44">Who weeps for the woeful City</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_45"> Let him weep for our guilty kind;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_46">Who joys at her wild despairing—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem29_47"> Christ, the Forgiver, convert his mind.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem30">
<h3>The Battle for the Bay.</h3>
<h5>(August, 1864.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem30_1">O mystery of noble hearts,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_2"> To whom mysterious seas have been</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_3">In midnight watches, lonely calm and storm,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_4"> A stern, sad disciple,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_5">And rooted out the false and vain,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_6"> And chastened them to aptness for</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_7"> Devotion and the deeds of war,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_8">And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem30_9">Beyond the bar the land-wind dies,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_10"> The prows becharmed at anchor swim:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_11">A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_12"> Fair eve of battle grim.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_13">The sentries pace, bonetas glide;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_14"> Below, the sleeping sailor swing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_15"> And if their dreams to quarters spring,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_16">Or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem30_17">But drums are beat: <i>Up anchor all!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_18"> The triple lines steam slowly on;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_19">Day breaks, and through the sweep of decks each man</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_20"> Stands coldly by his gun—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_21">As cold as it. But he shall warm—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_22"> Warm with the solemn metal there,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_23"> And all its ordered fury share,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_24">In attitude a gladiatorial form.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem30_25">The Admiral—yielding the love</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_26"> Which held his life and ship so dear—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_27">Sailed second in the long fleet’s midmost line;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_28"> Yet thwarted all their care:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_29">He lashed himself aloft, and shone</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_30"> Star of the fight, with influence sent</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_31"> Throughout the dusk embattlement;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_32">And so they neared the strait and walls of stone.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem30_33">No sprintly fife as in the field,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_34"> The decks were hushed like fanes in prayer;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_35">Behind each man a holy angel stood—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_36"> He stood, though none was ’ware.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_37">Out spake the forts on either hand,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_38"> Back speak the ships when spoken to,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_39"> And set their flags in concert true,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_40">And <i>On and in!</i> is Farragut’s command.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem30_41">But what delays? ’mid wounds above</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_42"> Dim buoys give hint of death below—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_43">Sea-ambuscades, where evil art had aped</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_44"> Hecla that hides in snow.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_45">The centre-van, entangled, trips;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_46"> The starboard leader holds straight on:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_47"> A cheer for the Tecumseh!—nay,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_48">Before their eyes the turreted ship goes down!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem30_49">The fire redoubles, While the fleet</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_50"> Hangs dubious—ere the horror ran—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_51">The Admiral rushes to his rightful place—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_52"> Well met! apt hour and man!—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_53">Closes with peril, takes the lead,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_54"> His action is a stirring call;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_55"> He strikes his great heart through them all,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_56">And is the genius of their daring deed.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem30_57">The forts are daunted, slack their fire,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_58"> Confounded by the deadlier aim</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_59">And rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_60"> And fierce denouncing flame.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_61">Yet shots from four dark hulls embayed</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_62"> Come raking through the loyal crews,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_63"> Whom now each dying mate endues</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_64">With his last look, anguished yet undismayed.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem30_65">A flowering time to guilt is given,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_66"> And traitors have their glorying hour;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_67">O late, but sure, the righteous Paramount comes—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_68"> Palsy is on their power!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_69">So proved it with the rebel keels,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_70"> The strong-holds past: assailed, they run;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_71"> The Selma strikes, and the work is done:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_72">The dropping anchor the achievement seals.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem30_73">But no, she turns—the Tennessee!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_74"> The solid Ram of iron and oak,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_75">Strong as Evil, and bold as Wrong, though lone—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_76"> A pestilence in her smoke.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_77">The flag-ship is her singled mark,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_78"> The wooden Hartford. Let her come;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_79"> She challenges the planet of Doom,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_80">And naught shall save her—not her iron bark.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s11">
<div class="line" id="poem30_81"><i>Slip anchor, all! and at her, all!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_82"> <i>Bear down with rushing beaks—and</i> now!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_83">First the Monongahela struck—and reeled;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_84"> The Lackawana’s prow</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_85">Next crashed—crashed, but not crashing; then</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_86"> The Admiral rammed, and rasping nigh</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_87"> Sloped in a broadside, which glanced by:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_88">The Monitors battered at her adamant den.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s12">
<div class="line" id="poem30_89">The Chickasaw plunged beneath the stern</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_90"> And pounded there; a huge wrought orb</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_91">From the Manhattan pierced one wall, but dropped;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_92"> Others the seas absorb.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_93">Yet stormed on all sides, narrowed in,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_94"> Hampered and cramped, the bad one fought—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_95"> Spat ribald curses from the port</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_96">Who shutters, jammed, locked up this Man-of-Sin.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s13">
<div class="line" id="poem30_97">No pause or stay. They made a din</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_98"> Like hammers round a boiler forged;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_99">Now straining strength tangled itself with strength,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_100"> Till Hate her will disgorged.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_101">The white flag showed, the fight was won—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_102"> Mad shouts went up that shook the Bay;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_103"> But pale on the scarred fleet’s decks there lay</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_104">A silent man for every silenced gun.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem30_s14">
<div class="line" id="poem30_105">And quiet far below the wave,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_106"> Where never cheers shall move their sleep,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_107">Some who did boldly, nobly earn them, lie—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_108"> Charmed children of the deep.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_109">But decks that now are in the seed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_110"> And cannon yet within the mine,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_111"> Shall thrill the deeper, gun and pine,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem30_112">Because of the Tecumseh’s glorious deed.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem31">
<h3>Sheridan at Cedar Creek.</h3>
<h5>(October, 1864.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem31_1">Shoe the steed with silver</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_2"> That bore him to the fray,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_3">When he heard the guns at dawning—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_4"> Miles away;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_5">When he heard them calling, calling—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_6"> Mount! nor stay:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_7"> Quick, or all is lost;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_8"> They’ve surprised and stormed the post,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_9"> They push your routed host—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_10"> Gallop! retrieve the day.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem31_11">House the horse in ermine—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_12"> For the foam-flake blew</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_13">White through the red October;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_14"> He thundered into view;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_15">They cheered him in the looming,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_16"> Horseman and horse they knew.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_17"> The turn of the tide began,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_18"> The rally of bugles ran,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_19"> He swung his hat in the van;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_20"> The electric hoof-spark flew.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem31_21">Wreathe the steed and lead him—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_22"> For the charge he led</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_23">Touched and turned the cypress</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_24"> Into amaranths for the head</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_25">Of Philip, king of riders,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_26"> Who raised them from the dead.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_27"> The camp (at dawning lost),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_28"> By eve, recovered—forced,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_29"> Rang with laughter of the host</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_30"> At belated Early fled.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem31_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem31_31">Shroud the horse in sable—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_32"> For the mounds they heap!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_33">There is firing in the Valley,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_34"> And yet no strife they keep;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_35">It is the parting volley,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_36"> It is the pathos deep.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_37"> There is glory for the brave</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_38"> Who lead, and noblys ave,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_39"> But no knowledge in the grave</div>
<div class="line" id="poem31_40"> Where the nameless followers sleep.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem32">
<h3>In the Prison Pen.</h3>
<h5>(1864.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem32_1">Listless he eyes the palisades</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_2"> And sentries in the glare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_3">’Tis barren as a pelican-beach—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_4"> But his world is ended there.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem32_5">Nothing to do; and vacant hands</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_6"> Bring on the idiot-pain;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_7">He tries to think—to recollect,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_8"> But the blur is on his brain.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem32_9">Around him swarm the plaining ghosts</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_10"> Like those on Virgil’s shore—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_11">A wilderness of faces dim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_12"> And pale ones gashed and hoar.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem32_13">A smiting sun. No shed, no tree;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_14"> He totters to his lair—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_15">A den that sick hands dug in earth</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_16"> Ere famine wasted there,</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem32_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem32_17">Or, dropping in his place, he swoons,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_18"> Walled in by throngs that press,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_19">Till forth from the throngs they bear him dead—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem32_20"> Dead in his meagreness.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem33">
<h3>The College Colonel.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem33_1">He rides at their head;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_2"> A crutch by his saddle just slants in view,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_3">One slung arm is in splints, you see,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_4"> Yet he guides his strong steed—how coldly too.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem33_5">He brings his regiment home—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_6"> Not as they filed two years before,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_7">But a remnant half-tattered, and battered, and worn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_8">Like castaway sailors, who—stunned</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_9"> By the surf’s loud roar,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_10"> Their mates dragged back and seen no more—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_11">Again and again breast the surge,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_12"> And at last crawl, spent, to shore.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem33_13">A still rigidity and pale—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_14"> An Indian aloofness lones his brow;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_15">He has lived a thousand years</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_16">Compressed in battle’s pains and prayers,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_17"> Marches and watches slow.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem33_18">There are welcoming shouts, and flags;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_19"> Old men off hat to the Boy,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_20">Wreaths from gay balconies fall at his feet,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_21"> But to <i>him</i>—there comes alloy.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem33_22">It is not that a leg is lost,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_23"> It is not that an arm is maimed.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_24">It is not that the fever has racked—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_25"> Self he has long disclaimed.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem33_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem33_26">But all through the Seven Day’s Fight,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_27"> And deep in the wilderness grim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_28">And in the field-hospital tent,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_29"> And Petersburg crater, and dim</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_30">Lean brooding in Libby, there came—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem33_31"> Ah heaven!—what <i>truth</i> to him.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem34">
<h3>The Eagle of the Blue.<SPAN name="fnt12" href="#fn12"><sup>[12]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<div class="note" id="fn12">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt12">[12]</SPAN> Among the Northwestern regiments there would seem to have been more
than one which carried a living eagle as an added ensign. The bird
commemorated here was, according the the account, borne aloft on a perch
beside the standard; went through successive battles and campaigns; was
more than once under the surgeon’s hands; and at the close of the
contest found honorable repose in the capital of Wisconsin, from which
state he had gone to the wars.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem34_1">Aloft he guards the starry folds</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_2"> Who is the brother of the star;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_3">The bird whose joy is in the wind</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_4"> Exultleth in the war.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem34_5">No painted plume—a sober hue,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_6"> His beauty is his power;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_7">That eager calm of gaze intent</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_8"> Foresees the Sibyl’s hour.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem34_9">Austere, he crowns the swaying perch,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_10"> Flapped by the angry flag;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_11">The hurricane from the battery sings,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_12"> But his claw has known the crag.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem34_13">Amid the scream of shells, his scream</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_14"> Runs shrilling; and the glare</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_15">Of eyes that brave the blinding sun</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_16"> The vollied flame can bear.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem34_17">The pride of quenchless strength is his—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_18"> Strength which, though chained, avails;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_19">The very rebel looks and thrills—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_20"> The anchored Emblem hails.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem34_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem34_21">Though scarred in many a furious fray,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_22"> No deadly hurt he knew;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_23">Well may we think his years are charmed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem34_24"> The Eagle of the Blue.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem35">
<h3>A Dirge for McPherson,<SPAN name="fnt13" href="#fn13"><sup>[13]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h4>Killed in front of Atlanta.</h4>
<h5>(July, 1864.)</h5>
<div class="note" id="fn13">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt13">[13]</SPAN> The late Major General McPherson, commanding the Army of the
Tennessee, a major of Ohio and a West Pointer, was one of the foremost
spirits of the war. Young, though a veteran; hardy, intrepid, sensitive
in honor, full of engaging qualities, with manly beauty; possessed of
genius, a favorite with the army, and with Grant and Sherman. Both
Generals have generously acknowledged their professional obligiations to
the able engineer and admirable soldier, their subordinate and junior.</p>
<p>In an informal account written by the Achilles to this Sarpedon, he
says: “On that day we avenged his death. Near twenty-two hundred of the
enemy’s dead remained on the ground when night closed upon the scene of
action.”</p>
<p>It is significant of the scale on which the war was waged, that the
engagement thus written of goes solely (so far as can be learned) under
the vague designation of one of the battles before Atlanta.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem35_1">Arms reversed and banners craped—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_2"> Muffled drums;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_3">Snowy horses sable-draped—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_4"> McPherson comes.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem35_5"><i> But, tell us, shall we know him more,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_6"><i> Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem35_7">Brave the sword upon the pall—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_8"> A gleam in gloom;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_9">So a bright name lighteth all</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_10"> McPherson’s doom.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem35_11">Bear him through the chapel-door—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_12"> Let priest in stole</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_13">Pace before the warrior</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_14"> Who led. Bell—toll!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem35_15">Lay him down within the nave,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_16"> The Lesson read—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_17">Man is noble, man is brave,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_18"> But man’s—a weed.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem35_19">Take him up again and wend</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_20"> Graveward, nor weep:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_21">There’s a trumpet that shall rend</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_22"> This Soldier’s sleep.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem35_23">Pass the ropes the coffin round,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_24"> And let descend;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_25">Prayer and volley—let it sound</div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_26"> McPherson’s end.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem35_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem35_27"><i> True fame is his, for life is o’er—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem35_28"><i> Sarpedon of the mighty war.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem36">
<h3>At the Cannon’s Mouth.</h3>
<h4>Destruction of the Ram Albermarle by the Torpedo-Launch.</h4>
<h5>(October, 1864.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem36_1">Palely intent, he urged his keel</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_2"> Full on the guns, and touched the spring;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_3">Himself involved in the bolt he drove</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_4">Timed with the armed hull’s shot that stove</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_5">His shallop—die or do!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_6">Into the flood his life he threw,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_7"> Yet lives—unscathed—a breathing thing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_8">To marvel at.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem36_9"> He has his fame;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_10">But that mad dash at death, how name?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem36_11">Had Earth no charm to stay the Boy</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_12"> From the martyr-passion? Could he dare</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_13">Disdain the Paradise of opening joy</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_14"> Which beckons the fresh heart every where?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_15">Life has more lures than any girl</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_16"> For youth and strength; puts forth a share</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_17">Of beauty, hinting of yet rarer store;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_18">And ever with unfathomable eyes,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_19"> Which baffingly entice,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_20">Still strangely does Adonis draw.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_21">And life once over, who shall tell the rest?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_22">Life is, of all we know, God’s best.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_23">What imps these eagles then, that they</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_24">Fling disrespect on life by that proud way</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_25">In which they soar above our lower clay.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem36_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem36_26">Pretense of wonderment and doubt unblest:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_27"> In Cushing’s eager deed was shown</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_28"> A spirit which brave poets own—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_29">That scorn of life which earns life’s crown;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_30"> Earns, but not always wins; but he—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem36_31"> The star ascended in his nativity.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem37">
<h3>The March to the Sea.</h3>
<h5>(December, 1864.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem37_1">Not Kenesaw high-arching,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_2"> Nor Allatoona’s glen—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_3">Though there the graves lie parching—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_4"> Stayed Sherman’s miles of men;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_5">From charred Atlanta marching</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_6"> They launched the sword again.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_7"> The columns streamed like rivers</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_8"> Which in their course agree,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_9"> And they streamed until their flashing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_10"> Met the flashing of the sea:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_11"> It was glorious glad marching,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_12"> That marching to the sea.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem37_13">They brushed the foe before them</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_14"> (Shall gnats impede the bull?);</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_15">Their own good bridges bore them</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_16"> Over swamps or torrents full,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_17">And the grand pines waving o’er them</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_18"> Bowed to axes keen and cool.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_19"> The columns grooved their channels.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_20"> Enforced their own decree,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_21"> And their power met nothing larger</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_22"> Until it met the sea:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_23"> It was glorious glad marching,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_24"> A marching glad and free.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem37_25">Kilpatrick’s snare of riders</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_26"> In zigzags mazed the land,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_27">Perplexed the pale Southsiders</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_28"> With feints on every hand;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_29">Vague menace awed the hiders</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_30"> In forts beyond command.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_31"> To Sherman’s shifting problem</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_32"> No foeman knew the key;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_33"> But onward went the marching</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_34"> Unpausing to the sea:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_35"> It was glorious glad marching,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_36"> The swinging step was free.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem37_37">The flankers ranged like pigeons</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_38"> In clouds through field or wood;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_39">The flocks of all those regions,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_40"> The herds and horses good,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_41">Poured in and swelled the legions,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_42"> For they caught the marching mood.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_43"> A volley ahead! They hear it;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_44"> And they hear the repartee:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_45"> Fighting was but frolic</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_46"> In that marching to the sea:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_47"> It was glorious glad marching,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_48"> A marching bold and free.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem37_49">All nature felt their coming,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_50"> The birds like couriers flew,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_51">And the banners brightly blooming</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_52"> The slaves by thousands drew,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_53">And they marched beside the drumming,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_54"> And they joined the armies blue.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_55"> The cocks crowed from the cannon</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_56"> (Pets named from Grant and Lee),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_57"> Plumed fighters and campaigners</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_58"> In the marching to the sea:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_59"> It was glorious glad marching,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_60"> For every man was free.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem37_61">The foragers through calm lands</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_62"> Swept in tempest gay,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_63">And they breathed the air of balm-lands</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_64"> Where rolled savannas lay,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_65">And they helped themselves from farm-lands—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_66"> As who should say them nay?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_67"> The regiments uproarious</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_68"> Laughed in Plenty’s glee;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_69"> And they marched till their broad laughter</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_70"> Met the laughter of the sea:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_71"> It was glorious glad marching,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_72"> That marching to the sea.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem37_73">The grain of endless acres</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_74"> Was threshed (as in the East)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_75">By the trampling of the Takers,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_76"> Strong march of man and beast;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_77">The flails of those earth-shakers</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_78"> Left a famine where they ceased.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_79"> The arsenals were yielded;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_80"> The sword (that was to be),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_81"> Arrested in the forging,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_82"> Rued that marching to the sea:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_83"> It was glorious glad marching,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_84"> But ah, the stern decree!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem37_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem37_85">For behind they left a wailing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_86"> A terror and a ban,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_87">And blazing cinders sailing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_88"> And houseless households wan,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_89">Wide zones of counties paling,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_90"> And towns where maniacs ran.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_91"> Was it Treason’s retribution—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_92"> Necessity the plea?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_93"> They will long remember Sherman</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_94"> And his streaming columns free—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_95"> They will long remember Sherman</div>
<div class="line" id="poem37_96"> Marching to the sea.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem38">
<h3>The Frenzy in the Wake.<SPAN name="fnt14" href="#fn14"><sup>[14]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h4>Sherman’s advance through the Carolinas.</h4>
<h5>(February, 1865.)</h5>
<div class="note" id="fn14">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt14">[14]</SPAN> The piece was written while yet the reports were coming North of
Sherman’s homeward advance from Savannah. It is needless to point out
its purely dramatic character.</p>
<p>Though the sentiment ascribed in the beginning of the second stanza
must, in the present reading, suggest the historic tragedy of the 14th
of April, nevertheless, as intimated, it was written prior to that
event, and without any distinct application in the writer’s mind. After
consideration, it is allowed to remain.</p>
<p>Few need be reminded that, by the less intelligent classes of the South,
Abraham Lincoln, by nature the most kindly of men, was regarded as a
monster wantonly warring upon liberty. He stood for the personification
of tyrannic power. Each Union soldier was called a Lincolnite.</p>
<p>Undoubtedly Sherman, in the desolation he inflicted after leaving
Atlanta, acted not in contravention of orders; and all, in a military
point of view, if by military judged deemed to have been expedient, and
nothing can abate General Sherman’s shining renown; his claims to it
rest on no single campaign. Still, there are those who can not but
contrast some of the scenes enacted in Georgia and the Carolinas, and
also in the Shenandoah, with a circumstance in a great Civil War of
heathen antiquity. Plutarch relates that in a military council held by
Pompey and the chiefs of that party which stood for the Commonwealth, it
was decided that under no plea should any city be sacked that was
subject to the people of Rome. There was this difference, however,
between the Roman civil conflict and the American one. The war of Pompey
and Caesar divided the Roman people promiscuously; that of the North and
South ran a frontier line between what for the time were distinct
communities or nations. In this circumstance, possibly, and some others,
may be found both the cause and the justification of some of the
sweeping measures adopted.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem38_1">So strong to suffer, shall we be</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_2"> Weak to contend, and break</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_3">The sinews of the Oppressor’s knee</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_4"> That grinds upon the neck?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_5"> O, the garments rolled in blood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_6"> Scorch in cities wrapped in flame,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_7"> And the African—the imp!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_8"> He gibbers, imputing shame.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem38_9">Shall Time, avenging every woe,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_10"> To us that joy allot</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_11">Which Israel thrilled when Sisera’s brow</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_12"> Showed gaunt and showed the clot?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_13"> Curse on their foreheads, cheeks, and eyes—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_14"> The Northern faces—true</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_15"> To the flag we hate, the flag whose stars</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_16"> Like planets strike us through.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem38_17">From frozen Maine they come,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_18"> Far Minnesota too;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_19">They come to a sun whose rays disown—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_20"> May it wither them as the dew!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_21"> The ghosts of our slain appeal:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_22"> “Vain shall our victories be”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_23"> But back from its ebb the flood recoils—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_24"> Back in a whelming sea.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem38_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem38_25">With burning woods our skies are brass,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_26"> The pillars of dust are seen;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_27">The live-long day their cavalry pass—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_28"> No crossing the road between.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_29"> We were sore deceived—an awful host!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_30"> They move like a roaring wind.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_31"> Have we gamed and lost? but even despair</div>
<div class="line" id="poem38_32"> Shall never our hate rescind.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem39">
<h3>The Fall of Richmond.</h3>
<h4>The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis.</h4>
<h5>(April, 1865.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem39_1">What mean these peals from every tower,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_2"> And crowds like seas that sway?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_3">The cannon reply; they speak the heart</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_4"> Of the People impassioned, and say—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_5">A city in flags for a city in flames,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_6"> Richmond goes Babylon’s way—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_7"> <i>Sing and pray.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem39_8">O weary years and woeful wars,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_9"> And armies in the grave;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_10">But hearts unquelled at last deter</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_11">The helmed dilated Lucifer—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_12"> Honor to Grant the brave,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_13">Whose three stars now like Orion’s rise</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_14"> When wreck is on the wave—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_15"> <i>Bless his glaive.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem39_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem39_16">Well that the faith we firmly kept,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_17"> And never our aim forswore</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_18">For the Terrors that trooped from each recess</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_19">When fainting we fought in the Wilderness,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_20"> And Hell made loud hurrah;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_21">But God is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_22"> And Right through might is Law—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem39_23"> <i>God’s way adore.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem40">
<h3>The Surrender at Appomattox.</h3>
<h5>(April, 1865.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem40_s">
<div class="line" id="poem40_1">As billows upon billows roll,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_2"> On victory victory breaks;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_3">Ere yet seven days from Richmond’s fall</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_4"> And crowning triumph wakes</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_5">The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_6"> By sea-shore, streams, and lakes.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_7"> The hope and great event agree</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_8"> In the sword that Grant received from Lee.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem40_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem40_9">The warring eagles fold the wing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_10"> But not in Cæsar’s sway;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_11">Not Rome o’ercome by Roman arms we sing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_12"> As on Pharsalia’s day,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_13">But Treason thrown, though a giant grown,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_14"> And Freedom’s larger play.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_15"> All human tribes glad token see</div>
<div class="line" id="poem40_16"> In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem41">
<h3>A Canticle:</h3>
<h4>Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at the close of the War.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem41_1">O the precipice Titanic</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_2"> Of the congregated Fall,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_3">And the angle oceanic</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_4"> Where the deepening thunders call—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_5"> And the Gorge so grim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_6"> And the firmamental rim!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_7">Multitudinously thronging</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_8"> The waters all converge,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_9">Then they sweep adown in sloping</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_10"> Solidity of surge.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem41_11"> The Nation, in her impulse</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_12"> Mysterious as the Tide,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_13"> In emotion like an ocean</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_14"> Moves in power, not in pride;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_15"> And is deep in her devotion</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_16"> As Humanity is wide.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem41_17"> Thou Lord of hosts victorious,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_18"> The confluence Thou hast twined;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_19"> By a wondrous way and glorious</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_20"> A passage Thou dost find—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_21"> A passage Thou dost find:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_22"> Hosanna to the Lord of hosts,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_23"> The hosts of human kind.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem41_24">Stable in its baselessness</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_25"> When calm is in the air,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_26">The Iris half in tracelessness</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_27"> Hovers faintly fair.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_28">Fitfully assailing it</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_29"> A wind from heaven blows,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_30">Shivering and paling it</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_31"> To blankness of the snows;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_32">While, incessant in renewal,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_33"> The Arch rekindled grows,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_34">Till again the gem and jewel</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_35"> Whirl in blinding overthrows—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_36">Till, prevailing and transcending,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_37"> Lo, the Glory perfect there,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_38">And the contest finds an ending,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_39"> For repose is in the air.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem41_40">But the foamy Deep unsounded,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_41"> And the dim and dizzy ledge,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_42">And the booming roar rebounded,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_43"> And the gull that skims the edge!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_44"> The Giant of the Pool</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_45"> Heaves his forehead white as wool—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_46">Toward the Iris every climbing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_47"> From the Cataracts that call—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_48">Irremovable vast arras</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_49"> Draping all the Wall.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem41_50"> The Generations pouring</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_51"> From times of endless date,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_52"> In their going, in their flowing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_53"> Ever form the steadfast State;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_54"> And Humanity is growing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_55"> Toward the fullness of her fate.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem41_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem41_56"> Thou Lord of hosts victorious,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_57"> Fulfill the end designed;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_58"> By a wondrous way and glorious</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_59"> A passage Thou dost find—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_60"> A passage Thou dost find:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_61"> Hosanna to the Lord of hosts,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem41_62"> The hosts of human kind.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem42">
<h3>The Martyr.</h3>
<h4>Indicative of the passion of the people on the 15th of April, 1865.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem42_1">Good Friday was the day</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_2"> Of the prodigy and crime,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_3">When they killed him in his pity,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_4"> When they killed him in his prime</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_5">Of clemency and calm—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_6"> When with yearning he was filled</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_7"> To redeem the evil-willed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_8">And, though conqueror, be kind;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_9"> But they killed him in his kindness,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_10"> In their madness and their blindness,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_11">And they killed him from behind.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem42_12"> There is sobbing of the strong,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_13"> And a pall upon the land;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_14"> But the People in their weeping</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_15"> Bare the iron hand:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_16"> Beware the People weeping</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_17"> When they bare the iron hand.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem42_18">He lieth in his blood—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_19"> The father in his face;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_20">They have killed him, the Forgiver—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_21"> The Avenger takes his place,<SPAN name="fnt15" href="#fn15"><sup>[15]</sup></SPAN></div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_22">The Avenger wisely stern,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_23"> Who in righteousness shall do</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_24"> What the heavens call him to,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_25">And the parricides remand;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_26"> For they killed him in his kindness,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_27"> In their madness and their blindness,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_28">And his blood is on their hand.</div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn15">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt15">[15]</SPAN> At this period of excitement the thought was by some passionately
welcomed that the Presidential successor had been raised up by heaven to
wreak vengeance on the South. The idea originated in the remembrance
that Andrew Johnson by birth belonged to that class of Southern whites
who never cherished love for the dominant: that he was a citizen of
Tennessee, where the contest at times and in places had been close and
bitter as a Middle-Age feud; the himself and family had been hardly
treated by the Secessionists.</p>
<p>But the expectations build hereon (if, indeed, ever soberly
entertained), happily for the country, have not been verified.</p>
<p>Likely the feeling which would have held the entire South chargeable
with the crime of one exceptional assassin, this too has died away with
the natural excitement of the hour.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem42_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem42_29"> There is sobbing of the strong,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_30"> And a pall upon the land;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_31"> But the People in their weeping</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_32"> Bare the iron hand:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_33"> Beware the People weeping</div>
<div class="line" id="poem42_34"> When they bare the iron hand.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem43">
<h3>“The Coming Storm:”</h3>
<h4>A Picture by S.R. Gifford, and owned by E.B.
Included in the N.A. Exhibition, April, 1865.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem43_1">All feeling hearts must feel for him</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_2"> Who felt this picture. Presage dim—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_3">Dim inklings from the shadowy sphere</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_4"> Fixed him and fascinated here.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem43_5">A demon-cloud like the mountain one</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_6"> Burst on a spirit as mild</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_7">As this urned lake, the home of shades.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_8"> But Shakspeare’s pensive child</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem43_9">Never the lines had lightly scanned,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_10"> Steeped in fable, steeped in fate;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_11">The Hamlet in his heart was ’ware,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_12"> Such hearts can antedate.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem43_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem43_13">No utter surprise can come to him</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_14"> Who reaches Shakspeare’s core;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_15">That which we seek and shun is there—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem43_16"> Man’s final lore.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem44">
<h3>Rebel Color-bearers at Shiloh:<SPAN name="fnt16" href="#fn16"><sup>[16]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h4>A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly
after the surrender at Appomattox.</h4>
<div class="note" id="fn16">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt16">[16]</SPAN> The incident on which this piece is based is narrated in a newspaper
account of the battle to be found in the “Rebellion Record.” During the
disaster to the national forces on the first day, a brigade on the
extreme left found itself isolated. The perils it encountered are given
in detail. Among others, the following sentences occur:</p>
<p>“Under cover of the fire from the bluffs, the rebels rushed down,
crossed the ford, and in a moment were seen forming this side the creek
in open fields, and within close musket-range. Their color-bearers
stepped defiantly to the front as the engagement opened furiously; the
rebels pouring in sharp, quick volleys of musketry, and their batteries
above continuing to support them with a destructive fire. Our
sharpshooters wanted to pick off the audacious rebel color-bearers, but
Colonel Stuart interposed: ‘No, no, they’re too brave fellows to be
killed.’”</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem44_1">The color-bearers facing death</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_2">White in the whirling sulphurous wreath,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_3"> Stand boldly out before the line</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_4">Right and left their glances go,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_5">Proud of each other, glorying in their show;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_6">Their battle-flags about them blow,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_7"> And fold them as in flame divine:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_8">Such living robes are only seen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_9">Round martyrs burning on the green—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_10">And martyrs for the Wrong have been.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem44_11">Perish their Cause! but mark the men—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_12">Mark the planted statues, then</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_13">Draw trigger on them if you can.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem44_14">The leader of a patriot-band</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_15">Even so could view rebels who so could stand;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_16"> And this when peril pressed him sore,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_17">Left aidless in the shivered front of war—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_18"> Skulkers behind, defiant foes before,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_19">And fighting with a broken brand.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_20">The challenge in that courage rare—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_21">Courage defenseless, proudly bare—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_22">Never could tempt him; he could dare</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_23">Strike up the leveled rifle there.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem44_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem44_24">Sunday at Shiloh, and the day</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_25">When Stonewall charged—McClellan’s crimson May,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_26">And Chickamauga’s wave of death,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_27">And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_28"> All these have passed away.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_29">The life in the veins of Treason lags,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_30">Her daring color-bearers drop their flags,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_31"> And yield. <i>Now</i> shall we fire?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_32"> Can poor spite be?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_33">Shall nobleness in victory less aspire</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_34">Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem44_35"> And think how Grant met Lee.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem45">
<h3>The Muster:<SPAN name="fnt17" href="#fn17"><sup>[17]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h4>Suggested by the Two Days’ Review at Washington</h4>
<h5>(May, 1865.)</h5>
<div class="note" id="fn17">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt17">[17]</SPAN> According to a report of the Secretary of War, there were on the
first day of March, 1865, 965,000 men on the army pay-rolls. Of these,
some 200,000—artillery, cavalry, and infantry—made up from the larger
portion of the veterans of Grant and Sherman, marched by the President.
The total number of Union troops enlisted during the war was 2,668,000.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem45_1">The Abrahamic river—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_2"> Patriarch of floods,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_3">Calls the roll of all his streams</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_4"> And watery mutitudes:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_5"> Torrent cries to torrent,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_6"> The rapids hail the fall;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_7"> With shouts the inland freshets</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_8"> Gather to the call.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem45_9"> The quotas of the Nation,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_10"> Like the water-shed of waves,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_11"> Muster into union—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_12"> Eastern warriors, Western braves.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem45_13"> Martial strains are mingling,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_14"> Though distant far the bands,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_15"> And the wheeling of the squadrons</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_16"> Is like surf upon the sands.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem45_17"> The bladed guns are gleaming—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_18"> Drift in lengthened trim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_19"> Files on files for hazy miles—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_20"> Nebulously dim.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem45_21"> O Milky Way of armies—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_22"> Star rising after star,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_23"> New banners of the Commonwealths,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_24"> And eagles of the War.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem45_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem45_25">The Abrahamic river</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_26"> To sea-wide fullness fed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_27">Pouring from the thaw-lands</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_28"> By the God of floods is led:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_29"> His deep enforcing current</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_30"> The streams of ocean own,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_31"> And Europe’s marge is evened</div>
<div class="line" id="poem45_32"> By rills from Kansas lone.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem46">
<h3>Aurora-Borealis.</h3>
<h4>Commemorative of the Dissolution of Armies at the Peace.</h4>
<h5>(May, 1865.)</h5>
<div class="stanza" id="poem46_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem46_1">What power disbands the Northern Lights</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_2"> After their steely play?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_3">The lonely watcher feels an awe</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_4"> Of Nature’s sway,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_5"> As when appearing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_6"> He marked their flashed uprearing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_7">In the cold gloom—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_8"> Retreatings and advancings,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_9">(Like dallyings of doom),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_10"> Transitions and enhancings,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_11"> And bloody ray.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem46_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem46_12">The phantom-host has faded quite,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_13"> Splendor and Terror gone—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_14">Portent or promise—and gives way</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_15"> To pale, meek Dawn;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_16"> The coming, going,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_17"> Alike in wonder showing—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_18">Alike the God,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_19"> Decreeing and commanding</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_20">The million blades that glowed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_21"> The muster and disbanding—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem46_22"> Midnight and Morn.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem47">
<h3>The Released Rebel Prisoner.<SPAN name="fnt18" href="#fn18"><sup>[18]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h5>(June, 1865.)</h5>
<div class="note" id="fn18">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt18">[18]</SPAN> For a month or two after the completion of peace, some thousands of
released captives from the military prisons of the North, natives of all
parts of the South, passed through the city of New York, sometimes
waiting farther transportation for days, during which interval they
wandered penniless about the streets, or lay in their worn and patched
gray uniforms under the trees of Battery, near the barracks where they
were lodged and fed. They were transported and provided for at the
charge of government.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem47_1">Armies he’s seen—the herds of war,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_2"> But never such swarms of men</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_3">As now in the Nineveh of the North—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_4"> How mad the Rebellion then!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem47_5">And yet but dimly he divines</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_6"> The depth of that deceit,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_7">And superstition of vast pride</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_8"> Humbled to such defeat.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem47_9">Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_10"> His steel the nearest magnet drew;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_11">Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_12"> ’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem47_13">His face is hidden in his beard,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_14"> But his heart peers out at eye—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_15">And such a heart! like mountain-pool</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_16"> Where no man passes by.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem47_17">He thinks of Hill—a brave soul gone;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_18"> And Ashby dead in pale disdain;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_19">And Stuart with the Rupert-plume,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_20"> Whose blue eye never shall laugh again.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem47_21">He hears the drum; he sees our boys</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_22"> From his wasted fields return;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_23">Ladies feast them on strawberries,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_24"> And even to kiss them yearn.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem47_25">He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_26"> The rifle proudly borne;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_27">They bear it for an heir-loom home,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_28"> And he—disarmed—jail-worn.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem47_29">Home, home—his heart is full of it;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_30"> But home he never shall see,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_31">Even should he stand upon the spot;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_32"> ’Tis gone!—where his brothers be.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem47_33">The cypress-moss from tree to tree</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_34"> Hangs in his Southern land;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_35">As weird, from thought to thought of his</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_36"> Run memories hand in hand.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem47_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem47_37">And so he lingers—lingers on</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_38"> In the City of the Foe—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_39">His cousins and his countrymen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem47_40"> Who see him listless go.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem48">
<h3>A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia.<SPAN name="fnt19" href="#fn19"><sup>[19]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<div class="note" id="fn19">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt19">[19]</SPAN> Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a
view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the
same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to
deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem48_1">Head-board and foot-board duly placed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_2"> Grassed in the mound between;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_3">Daniel Drouth is the slumberer’s name—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_4"> Long may his grave be green!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem48_5">Quick was his way—a flash and a blow,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_6"> Full of his fire was he—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_7">A fire of hell—’tis burnt out now—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_8"> Green may his grave long be!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem48_9">May his grave be green, though he</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_10"> Was a rebel of iron mould;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_11">Many a true heart—true to the Cause,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_12"> Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem48_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem48_13">May his grave be green—still green</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_14"> While happy years shall run;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_15">May none come nigh to disinter</div>
<div class="line" id="poem48_16"> The—<i>Buried Gun</i>.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem49">
<h3>“Formerly a Slave.”</h3>
<h4>An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring
Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem49_1">The sufferance of her race is shown,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_2"> And retrospect of life,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_3">Which now too late deliverance dawns upon;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_4"> Yet is she not at strife.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem49_5">Her children’s children they shall know</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_6"> The good withheld from her;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_7">And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_8"> In spirit she sees the stir</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem49_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem49_9">Far down the depth of thousand years,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_10"> And marks the revel shine;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_11">Her dusky face is lit with sober light,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem49_12"> Sibylline, yet benign.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem50">
<h3>The Apparition.</h3>
<h4>(A Retrospect.)</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem50_1">Convulsions came; and, where the field</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_2"> Long slept in pastoral green,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_3">A goblin-mountain was upheaved</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_4">(Sure the scared sense was all deceived),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_5"> Marl-glen and slag-ravine.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem50_6">The unreserve of Ill was there,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_7"> The clinkers in her last retreat;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_8">But, ere the eye could take it in,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_9">Or mind could comprehension win,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_10"> It sunk!—and at our feet.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem50_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem50_11">So, then, Solidity’s a crust—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_12"> The core of fire below;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_13">All may go well for many a year,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_14">But who can think without a fear</div>
<div class="line" id="poem50_15"> Of horrors that happen so?</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem51">
<h3>Magnanimity Baffled.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem51_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem51_1">“Sharp words we had before the fight;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_2"> But—now the fight is done—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_3">Look, here’s my hand,” said the Victor bold,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_4"> “Take it—an honest one!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_5">What, holding back? I mean you well;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_6"> Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_7">The odds were great; I honor you;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_8"> Man honors man.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem51_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem51_9">“Still silent, friend? can grudges be?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_10"> Yet am I held a foe?—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_11">Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_12"> Never I’ll leave him so!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_13">Brave one! I here implore your hand;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_14"> Dumb still? all fellowship fled?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_15">Nay, then, I’ll have this stubborn hand”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem51_16"> He snatched it—it was dead.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem52">
<h3>On the Slain Collegians.<SPAN name="fnt20" href="#fn20"><sup>[20]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<div class="note" id="fn20">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt20">[20]</SPAN> The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest
youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same
classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern
seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched
who never returned except on the shield.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem52_1">Youth is the time when hearts are large,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_2"> And stirring wars</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_3">Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_4"> To the blade it draws.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_5">If woman incite, and duty show</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_6"> (Though made the mask of Cain),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_7">Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_8"> Who can aloof remain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_9">That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_10"> Of wisdom or sordid gain?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem52_11">The liberal arts and nurture sweet</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_12">Which give his gentleness to man—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_13"> Train him to honor, lend him grace</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_14">Through bright examples meet—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_15">That culture which makes never wan</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_16">With underminings deep, but holds</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_17"> The surface still, its fitting place,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_18"> And so gives sunniness to the face</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_19">And bravery to the heart; what troops</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_20"> Of generous boys in happiness thus bred—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_21"> Saturnians through life’s Tempe led,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_22">Went from the North and came from the South,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_23">With golden mottoes in the mouth,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_24"> To lie down midway on a bloody bed.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem52_25">Woe for the homes of the North,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_26">And woe for the seats of the South;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_27">All who felt life’s spring in prime,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_28">And were swept by the wind of their place and time—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_29"> All lavish hearts, on whichever side,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_30">Of birth urbane or courage high,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_31">Armed them for the stirring wars—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_32">Armed them—some to die.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_33"> Apollo-like in pride,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_34">Each would slay his Python—caught</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_35">The maxims in his temple taught—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_36"> Aflame with sympathies whose blaze</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_37">Perforce enwrapped him—social laws,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_38"> Friendship and kin, and by-gone days—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_39">Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_40">And launches into the seas of wars.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_41">What could they else—North or South?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_42">Each went forth with blessings given</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_43">By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_44"> And honor in both was chief.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_45">Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_46">So be it; but they both were young—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_47">Each grape to his cluster clung,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_48">All their elegies are sung.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem52_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem52_49">The anguish of maternal hearts</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_50"> Must search for balm divine;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_51">But well the striplings bore their fated parts</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_52"> (The heavens all parts assign)—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_53">Never felt life’s care or cloy.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_54">Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_55">Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_56">Sliding into some vernal sphere.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_57">They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_58">Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_59">Which storms lay low in kindly doom,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem52_60">And kill them in their flush of bloom.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem53">
<h3>America.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s1">
<h6>I.</h6>
<div class="line" id="poem53_1">Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_2">I saw a Banner in gladsome air—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_3">Starry, like Berenice’s Hair—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_4">Afloat in broadened bravery there;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_5">With undulating long-drawn flow,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_6">As rolled Brazilian billows go</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_7">Voluminously o’er the Line.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_8">The Land reposed in peace below;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_9"> The children in their glee</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_10">Were folded to the exulting heart</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_11"> Of young Maternity.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s2">
<h6>II.</h6>
<div class="line" id="poem53_12">Later, and it streamed in fight</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_13"> When tempest mingled with the fray,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_14">And over the spear-point of the shaft</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_15"> I saw the ambiguous lightning play.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_16">Valor with Valor strove, and died:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_17">Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_18">And the lorn Mother speechless stood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_19">Pale at the fury of her brood.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s3">
<h6>III.</h6>
<div class="line" id="poem53_20">Yet later, and the silk did wind</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_21"> Her fair cold form;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_22">Little availed the shining shroud,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_23"> Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_24">A watcher looked upon her low, and said—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_25">She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_26"> But in that sleep contortion showed</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_27">The terror of the vision there—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_28"> A silent vision unavowed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_29">Revealing earth’s foundation bare,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_30"> And Gorgon in her hidden place.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_31">It was a thing of fear to see</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_32"> So foul a dream upon so fair a face,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_33">And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem53_s4">
<h6>IV.</h6>
<div class="line" id="poem53_34">But from the trance she sudden broke—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_35"> The trance, or death into promoted life;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_36">At her feet a shivered yoke,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_37">And in her aspect turned to heaven</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_38"> No trace of passion or of strife—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_39">A clear calm look. It spake of pain,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_40">But such as purifies from stain—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_41">Sharp pangs that never come again—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_42"> And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_43">Power dedicate, and hope grown wise,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_44"> And youth matured for age’s seat—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_45">Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_46"> So she, with graver air and lifted flag;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_47">While the shadow, chased by light,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_48">Fled along the far-drawn height,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem53_49"> And left her on the crag.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="part" id="inscriptive">
<h2>Verses</h2>
<h3>Inscriptive and Memorial</h3></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem54">
<h3>On the Home Guards</h3>
<h4>who perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem54_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem54_1">The men who here in harness died</div>
<div class="line" id="poem54_2"> Fell not in vain, though in defeat.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem54_3">They by their end well fortified</div>
<div class="line" id="poem54_4"> The Cause, and built retreat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem54_5">(With memory of their valor tried)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem54_6">For emulous hearts in many an after fray—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem54_7">Hearts sore beset, which died at bay.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem55">
<h3>Inscription</h3>
<h4>for Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem55_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem55_1">Let none misgive we died amiss</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_2"> When here we strove in furious fight:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_3">Furious it was; nathless was this</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_4"> Better than tranquil plight,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_5">And tame surrender of the Cause</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_6">Hallowed by hearts and by the laws.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_7"> We here who warred for Man and Right,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_8">The choice of warring never laid with us.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_9"> There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_10"> Nor long we stood to trim and poise,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem55_11">But marched, and fell—victorious!</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem56">
<h3>The Fortitude of the North</h3>
<h4>under the Disaster of the Second Manassas.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem56_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem56_1">They take no shame for dark defeat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem56_2"> While prizing yet each victory won,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem56_3">Who fight for the Right through all retreat,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem56_4"> Nor pause until their work is done.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem56_5">The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem56_6"> Vainly against that foreland beat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem56_7">Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem56_8"> The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet</div>
<div class="line" id="poem56_9">When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem57">
<h3>On the Men of Maine</h3>
<h4>killed in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem57_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem57_1">Afar they fell. It was the zone</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_2"> Of fig and orange, cane and lime</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_3">(A land how all unlike their own,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_4">With the cold pine-grove overgrown),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_5"> But still their Country’s clime.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_6">And there in youth they died for her—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_7"> The Volunteers,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_8">For her went up their dying prayers:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_9"> So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_10">What doubt shall come, then, to deter</div>
<div class="line" id="poem57_11"> The Republic’s earnest faith and courage high.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem58">
<h3>An Epitaph.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem58_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem58_1">When Sunday tidings from the front</div>
<div class="line" id="poem58_2"> Made pale the priest and people,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem58_3">And heavily the blessing went,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem58_4"> And bells were dumb in the steeple;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem58_5">The Soldier’s widow (summering sweerly here,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem58_6"> In shade by waving beeches lent)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem58_7"> Felt deep at heart her faith content,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem58_8">And priest and people borrowed of her cheer.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem59">
<h3>Inscription</h3>
<h4>for Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem59_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem59_1">To them who crossed the flood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem59_2">And climbed the hill, with eyes</div>
<div class="line" id="poem59_3"> Upon the heavenly flag intent,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem59_4"> And through the deathful tumult went</div>
<div class="line" id="poem59_5">Even unto death: to them this Stone—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem59_6">Erect, where they were overthrown—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem59_7"> Of more than victory the monument.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem60">
<h3>The Mound by the Lake.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem60_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem60_1">The grass shall never forget this grave.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_2">When homeward footing it in the sun</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_3"> After the weary ride by rail,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_4">The stripling soldiers passed her door,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_5"> Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_6">She left her household work undone—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_7">Duly the wayside table spread,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_8"> With evergreens shaded, to regale</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_9">Each travel-spent and grateful one.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_10">So warm her heart—childless—unwed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem60_11">Who like a mother comforted.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem61">
<h3>On the Slain at Chickamauga.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem61_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem61_1">Happy are they and charmed in life</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_2"> Who through long wars arrive unscarred</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_3">At peace. To such the wreath be given,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_4">If they unfalteringly have striven—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_5"> In honor, as in limb, unmarred.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_6">Let cheerful praise be rife,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_7"> And let them live their years at ease,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_8">Musing on brothers who victorious died—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_9"> Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem61_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem61_10">And yet mischance is honorable too—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_11"> Seeming defeat in conflict justified</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_12">Whose end to closing eyes is his from view.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_13">The will, that never can relent—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_14">The aim, survivor of the bafflement,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem61_15"> Make this memorial due.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem62">
<h3>An uninscribed Monument</h3>
<h4>on one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem62_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem62_1">Silence and Solitude may hint</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_2"> (Whose home is in yon piny wood)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_3">What I, though tableted, could never tell—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_4">The din which here befell,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_5"> And striving of the multitude.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_6">The iron cones and spheres of death</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_7"> Set round me in their rust,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_8"> These, too, if just,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_9">Shall speak with more than animated breath.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_10"> Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_11">Not narrowed down to personal cheer,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_12">Take in the import of the quiet here—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_13"> The after-quiet—the calm full fraught;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_14">Thou too wilt silent stand—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem62_15">Silent as I, and lonesome as the land.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem63">
<h3>On Sherman’s Men</h3>
<h4>who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem63_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem63_1">They said that Fame her clarion dropped</div>
<div class="line" id="poem63_2"> Because great deeds were done no more—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem63_3">That even Duty knew no shining ends,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem63_4">And Glory—’twas a fallen star!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem63_5"> But battle can heroes and bards restore.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem63_6"> Nay, look at Kenesaw:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem63_7">Perils the mailed ones never knew</div>
<div class="line" id="poem63_8">Are lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem63_9">And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem64">
<h3>On the Grave</h3>
<h4>of a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem64_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem64_1">Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem64_2"> Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he</div>
<div class="line" id="poem64_3">Whom here low violets veil from eyes.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem64_4"> But all these gifts transcended be:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem64_5">His happier fortune in this mound you see.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem65">
<h3>A Requiem</h3>
<h4>for Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem65_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem65_1">When, after storms that woodlands rue,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_2"> To valleys comes atoning dawn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_3">The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_4"> And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_5">Caroling fly in the languid blue;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_6">The while, from many a hid recess,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_7">Alert to partake the blessedness,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_8">The pouring mites their airy dance pursue.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_9"> So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_10">When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_11"> Every finny hider wakes—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_12"> From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_13"> Through the delightsome sea he sails,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_14">With shoals of shining tiny things</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_15">Frolic on every wave that flings</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_16"> Against the prow its showery spray;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_17">All creatures joying in the morn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_18">Save them forever from joyance torn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_19"> Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_20">Save them that by the fabled shore,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_21"> Down the pale stream are washed away,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_22">Far to the reef of bones are borne;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_23"> And never revisits them the light,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_24">Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_25"> Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight</div>
<div class="line" id="poem65_26">Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem66">
<h3>On a natural Monument</h3>
<h4>in a field of Georgia.<SPAN name="fnt21" href="#fn21"><sup>[21]</sup></SPAN></h4>
<div class="note" id="fn21">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt21">[21]</SPAN> Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at
Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each
beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the
prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at
the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at
Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four
large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like
getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the
interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem66_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem66_1">No trophy this—a Stone unhewn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_2"> And stands where here the field immures</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_3">The nameless brave whose palms are won.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_4">Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_5"> Pure fame of deeds, not doers;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_6">Nor deeds of men who bleeding die</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_7"> In cheer of hymns that round them float:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_8">In happy dreams such close the eye.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_9">But withering famine slowly wore,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_10"> And slowly fell disease did gloat.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_11">Even Nature’s self did aid deny;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_12">They choked in horror the pensive sigh.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_13"> Yea, off from home sad Memory bore</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_14">(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_15">Lest wreck of reason might befall.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_16"> As men in gales shun the lee shore,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_17">Though there the homestead be, and call,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_18">And thitherward winds and waters sway—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_19">As such lorn mariners, so fared they.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_20">But naught shall now their peace molest.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_21"> Their fame is this: they did endure—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_22">Endure, when fortitude was vain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_23">To kindle any approving strain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_24">Which they might hear. To these who rest,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem66_25"> This healing sleep alone was sure.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem67">
<h3>Commemorative of a Naval Victory.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem67_1">Sailors there are of gentlest breed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_2"> Yet strong, like every goodly thing;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_3">The discipline of arms refines,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_4"> And the wave gives tempering.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_5"> The damasked blade its beam can fling;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_6">It lends the last grave grace:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_7">The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_8"> In Titian’s picture for a king,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_9">Are of Hunter or warrior race.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem67_10">In social halls a favored guest</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_11"> In years that follow victory won,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_12">How sweet to feel your festal fame,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_13"> In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_14"> Repose is yours—your deed is known,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_15">It musks the amber wine;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_16">It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_17"> Rich as October sunsets brown,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_18">Which make the barren place to shine.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem67_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem67_19">But seldom the laurel wreath is seen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_20"> Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_21">There’s a light and a shadow on every man</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_22"> Who at last attains his lifted mark—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_23"> Nursing through night the ethereal spark.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_24">Elate he never can be;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_25">He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_26"> Sleep in oblivion.—The shark</div>
<div class="line" id="poem67_27">Glides white through the prosphorus sea.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem68">
<h3>Presentation to the Authorities,</h3>
<h4>by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the Surrender of Lee.</h4>
<div class="stanza" id="poem68_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem68_1">These flags of armies overthrown—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_2">Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_3">In end foredoomed which closes war;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_4">We here, the captors, lay before</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_5"> The altar which of right claims all—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_6">Our Country. And as freely we,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_7"> Revering ever her sacred call,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_8">Could lay our lives down—though life be</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_9">Thrice loved and precious to the sense</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_10">Of such as reap the recompense</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_11"> Of life imperiled for just cause—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_12">Imperiled, and yet preserved;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_13">While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_14">Whose wives were all as dear, lie low.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_15">But these flags given, glad we go</div>
<div class="line" id="poem68_16"> To waiting homes with vindicated laws.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem69">
<h3>The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem69_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem69_1">Over the hearth—my father’s seat—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem69_2"> Repose, to patriot-memory dear,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem69_3">Thou tried companion, whom at last I greet</div>
<div class="line" id="poem69_4"> By steepy banks of Hudson here.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem69_5">How oft I told thee of this scene—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem69_6">The Highlands blue—the river’s narrowing sheen.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem69_7">Little at Gettysburg we thought</div>
<div class="line" id="poem69_8">To find such haven; but God kept it green.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem69_9">Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem70">
<h3>The Scout toward Aldie.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem70_1">The cavalry-camp lies on the slope</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_2"> Of what was late a vernal hill,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_3">But now like a pavement bare—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_4">An outpost in the perilous wilds</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_5"> Which ever are lone and still;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_6"> But Mosby’s men are there—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_7"> Of Mosby best beware.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem70_8">Great trees the troopers felled, and leaned</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_9"> In antlered walls about their tents;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_10">Strict watch they kept; ’twas <i>Hark!</i> and <i>Mark!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_11">Unarmed none cared to stir abroad</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_12"> For berries beyond their forest-fence:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_13"> As glides in seas the shark,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_14"> Rides Mosby through green dark.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem70_15">All spake of him, but few had seen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_16"> Except the maimed ones or the low;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_17">Yet rumor made him every thing—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_18">A farmer—woodman—refugee—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_19"> The man who crossed the field but now;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_20"> A spell about his life did cling—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_21"> Who to the ground shall Mosby bring?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem70_22">The morning-bugles lonely play,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_23"> Lonely the evening-bugle calls—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_24">Unanswered voices in the wild;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_25">The settled hush of birds in nest</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_26"> Becharms, and all the wood enthralls:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_27"> Memory’s self is so beguiled</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_28"> That Mosby seems a satyr’s child.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem70_29">They lived as in the Eerie Land—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_30"> The fire-flies showed with fairy gleam;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_31">And yet from pine-tops one might ken</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_32">The Capitol dome—hazy—sublime—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_33"> A vision breaking on a dream:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_34"> So strange it was that Mosby’s men</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_35"> Should dare to prowl where the Dome was seen.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem70_36">A scout toward Aldie broke the spell.—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_37"> The Leader lies before his tent</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_38">Gazing at heaven’s all-cheering lamp</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_39">Through blandness of a morning rare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_40"> His thoughts on bitter-sweets are bent:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_41"> His sunny bride is in the camp—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_42"> But Mosby—graves are beds of damp!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem70_43">The trumpet calls; he goes within;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_44"> But none the prayer and sob may know:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_45">Her hero he, but bridegroom too.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_46">Ah, love in a tent is a queenly thing,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_47"> And fame, be sure, refines the vow;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_48"> But fame fond wives have lived to rue,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_49"> And Mosby’s men fell deeds can do.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem70_50"><i>Tan-tara! tan-tara! tan-tara!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_51"> Mounted and armed he sits a king;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_52">For pride she smiles if now she peep—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_53">Elate he rides at the head of his men;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_54"> He is young, and command is a boyish thing:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_55"> They file out into the forest deep—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_56"> Do Mosby and his rangers sleep?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem70_57">The sun is gold, and the world is green,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_58"> Opal the vapors of morning roll;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_59">The champing horses lightly prance—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_60">Full of caprice, and the riders too</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_61"> Curving in many a caricole.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_62"> But marshaled soon, by fours advance—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_63"> Mosby had checked that airy dance.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem70_64">By the hospital-tent the cripples stand—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_65"> Bandage, and crutch, and cane, and sling,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_66">And palely eye the brave array;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_67">The froth of the cup is gone for them</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_68"> (Caw! caw! the crows through the blueness wing);</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_69"> Yet these were late as bold, as gay;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_70"> But Mosby—a clip, and grass is hay.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s11">
<div class="line" id="poem70_71">How strong they feel on their horses free,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_72"> Tingles the tendoned thigh with life;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_73">Their cavalry-jackets make boys of all—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_74">With golden breasts like the oriole;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_75"> The chat, the jest, and laugh are rife.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_76"> But word is passed from the front—a call</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_77"> For order; the wood is Mosby’s hall.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s12">
<div class="line" id="poem70_78">To which behest one rider sly</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_79"> (Spurred, but unarmed) gave little heed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_80">Of dexterous fun not slow or spare,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_81">He teased his neighbors of touchy mood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_82"> Into plungings he pricked his steed:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_83"> A black-eyed man on a coal-black mare,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_84"> Alive as Mosby in mountain air.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s13">
<div class="line" id="poem70_85">His limbs were long, and large and round;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_86"> He whispered, winked—did all but shout:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_87">A healthy man for the sick to view;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_88">The taste in his mouth was sweet at morn;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_89"> Little of care he cared about.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_90"> And yet of pains and pangs he knew—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_91"> In others, maimed by Mosby’s crew.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s14">
<div class="line" id="poem70_92">The Hospital Steward—even he</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_93"> (Sacred in person as a priest),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_94">And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_95">Wore the caduceus, black and green.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_96"> No wonder he sat so light on his beast;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_97"> This cheery man in suit of price</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_98"> Not even Mosby dared to slice.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s15">
<div class="line" id="poem70_99">They pass the picket by the pine</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_100"> And hollow log—a lonesome place;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_101">His horse adroop, and pistol clean;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_102">’Tis cocked—kept leveled toward the wood;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_103"> Strained vigilance ages his childish face.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_104"> Since midnight has that stripling been</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_105"> Peering for Mosby through the green.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s16">
<div class="line" id="poem70_106">Splashing they cross the freshet-flood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_107"> And up the muddy bank they strain;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_108">A horse at the spectral white-ash shies—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_109">One of the span of the ambulance,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_110"> Black as a hearse. They give the rein:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_111"> Silent speed on a scout were wise,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_112"> Could cunning baffle Mosby’s spies.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s17">
<div class="line" id="poem70_113">Rumor had come that a band was lodged</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_114"> In green retreats of hills that peer</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_115">By Aldie (famed for the swordless charge<SPAN name="fnt22" href="#fn22"><sup>[22]</sup></SPAN>).</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_116">Much store they’d heaped of captured arms</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_117"> And, peradventure, pilfered cheer;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_118"> For Mosby’s lads oft hearts enlarge</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_119"> In revelry by some gorge’s marge.</div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn22">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt22">[22]</SPAN> In one of Kilpatrick’s earlier cavalry fights near Aldie, a Colonel
who, being under arrest, had been temporarily deprived of his sword,
nevertheless, unarmed, insisted upon charging at the head of his men,
which he did, and the onset proved victorious.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s18">
<div class="line" id="poem70_120">“Don’t let your sabres rattle and ring;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_121"> To his oat-bag let each man give heed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_122">There now, that fellow’s bag’s untied,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_123">Sowing the road with the precious grain.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_124"> Your carbines swing at hand—you need!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_125"> Look to yourselves, and your nags beside,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_126"> Men who after Mosby ride.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s19">
<div class="line" id="poem70_127">Picked lads and keen went sharp before—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_128"> A guard, though scarce against surprise;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_129">And rearmost rode an answering troop,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_130">But flankers none to right or left.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_131"> No bugle peals, no pennon flies:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_132"> Silent they sweep, and fail would swoop</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_133"> On Mosby with an Indian whoop.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s20">
<div class="line" id="poem70_134">On, right on through the forest land,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_135"> Nor man, nor maid, nor child was seen—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_136">Not even a dog. The air was still;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_137">The blackened hut they turned to see,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_138"> And spied charred benches on the green;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_139"> A squirrel sprang from the rotting mill</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_140"> Whence Mosby sallied late, brave blood to spill.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s21">
<div class="line" id="poem70_141">By worn-out fields they cantered on—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_142"> Drear fields amid the woodlands wide;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_143">By cross-roads of some olden time,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_144">In which grew groves; by gate-stones down—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_145"> Grassed ruins of secluded pride:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_146"> A strange lone land, long past the prime,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_147"> Fit land for Mosby or for crime.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s22">
<div class="line" id="poem70_148">The brook in the dell they pass. One peers</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_149"> Between the leaves: “Ay, there’s the place—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_150">There, on the oozy ledge—’twas there</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_151">We found the body (Blake’s you know);</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_152"> Such whirlings, gurglings round the face—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_153"> Shot drinking! Well, in war all’s fair—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_154"> So Mosby says. The bough—take care!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s23">
<div class="line" id="poem70_155">Hard by, a chapel. Flower-pot mould</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_156"> Danked and decayed the shaded roof;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_157">The porch was punk; the clapboards spanned</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_158">With ruffled lichens gray or green;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_159"> Red coral-moss was not aloof;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_160"> And mid dry leaves green dead-man’s-hand</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_161"> Groped toward that chapel in Mosby-land.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s24">
<div class="line" id="poem70_162">They leave the road and take the wood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_163"> And mark the trace of ridges there—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_164">A wood where once had slept the farm—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_165">A wood where once tobacco grew</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_166"> Drowsily in the hazy air,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_167"> And wrought in all kind things a calm—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_168"> Such influence, Mosby! bids disarm.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s25">
<div class="line" id="poem70_169">To ease even yet the place did woo—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_170"> To ease which pines unstirring share,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_171">For ease the weary horses sighed:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_172">Halting, and slackening girths, they feed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_173"> Their pipes they light, they loiter there;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_174"> Then up, and urging still the Guide,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_175"> On, and after Mosby ride.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s26">
<div class="line" id="poem70_176">This Guide in frowzy coat of brown,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_177"> And beard of ancient growth and mould,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_178">Bestrode a bony steed and strong,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_179">As suited well with bulk he bore—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_180"> A wheezy man with depth of hold</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_181"> Who jouncing went. A staff he swung—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_182"> A wight whom Mosby’s wasp had stung.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s27">
<div class="line" id="poem70_183">Burnt out and homeless—hunted long!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_184"> That wheeze he caught in autumn-wood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_185">Crouching (a fat man) for his life,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_186">And spied his lean son ’mong the crew</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_187"> That probed the covert. Ah! black blood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_188"> Was his ’gainst even child and wife—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_189"> Fast friends to Mosby. Such the strife.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s28">
<div class="line" id="poem70_190">A lad, unhorsed by sliding girths,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_191"> Strains hard to readjust his seat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_192">Ere the main body show the gap</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_193">’Twixt them and the read-guard; scrub-oaks near</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_194"> He sidelong eyes, while hands move fleet;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_195"> Then mounts and spurs. One drop his cap—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_196"> “Let Mosby fine!” nor heeds mishap.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s29">
<div class="line" id="poem70_197">A gable time-stained peeps through trees:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_198"> “You mind the fight in the haunted house?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_199">That’s it; we clenched them in the room—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_200">An ambuscade of ghosts, we thought,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_201"> But proved sly rebels on a bouse!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_202"> Luke lies in the yard.” The chimneys loom:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_203"> Some muse on Mosby—some on doom.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s30">
<div class="line" id="poem70_204">Less nimbly now through brakes they wind,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_205"> And ford wild creeks where men have drowned;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_206">They skirt the pool, a void the fen,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_207">And so till night, when down they lie,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_208"> They steeds still saddled, in wooded ground:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_209"> Rein in hand they slumber then,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_210"> Dreaming of Mosby’s cedarn den.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s31">
<div class="line" id="poem70_211">But Colonel and Major friendly sat</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_212"> Where boughs deformed low made a seat.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_213">The Young Man talked (all sworded and spurred)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_214">Of the partisan’s blade he longed to win,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_215"> And frays in which he meant to beat.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_216"> The grizzled Major smoked, and heard:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_217"> “But what’s that—Mosby?” “No, a bird.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s32">
<div class="line" id="poem70_218">A contrast here like sire and son,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_219"> Hope and Experience sage did meet;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_220">The Youth was brave, the Senior too;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_221">But through the Seven Days one had served,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_222"> And gasped with the rear-guard in retreat:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_223"> So he smoked and smoked, and the wreath he blew—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_224"> “Any <i>sure</i> news of Mosby’s crew?”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s33">
<div class="line" id="poem70_225">He smoked and smoked, eying the while</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_226"> A huge tree hydra-like in growth—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_227">Moon-tinged—with crook’d boughs rent or lopped—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_228">Itself a haggard forest. “Come”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_229"> The Colonel cried, “to talk you’re loath;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_230"> D’ye hear? I say he must be stopped,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_231"> This Mosby—caged, and hair close cropped.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s34">
<div class="line" id="poem70_232">“Of course; but what’s that dangling there”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_233"> “Where?” “From the tree—that gallows-bough;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_234">“A bit of frayed bark, is it not”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_235">“Ay—or a rope; did <i>we</i> hang last?—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_236"> Don’t like my neckerchief any how”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_237"> He loosened it: “O ay, we’ll stop</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_238"> This Mosby—but that vile jerk and drop!”<SPAN name="fnt23" href="#fn23"><sup>[23]</sup></SPAN></div>
</div>
<div class="note" id="fn23">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt23">[23]</SPAN> Certain of Mosby’s followers, on the charge of being unlicensed
foragers or fighters, being hung by order of a Union cavalry commander,
the Partisan promptly retaliated in the woods. In turn, this also was
retaliated, it is said. To what extent such deplorable proceedings were
carried, it is not easy to learn.</p>
<p>South of the Potamac in Virginia, and within a gallop of the Long Bridge
at Washington, is the confine of a country, in some places wild, which
throughout the war it was unsafe for a Union man to traverse except with
an armed escort. This was the chase of Mosby, the scene of many of his
exploits or those of his men. In the heart of this region at least one
fortified camp was maintained by our cavalry, and from time to time
expeditions ended disastrously. Such results were helped by the
exceeding cunning of the enemy, born of his wood-craft, and, in some
instances, by undue confidence on the part of our men. A body of
cavalry, starting from camp with the view of breaking up a nest of
rangers, and absent say three days, would return with a number of their
own forces killed and wounded (ambushed), without being able to
retaliate farther than by foraging on the country, destroying a house or
two reported to be haunts of the guerrillas, or capturing non-combatants
accused of being secretly active in their behalf.</p>
<p>In the verse the name of Mosby is invested with some of those
associations with which the popular mind is familiar. But facts do not
warrant the belief that every clandestine attack of men who passed for
Mosby’s was made under his eye or even by his knowledge.</p>
<p>In partisan warfare he proved himself shrewd, able, and enterprising,
and always a wary fighter. He stood well in the confidence of his
superior officers, and was empoyed by them at times in furtherance of
important movements. To our wounded on more than one occasion he showed
considerate kindness. Officers and civilians captured by forces under
his immediate command were, so long as remaining under his orders,
treated with civility. These things are well known to those personally
familiar with the irregular fighting in Virginia.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s35">
<div class="line" id="poem70_239">By peep of light they feed and ride,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_240"> Gaining a grove’s green edge at morn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_241">And mark the Aldie hills upread</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_242">And five gigantic horsemen carved</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_243"> Clear-cut against the sky withdrawn;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_244"> Are more behind? an open snare?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_245"> Or Mosby’s men but watchmen there?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s36">
<div class="line" id="poem70_246">The ravaged land was miles behind,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_247"> And Loudon spread her landscape rare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_248">Orchards in pleasant lowlands stood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_249">Cows were feeding, a cock loud crew,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_250"> But not a friend at need was there;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_251"> The valley-folk were only good</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_252"> To Mosby and his wandering brood.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s37">
<div class="line" id="poem70_253">What best to do? what mean yon men?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_254"> Colonel and Guide their minds compare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_255">Be sure some looked their Leader through;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_256">Dismsounted, on his sword he leaned</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_257"> As one who feigns an easy air;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_258"> And yet perplexed he was they knew—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_259"> Perplexed by Mosby’s mountain-crew.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s38">
<div class="line" id="poem70_260">The Major hemmed as he would speak,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_261"> But checked himself, and left the ring</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_262">Of cavalrymen about their Chief—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_263">Young courtiers mute who paid their court</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_264"> By looking with confidence on their king;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_265"> They knew him brave, foresaw no grief—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_266"> But Mosby—the time to think is brief.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s39">
<div class="line" id="poem70_267">The Surgeon (sashed in sacred green)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_268"> Was glad ’twas not for <i>him</i> to say</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_269">What next should be; if a trooper bleeds,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_270">Why he will do his best, as wont,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_271"> And his partner in black will aid and pray;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_272"> But judgment bides with him who leads,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_273"> And Mosby many a problem breeds.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s40">
<div class="line" id="poem70_274">The Surgeon was the kindliest man</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_275"> That ever a callous trace professed;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_276">He felt for him, that Leader young,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_277">And offered medicine from his flask:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_278"> The Colonel took it with marvelous zest.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_279"> For such fine medicine good and strong,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_280"> Oft Mosby and his foresters long.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s41">
<div class="line" id="poem70_281">A charm of proof. “Ho, Major, come—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_282"> Pounce on yon men! Take half your troop,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_283">Through the thickets wind—pray speedy be—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_284">And gain their read. And, Captain Morn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_285"> Picket these roads—all travelers stop;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_286"> The rest to the edge of this crest with me,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_287"> That Mosby and his scouts may see.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s42">
<div class="line" id="poem70_288">Commanded and done. Ere the sun stood steep,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_289"> Back came the Blues, with a troop of Grays,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_290">Ten riding double—luckless ten!—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_291">Five horses gone, and looped hats lost,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_292"> And love-locks dancing in a maze—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_293"> Certes, but sophomores from the glen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_294"> Of Mosby—not his veteran men.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s43">
<div class="line" id="poem70_295">“Colonel,” said the Major, touching his cap,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_296"> “We’ve had our ride, and here they are”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_297">“Well done! how many found you there”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_298">“As many as I bring you here”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_299"> “And no one hurt?” “There’ll be no scar—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_300"> One fool was battered.” “Find their lair”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_301"> “Why, Mosby’s brood camp every where.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s44">
<div class="line" id="poem70_302">He sighed, and slid down from his horse,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_303"> And limping went to a spring-head nigh.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_304">“Why, bless me, Major, not hurt, I hope”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_305">“Battered my knee against a bar</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_306"> When the rush was made; all right by-and-by.—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_307"> Halloa! they gave you too much rope—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_308"> Go back to Mosby, eh? elope?”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s45">
<div class="line" id="poem70_309">Just by the low-hanging skirt of wood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_310"> The guard, remiss, had given a chance</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_311">For a sudden sally into the cover—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_312">But foiled the intent, nor fired a shot,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_313"> Though the issue was a deadly trance;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_314"> For, hurled ’gainst an oak that humped low over,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_315"> Mosby’s man fell, pale as a lover.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s46">
<div class="line" id="poem70_316">They pulled some grass his head to ease</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_317"> (Lined with blue shreds a ground-nest stirred).</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_318">The Surgeon came—“Here’s a to-do”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_319">“Ah!” cried the Major, darting a glance,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_320"> “This fellow’s the one that fired and spurred</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_321"> Down hill, but met reserves below—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_322"> My boys, not Mosby’s—so we go!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s47">
<div class="line" id="poem70_323">The Surgeon—bluff, red, goodly man—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_324"> Kneeled by the hurt one; like a bee</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_325">He toiled. The pale young Chaplain too—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_326">(Who went to the wars for cure of souls,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_327"> And his own student-ailments)—he</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_328"> Bent over likewise; spite the two,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_329"> Mosby’s poor man more pallid grew.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s48">
<div class="line" id="poem70_330">Meanwhile the mounted captives near</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_331"> Jested; and yet they anxious showed;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_332">Virginians; some of family-pride,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_333">And young, and full of fire, and fine</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_334"> In open feature and cheek that glowed;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_335"> And here thralled vagabonds now they ride—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_336"> But list! one speaks for Mosby’s side.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s49">
<div class="line" id="poem70_337">“Why, three to one—your horses strong—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_338"> Revolvers, rifles, and a surprise—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_339">Surrender we account no shame!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_340">We live, are gay, and life is hope;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_341"> We’ll fight again when fight is wise.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_342"> There are plenty more from where we came;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_343"> But go find Mosby—start the game!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s50">
<div class="line" id="poem70_344">Yet one there was who looked but glum;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_345"> In middle-age, a father he,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_346">And this his first experience too:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_347">“They shot at my heart when my hands were up—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_348"> This fighting’s crazy work, I see”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_349"> But noon is high; what next do?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_350"> The woods are mute, and Mosby is the foe.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s51">
<div class="line" id="poem70_351">“Save what we’ve got,” the Major said;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_352"> “Bad plan to make a scout too long;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_353">The tide may turn, and drag them back,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_354">And more beside. These rides I’ve been,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_355"> And every time a mine was sprung.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_356"> To rescue, mind, they won’t be slack—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_357"> Look out for Mosby’s rifle-crack.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s52">
<div class="line" id="poem70_358">“We’ll welcome it! give crack for crack!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_359"> Peril, old lad, is what I seek”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_360">“O then, there’s plenty to be had—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_361">By all means on, and have our fill”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_362"> With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_363"> Showing a scar by buck-shot made—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_364"> Kind Mosby’s Christmas gift, he said.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s53">
<div class="line" id="poem70_365">“But, Colonel, my prisoners—let a guard</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_366"> Make sure of them, and lead to camp.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_367">That done, we’re free for a dark-room fight</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_368">If so you say.” The other laughed;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_369"> “Trust me, Major, nor throw a damp.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_370"> But first to try a little sleight—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_371"> Sure news of Mosby would suit me quite.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s54">
<div class="line" id="poem70_372">Herewith he turned—“Reb, have a dram”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_373"> Holding the Surgeon’s flask with a smile</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_374">To a young scapegrace from the glen.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_375">“O yes!” he eagerly replied,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_376"> “And thank you, Colonel, but—any guile?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_377"> For if you think we’ll blab—why, then</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_378"> You don’t know Mosby or his men.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s55">
<div class="line" id="poem70_379">The Leader’s genial air relaxed.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_380"> “Best give it up,” a whisperer said.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_381">“By heaven, I’ll range their rebel den”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_382">“They’ll treat you well,” the captive cried;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_383"> “They’re all like us—handsome—well bred:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_384"> In wood or town, with sword or pen,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_385"> Polite is Mosby, bland his men.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s56">
<div class="line" id="poem70_386">“Where were you, lads, last night?—come, tell”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_387"> “We?—at a wedding in the Vale—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_388">The bridegroom our comrade; by his side</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_389">Belisent, my cousin—O, so proud</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_390"> Of her young love with old wounds pale—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_391"> A Virginian girl! God bless her pride—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_392"> Of a crippled Mosby-man the bride!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s57">
<div class="line" id="poem70_393">“Four wall shall mend that saucy mood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_394"> And moping prisons tame him down”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_395">Said Captain Cloud. “God help that day”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_396">Cried Captain Morn, “and he so young.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_397"> But hark, he sings—a madcap one”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_398"><i> “O we multiply merrily in the May,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_399"><i> The birds and Mosby’s men, they say!</i>“</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s58">
<div class="line" id="poem70_400">While echoes ran, a wagon old,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_401"> Under stout guard of Corporal Chew</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_402">Came up; a lame horse, dingy white,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_403">With clouted harness; ropes in hand,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_404"> Cringed the humped driver, black in hue;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_405"> By him (for Mosby’s band a sight)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_406"> A sister-rebel sat, her veil held tight.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s59">
<div class="line" id="poem70_407">“I picked them up,” the Corporal said,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_408"> “Crunching their way over stick and root,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_409">Through yonder wood. The man here—Cuff—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_410">Says they are going to Leesburg town”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_411"> The Colonel’s eye took in the group;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_412"> The veiled one’s hand he spied—enough!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_413"> Not Mosby’s. Spite the gown’s poor stuff,</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s60">
<div class="line" id="poem70_414">Off went his hat: “Lady, fear not;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_415"> We soldiers do what we deplore—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_416">I must detain you till we march”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_417">The stranger nodded. Nettled now,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_418"> He grew politer than before:—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_419"> “’Tis Mosby’s fault, this halt and search”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_420"> The lady stiffened in her starch.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s61">
<div class="line" id="poem70_421">“My duty, madam, bids me now</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_422"> Ask what may seem a little rude.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_423">Pardon—that veil—withdraw it, please</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_424">(Corporal! make every man fall back);</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_425"> Pray, now I do but what I should;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_426"> Bethink you, ’tis in masks like these</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_427"> That Mosby haunts the villages.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s62">
<div class="line" id="poem70_428">Slowly the stranger drew her veil,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_429"> And looked the Soldier in the eye—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_430">A glance of mingled foul and fair;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_431">Sad patience in a proud disdain,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_432"> And more than quietude. A sigh</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_433"> She heaved, and if all unaware,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_434"> And far seemed Mosby from her care.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s63">
<div class="line" id="poem70_435">She came from Yewton Place, her home,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_436"> So ravaged by the war’s wild play—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_437">Campings, and foragings, and fires—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_438">That now she sought an aunt’s abode.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_439"> Her Kinsmen? In Lee’s army, they.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_440"> The black? A servant, late her sire’s.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_441"> And Mosby? Vainly he inquires.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s64">
<div class="line" id="poem70_442">He gazed, and sad she met his eye;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_443"> “In the wood yonder were you lost”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_444">No; at the forks they left the road</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_445">Because of hoof-prints (thick they were—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_446"> Thick as the words in notes thrice crossed),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_447"> And fearful, made that episode.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_448"> In fear of Mosby? None she showed.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s65">
<div class="line" id="poem70_449">Her poor attire again he scanned:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_450"> “Lady, once more; I grieve to jar</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_451">On all sweet usage, but must plead</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_452">To have what peeps there from your dress;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_453"> That letter—’tis justly prize of war”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_454"> She started—gave it—she must need.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_455"> “’Tis not from Mosby? May I read?”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s66">
<div class="line" id="poem70_456">And straight such matter he perused</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_457"> That with the Guide he went apart.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_458">The Hospital Steward’s turn began:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_459">“Must squeeze this darkey; every tap</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_460"> Of knowledge we are bound to start”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_461"> “Garry,” she said, “tell all you can</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_462"> Of Colonel Mosby—that brave man.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s67">
<div class="line" id="poem70_463">“Dun know much, sare; and missis here</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_464"> Know less dan me. But dis I know—”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_465">“Well, what?” “I dun know what I know”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_466">“A knowing answer!” The hump-back coughed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_467"> Rubbing his yellowish wool like tow.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_468"> “Come—Mosby—tell!” “O dun look so!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_469"> My gal nursed missis—let we go.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s68">
<div class="line" id="poem70_470">“Go where?” demanded Captain Cloud;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_471"> “Back into bondage? Man, you’re free”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_472">“Well, <i>let</i> we free!” The Captain’s brow</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_473">Lowered; the Colonel came—had heard:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_474"> “Pooh! pooh! his simple heart I see—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_475"> A faithful servant.—Lady” (a bow),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_476"> “Mosby’s abroad—with us you’ll go.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s69">
<div class="line" id="poem70_477">“Guard! look to your prisoners; back to camp!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_478"> The man in the grass—can he mount and away?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_479">Why, how he groans!” “Bad inward bruise—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_480">Might lug him along in the ambulance”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_481"> “Coals to Newcastle! let him stay.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_482"> Boots and saddles!—our pains we lose,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_483"> Nor care I if Mosby hear the news!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s70">
<div class="line" id="poem70_484">But word was sent to a house at hand,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_485"> And a flask was left by the hurt one’s side.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_486">They seized in that same house a man,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_487">Neutral by day, by night a foe—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_488"> So charged his neighbor late, the Guide.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_489"> A grudge? Hate will do what it can;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_490"> Along he went for a Mosby-man.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s71">
<div class="line" id="poem70_491">No secrets now; the bugle calls;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_492"> The open road they take, nor shun</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_493">The hill; retrace the weary way.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_494">But one there was who whispered low,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_495"> “This is a feint—we’ll back anon;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_496"> Young Hair-Brains don’t retreat, they say;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_497"> A brush with Mosby is the play!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s72">
<div class="line" id="poem70_498">They rode till eve. Then on a farm</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_499"> That lay along a hill-side green,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_500">Bivouacked. Fires were made, and then</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_501">Coffee was boiled; a cow was coaxed</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_502"> And killed, and savory roasts were seen;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_503"> And under the lee of a cattle-pen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_504"> The guard supped freely with Mosby’s men.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s73">
<div class="line" id="poem70_505">The ball was bandied to and fro;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_506"> Hits were given and hits were met;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_507">“Chickamauga, Feds—take off your hat”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_508">“But the Fight in the Clouds repaid you, Rebs”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_509"> “Forgotten about Manassas yet”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_510"> Chatting and chaffing, and tit for tat,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_511"> Mosby’s clan with the troopers sat.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s74">
<div class="line" id="poem70_512">“Here comes the moon!” a captive cried;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_513"> “A song! what say? Archy, my lad”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_514">Hailing are still one of the clan</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_515">(A boyish face with girlish hair),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_516"> “Give us that thing poor Pansy made</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_517"> Last Year.” He brightened, and began;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_518"> And this was the song of Mosby’s man:</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s75">
<div class="line" id="poem70_519"><i> Spring is come; she shows her pass—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_520"><i> Wild violets cool!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_521"><i> South of woods a small close grass—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_522"><i> A vernal wool!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_523"><i> Leaves are a’bud on the sassafras—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_524"><i> They’ll soon be full;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_525"><i> Blessings on the friendly screen—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_526"><i> I’m for the South! says the leafage green.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s76">
<div class="line" id="poem70_527"><i> Robins! fly, and take your fill</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_528"><i> Of out-of-doors—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_529"><i> Garden, orchard, meadow, hill,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_530"><i> Barns and bowers;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_531"><i> Take your fill, and have your will—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_532"><i> Virginia’s yours!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_533"><i> But, bluebirds! keep away, and fear</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_534"><i> The ambuscade in bushes here.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s77">
<div class="line" id="poem70_535">“A green song that,” a seargeant said;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_536"> “But where’s poor Pansy? gone, I fear”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_537">“Ay, mustered out at Ashby’s Gap”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_538">“I see; now for a live man’s song;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_539"> Ditty for ditty—prepare to cheer.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_540"> My bluebirds, you can fling a cap!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_541"> You barehead Mosby-boys—why—clap!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s78">
<div class="line" id="poem70_542"><i> Nine Blue-coats went a-nutting</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_543"><i> Slyly in Tennessee—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_544"><i> Not for chestnuts—better than that—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_545"><i> Hugh, you bumble-bee!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_546"><i> Nutting, nutting—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_547"><i> All through the year there’s nutting!</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s79">
<div class="line" id="poem70_548"><i> A tree they spied so yellow,</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_549"><i> Rustling in motion queer;</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_550"><i> In they fired, and down they dropped—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_551"><i> Butternuts, my dear!</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_552"><i> Nutting, nutting—</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_553"><i> Who’ll ’list to go a-nutting?</i></div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s80">
<div class="line" id="poem70_554">Ah! why should good fellows foemen be?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_555"> And who would dream that foes they were—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_556">Larking and singing so friendly then—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_557">A family likeness in every face.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_558"> But Captain Cloud made sour demur:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_559"> “Guard! keep your prisoners <i>in</i> the pen,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_560"> And let none talk with Mosby’s men.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s81">
<div class="line" id="poem70_561">That captain was a valorous one</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_562"> (No irony, but honest truth),</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_563">Yet down from his brain cold drops distilled,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_564">Making stalactites in his heart—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_565"> A conscientious soul, forsooth;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_566"> And with a formal hate was filled</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_567"> Of Mosby’s band; and some he’d killed.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s82">
<div class="line" id="poem70_568">Meantime the lady rueful sat,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_569"> Watching the flicker of a fire</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_570">Were the Colonel played the outdoor host</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_571">In brave old hall of ancient Night.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_572"> But ever the dame grew shyer and shyer,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_573"> Seeming with private grief engrossed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_574"> Grief far from Mosby, housed or lost.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s83">
<div class="line" id="poem70_575">The ruddy embers showed her pale.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_576"> The Soldier did his best devoir:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_577">“Some coffee?—no?—cracker?—one”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_578">Cared for her servant—sought to cheer:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_579"> “I know, I know—a cruel war!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_580"> But wait—even Mosby’ll eat his bun;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_581"> The Old Hearth—back to it anon!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s84">
<div class="line" id="poem70_582">But cordial words no balm could bring;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_583"> She sighed, and kept her inward chafe,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_584">And seemed to hate the voice of glee—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_585">Joyless and tearless. Soon he called</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_586"> An escort: “See this lady safe</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_587"> In yonder house.—Madam, you’re free.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_588"> And now for Mosby.—Guide! with me.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s85">
<div class="line" id="poem70_589">(“A night-ride, eh?”) “Tighten your girths!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_590"> But, buglers! not a note from you.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_591">Fling more rails on the fires—a blaze”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_592">(“Sergeant, a feint—I told you so—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_593"> Toward Aldie again. Bivouac, adieu!”)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_594"> After the cheery flames they gaze,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_595"> Then back for Mosby through the maze.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s86">
<div class="line" id="poem70_596">The moon looked through the trees, and tipped</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_597"> The scabbards with her elfin beam;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_598">The Leader backward cast his glance,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_599">Proud of the cavalcade that came—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_600"> A hundred horses, bay and cream:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_601"> “Major! look how the lads advance—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_602"> Mosby we’ll have in the ambulance!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s87">
<div class="line" id="poem70_603">“No doubt, no doubt:—was that a hare?—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_604"> First catch, then cook; and cook him brown”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_605">“Trust me to catch,” the other cried—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_606">“The lady’s letter!—a dance, man, dance</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_607"> This night is given in Leesburg town”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_608"> “He’ll be there too!” wheezed out the Guide;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_609"> “That Mosby loves a dance and ride!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s88">
<div class="line" id="poem70_610">“The lady, ah!—the lady’s letter—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_611"> A <i>lady</i>, then, is in the case”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_612">Muttered the Major. “Ay, her aunt</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_613">Writes her to come by Friday eve</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_614"> (To-night), for people of the place,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_615"> At Mosby’s last fight jubilant,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_616"> A party give, though table-cheer be scant.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s89">
<div class="line" id="poem70_617">The Major hemmed. “Then this night-ride</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_618"> We owe to her?—One lighted house</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_619">In a town else dark.—The moths, begar!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_620">Are not quite yet all dead!” “How? how”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_621"> “A mute, meek mournful little mouse!—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_622"> Mosby has wiles which subtle are—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_623"> But woman’s wiles in wiles of war!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s90">
<div class="line" id="poem70_624">“Tut, Major! by what craft or guile—”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_625"> “Can’t tell! but he’ll be found in wait.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_626">Softly we enter, say, the town—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_627">Good! pickets post, and all so sure—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_628"> When—crack! the rifles from every gate,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_629"> The Gray-backs fire—dashes up and down—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_630"> Each alley unto Mosby known!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s91">
<div class="line" id="poem70_631">“Now, Major, now—you take dark views</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_632"> Of a moonlight night.” “Well, well, we’ll see”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_633">And smoked as if each whiff were gain.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_634">The other mused; then sudden asked,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_635"> “What would you do in grand decree”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_636"> I’d beat, if I could, Lee’s armies—then</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_637"> Send constables after Mosby’s men.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s92">
<div class="line" id="poem70_638">“Ay! ay!—you’re odd.” The moon sailed up;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_639"> On through the shadowy land they went.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_640">“<i>Names must be made and printed be!</i>“</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_641">Hummed the blithe Colonel. “Doc, your flask!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_642"> Major, I drink to your good content.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_643"> My pipe is out—enough for me!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_644"> One’s buttons shine—does Mosby see?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s93">
<div class="line" id="poem70_645">“But what comes here?” A man from the front</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_646"> Reported a tree athwart the road.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_647">“Go round it, then; no time to bide;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_648">All right—go on! Were one to stay</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_649"> For each distrust of a nervous mood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_650"> Long miles we’d make in this our ride</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_651"> Through Mosby-land.—Oh! with the Guide!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s94">
<div class="line" id="poem70_652">Then sportful to the Surgeon turned:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_653"> “Green sashes hardly serve by night”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_654">“Nor bullets nor bottles,” the Major sighed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_655">“Against these moccasin-snakes—such foes</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_656"> As seldom come to solid fight:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_657"> They kill and vanish; through grass they glide;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_658"> Devil take Mosby!—” his horse here shied.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s95">
<div class="line" id="poem70_659">“Hold! look—the tree, like a dragged balloon;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_660"> A globe of leaves—some trickery here;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_661">My nag is right—best now be shy”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_662">A movement was made, a hubbub and snarl;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_663"> Little was plain—they blindly steer.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_664"> The Pleiads, as from ambush sly,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_665"> Peep out—Mosby’s men in the sky!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s96">
<div class="line" id="poem70_666">As restive they turn, how sore they feel,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_667"> And cross, and sleepy, and full of spleen,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_668">And curse the war. “Fools, North and South”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_669">Said one right out. “O for a bed!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_670"> O now to drop in this woodland green”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_671"> He drops as the syllables leave his mouth—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_672"> Mosby speaks from the undergrowth—</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s97">
<div class="line" id="poem70_673">Speaks in a volley! out jets the flame!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_674"> Men fall from their saddles like plums from trees;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_675">Horses take fright, reins tangle and bind;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_676">“Steady—Dismount—form—and into the wood”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_677"> They go, but find what scarce can please:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_678"> Their steeds have been tied in the field behind,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_679"> And Mosby’s men are off like the wind.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s98">
<div class="line" id="poem70_680">Sound the recall! vain to pursue—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_681"> The enemy scatters in wilds he knows,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_682">To reunite in his own good time;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_683">And, to follow, they need divide—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_684"> To come lone and lost on crouching foes:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_685"> Maple and hemlock, beech and lime,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_686"> Are Mosby’s confederates, share the crime.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s99">
<div class="line" id="poem70_687">“Major,” burst in a bugler small,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_688"> “The fellow we left in Loudon grass—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_689">Sir slyboots with the inward bruise,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_690">His voice I heard—the very same—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_691"> Some watchword in the ambush pass;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_692"> Ay, sir, we had him in his shoes—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_693"> We caught him—Mosby—but to lose!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s100">
<div class="line" id="poem70_694">“Go, go!—these saddle-dreamers! Well,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_695"> And here’s another.—Cool, sir, cool”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_696">“Major, I saw them mount and sweep,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_697">And one was humped, or I mistake,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_698"> And in the skurry dropped his wool”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_699"> “A wig! go fetch it:—the lads need sleep;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_700"> They’ll next see Mosby in a sheep!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s101">
<div class="line" id="poem70_701">“Come, come, fall back! reform yours ranks—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_702"> All’s jackstraws here! Where’s Captain Morn?—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_703">We’ve parted like boats in a raging tide!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_704">But stay-the Colonel—did he charge?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_705"> And comes he there? ’Tis streak of dawn;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_706"> Mosby is off, the woods are wide—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_707"> Hist! there’s a groan—this crazy ride!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s102">
<div class="line" id="poem70_708">As they searched for the fallen, the dawn grew chill;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_709"> They lay in the dew: “Ah! hurt much, Mink?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_710">And—yes—the Colonel!” Dead! but so calm</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_711">That death seemed nothing—even death,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_712"> The thing we deem every thing heart can think;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_713"> Amid wilding roses that shed their balm,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_714"> Careless of Mosby he lay—in a charm!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s103">
<div class="line" id="poem70_715">The Major took him by the Hand—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_716"> Into the friendly clasp it bled</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_717">(A ball through heart and hand he rued):</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_718">“Good-by” and gazed with humid glance;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_719"> Then in a hollow revery said</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_720"> “The weakness thing is lustihood;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_721"> But Mosby—” and he checked his mood.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s104">
<div class="line" id="poem70_722">“Where’s the advance?—cut off, by heaven!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_723"> Come, Surgeon, how with your wounded there”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_724">“The ambulance will carry all”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_725">“Well, get them in; we go to camp.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_726"> Seven prisoners gone? for the rest have care”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_727"> Then to himself, “This grief is gall;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_728"> That Mosby!—I’ll cast a silver ball!”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s105">
<div class="line" id="poem70_729">“Ho!” turning—“Captain Cloud, you mind</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_730"> The place where the escort went—so shady?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_731">Go search every closet low and high,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_732">And barn, and bin, and hidden bower—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_733"> Every covert—find that lady!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_734"> And yet I may misjudge her—ay,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_735"> Women (like Mosby) mystify.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s106">
<div class="line" id="poem70_736">“We’ll see. Ay, Captain, go—with speed!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_737"> Surround and search; each living thing</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_738">Secure; that done, await us where</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_739">We last turned off. Stay! fire the cage</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_740"> If the birds be flown.” By the cross-road spring</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_741"> The bands rejoined; no words; the glare</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_742"> Told all. Had Mosby plotted there?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s107">
<div class="line" id="poem70_743">The weary troop that wended now—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_744"> Hardly it seemed the same that pricked</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_745">Forth to the forest from the camp:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_746">Foot-sore horses, jaded men;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_747"> Every backbone felt as nicked,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_748"> Each eye dim as a sick-room lamp,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_749"> All faces stamped with Mosby’s stamp.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s108">
<div class="line" id="poem70_750">In order due the Major rode—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_751"> Chaplain and Surgeon on either hand;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_752">A riderless horse a negro led;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_753">In a wagon the blanketed sleeper went;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_754"> Then the ambulance with the bleeding band;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_755"> And, an emptied oat-bag on each head,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_756"> Went Mosby’s men, and marked the dead.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s109">
<div class="line" id="poem70_757">What gloomed them? what so cast them down,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_758"> And changed the cheer that late they took,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_759">As double-guarded now they rode</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_760">Between the files of moody men?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_761"> Some sudden consciousness they brook,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_762"> Or dread the sequel. That night’s blood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_763"> Disturbed even Mosby’s brotherhood.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s110">
<div class="line" id="poem70_764">The flagging horses stumbled at roots,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_765"> Floundered in mires, or clinked the stones;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_766">No rider spake except aside;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_767">But the wounded cramped in the ambulance,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_768"> It was horror to hear their groans—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_769"> Jerked along in the woodland ride,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_770"> While Mosby’s clan their revery hide.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s111">
<div class="line" id="poem70_771">The Hospital Steward—even he—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_772"> Who on the sleeper kept his glance,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_773">Was changed; late bright-black beard and eye</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_774">Looked now hearse-black; his heavy heart,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_775"> Like his fagged mare, no more could dance;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_776"> His grape was now a raisin dry:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_777"> ’Tis Mosby’s homily—<i>Man must die</i>.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s112">
<div class="line" id="poem70_778">The amber sunset flushed the camp</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_779"> As on the hill their eyes they fed;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_780">The pickets dumb looks at the wagon dart;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_781">A handkerchief waves from the bannered tent—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_782"> As white, alas! the face of the dead:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_783"> Who shall the withering news impart?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_784"> The bullet of Mosby goes through heart to heart!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s113">
<div class="line" id="poem70_785">They buried him where the lone ones lie</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_786"> (Lone sentries shot on midnight post)—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_787">A green-wood grave-yard hid from ken,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_788">Where sweet-fern flings an odor nigh—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_789"> Yet held in fear for the gleaming ghost!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_790"> Though the bride should see threescore and ten,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_791"> She will dream of Mosby and his men.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem70_s114">
<div class="line" id="poem70_792">Now halt the verse, and turn aside—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_793"> The cypress falls athwart the way;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_794">No joy remains for bard to sing;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_795">And heaviest dole of all is this,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_796"> That other hearts shall be as gay</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_797"> As hers that now no more shall spring:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem70_798"> To Mosby-land the dirges cling.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="part" id="lee">
<h2>Lee in the Capitol.</h2></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem71">
<h3>Lee in the Capitol.<SPAN name="fnt24" href="#fn24"><sup>[24]</sup></SPAN></h3>
<h5>(April, 1866.)</h5>
<div class="note" id="fn24">
<p><SPAN href="#fnt24">[24]</SPAN> Among those summoned during the spring just passed to appear before
the Reconstruction Committee of Congress was Robert E. Lee. His
testimony is deeply interesting, both in itself and as coming from him.
After various questions had been put and briefly answered, these words
were addressed to him:</p>
<p>“If there be any other matter about which you wish to speak on this
occasions, do so freely.” Waiving this invitation, he responded by a
short personal explanation of some point in a previous answer, and after
a few more brief questions and replies, the interview closed.</p>
<p>In the verse a poetical liberty has been ventured. Lee is not only
represented as responding to the invitation, but also as at last
renouncing his cold reserve, doubtless the cloak to feelings more or
less poignant. If for such freedom warrant be necessary the speeches in
ancient histories, not to speak of those in Shakespeare’s historic
plays, may not unfitly perhaps be cited.</p>
<p>The character of the original measures proposed about time in the
National Legislature for the treatment of the (as yet) Congressionally
excluded South, and the spirit in which those measures were
advocated—these are circumstances which it is fairly supposable would
have deeply influenced the thoughts, whether spoken or withheld, of a
Southerner placed in the position of Lee before the Reconstruction
Committee.</p>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem71_1">Hard pressed by numbers in his strait,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_2"> Rebellion’s soldier-chief no more contends—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_3">Feels that the hour is come of Fate,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_4"> Lays down one sword, and widened warfare ends.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_5">The captain who fierce armies led</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_6">Becomes a quiet seminary’s head—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_7">Poor as his privates, earns his bread.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_8">In studious cares and aims engrossed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_9"> Strives to forget Stuart and Stonewall dead—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_10">Comrades and cause, station and riches lost,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_11"> And all the ills that flock when fortune’s fled.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_12">No word he breathes of vain lament,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_13"> Mute to reproach, nor hears applause—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_14">His doom accepts, perforce content,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_15"> And acquiesces in asserted laws;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_16">Secluded now would pass his life,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_17">And leave to time the sequel of the strife.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_18"> But missives from the Senators ran;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_19">Not that they now would gaze upon a swordless foe,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_20">And power made powerless and brought low:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_21"> Reasons of state, ’tis claimed, require the man.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_22">Demurring not, promptly he comes</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_23">By ways which show the blackened homes,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_24"> And—last—the seat no more his own,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_25">But Honor’s; patriot grave-yards fill</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_26">The forfeit slopes of that patrician hill,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_27"> And fling a shroud on Arlington.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_28">The oaks ancestral all are low;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_29">No more from the porch his glance shall go</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_30">Ranging the varied landscape o’er,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_31">Far as the looming Dome—no more.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_32">One look he gives, then turns aside,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_33">Solace he summons from his pride:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_34">“So be it! They await me now</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_35">Who wrought this stinging overthrow;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_36">They wait me; not as on the day</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_37">Of Pope’s impelled retreat in disarray—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_38">By me impelled—when toward yon Dome</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_39">The clouds of war came rolling home”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_40">The burst, the bitterness was spent,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_41">The heart-burst bitterly turbulent,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_42">And on he fared.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem71_43"> In nearness now</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_44"> He marks the Capitol—a show</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_45">Lifted in amplitude, and set</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_46">With standards flushed with a glow of Richmond yet;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_47"> Trees and green terraces sleep below.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_48">Through the clear air, in sunny light,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_49">The marble dazes—a temple white.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem71_50">Intrepid soldier! had his blade been drawn</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_51">For yon stirred flag, never as now</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_52">Bid to the Senate-house had he gone,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_53">But freely, and in pageant borne,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_54">As when brave numbers without number, massed,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_55">Plumed the broad way, and pouring passed—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_56">Bannered, beflowered—between the shores</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_57">Of faces, and the dinn’d huzzas,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_58">And balconies kindling at the sabre-flash,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_59">’Mid roar of drums and guns, and cymbal-crash,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_60">While Grant and Sherman shone in blue—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_61">Close of the war and victory’s long review.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem71_62">Yet pride at hand still aidful swelled,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_63">And up the hard ascent he held.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_64">The meeting follows. In his mien</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_65">The victor and the vanquished both are seen—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_66">All that he is, and what he late had been.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_67">Awhile, with curious eyes they scan</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_68">The Chief who led invasion’s van—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_69">Allied by family to one,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_70">Founder of the Arch the Invader warred upon:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_71">Who looks at Lee must think of Washington;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_72">In pain must think, and hide the thought,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_73">So deep with grievous meaning it is fraught.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem71_74">Secession in her soldier shows</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_75">Silent and patient; and they feel</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_76"> (Developed even in just success)</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_77">Dim inklings of a hazy future steal;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_78"> Their thoughts their questions well express:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_79">“Does the sad South still cherish hate?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_80">Freely will Southen men with Northern mate?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_81">The blacks—should we our arm withdraw,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_82">Would that betray them? some distrust your law.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_83">And how if foreign fleets should come—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_84">Would the South then drive her wedges home”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_85">And more hereof. The Virginian sees—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_86">Replies to such anxieties.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_87">Discreet his answers run—appear</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_88">Briefly straightforward, coldly clear.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem71_89">“If now,” the Senators, closing, say,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_90">“Aught else remain, speak out, we pray”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_91">Hereat he paused; his better heart</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_92">Strove strongly then; prompted a worthier part</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_93">Than coldly to endure his doom.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_94">Speak out? Ay, speak, and for the brave,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_95">Who else no voice or proxy have;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_96">Frankly their spokesman here become,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_97">And the flushed North from her own victory save.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_98">That inspiration overrode—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_99">Hardly it quelled the galling load</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_100">Of personal ill. The inner feud</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_101">He, self-contained, a while withstood;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_102">They waiting. In his troubled eye</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_103">Shadows from clouds unseen they spy;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_104">They could not mark within his breast</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_105">The pang which pleading thought oppressed:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_106">He spoke, nor felt the bitterness die.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem71_107">“My word is given—it ties my sword;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_108">Even were banners still abroad,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_109">Never could I strive in arms again</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_110">While you, as fit, that pledge retain.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_111">Our cause I followed, stood in field and gate—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_112">All’s over now, and now I follow Fate.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_113">But this is naught. A People call—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_114">A desolted land, and all</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_115">The brood of ills that press so sore,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_116">The natural offspring of this civil war,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_117">Which ending not in fame, such as might rear</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_118">Fitly its sculptured trophy here,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_119">Yields harvest large of doubt and dread</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_120">To all who have the heart and head</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_121">To feel and know. How shall I speak?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_122">Thoughts knot with thoughts, and utterance check.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_123">Before my eyes there swims a haze,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_124">Through mists departed comrades gaze—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_125">First to encourage, last that shall upbraid!</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_126">How shall I speak? The South would fain</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_127">Feel peace, have quiet law again—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_128">Replant the trees for homestead-shade.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_129"> You ask if she recants: she yields.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_130">Nay, and would more; would blend anew,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_131">As the bones of the slain in her forests do,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_132">Bewailed alike by us and you.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_133"> A voice comes out from these charnel-fields,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_134">A plaintive yet unheeded one:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_135"><i>‘Died all in vain? both sides undone’</i></div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_136">Push not your triumph; do not urge</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_137">Submissiveness beyond the verge.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_138">Intestine rancor would you bide,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_139">Nursing eleven sliding daggers in your side?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem71_140">Far from my thought to school or threat;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_141">I speak the things which hard beset.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_142">Where various hazards meet the eyes,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_143">To elect in magnanimity is wise.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_144">Reap victory’s fruit while sound the core;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_145">What sounder fruit than re-established law?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_146">I know your partial thoughts do press</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_147">Solely on us for war’s unhappy stress;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_148">But weigh—consider—look at all,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_149">And broad anathema you’ll recall.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_150">The censor’s charge I’ll not repeat,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_151">The meddlers kindled the war’s white heat—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_152">Vain intermeddlers and malign,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_153">Both of the palm and of the pine;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_154">I waive the thought—which never can be rife—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_155">Common’s the crime in every civil strife:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_156">But this I feel, that North and South were driven</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_157">By Fate to arms. For our unshriven,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_158">What thousands, truest souls, were tried—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_159"> As never may any be again—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_160">All those who stemmed Secession’s pride,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_161">But at last were swept by the urgent tide</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_162"> Into the chasm. I know their pain.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_163">A story here may be applied:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_164">‘In Moorish lands there lived a maid</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_165"> Brought to confess by vow the creed</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_166"> Of Christians. Fain would priests persuade</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_167">That now she must approve by deed</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_168"> The faith she kept. “What dead?” she asked.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_169">“Your old sire leave, nor deem it sin,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_170"> And come with us.” Still more they tasked</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_171">The sad one: “If heaven you’d win—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_172"> Far from the burning pit withdraw,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_173">Then must you learn to hate your kin,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_174"> Yea, side against them—such the law,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_175">For Moor and Christian are at war”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_176">“Then will I never quit my sire,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_177">But here with him through every trial go,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_178">Nor leave him though in flames below—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_179">God help me in his fire!”</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_180">So in the South; vain every plea</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_181">’Gainst Nature’s strong fidelity;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_182"> True to the home and to the heart,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_183">Throngs cast their lot with kith and kin,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_184"> Foreboding, cleaved to the natural part—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_185">Was this the unforgivable sin?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_186">These noble spirits are yet yours to win.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_187">Shall the great North go Sylla’s way?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_188">Proscribe? prolong the evil day?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_189">Confirm the curse? infix the hate?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_190">In Unions name forever alienate?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem71_191">“From reason who can urge the plea—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_192">Freemen conquerors of the free?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_193">When blood returns to the shrunken vein,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_194">Shall the wound of the Nation bleed again?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_195">Well may the wars wan thought supply,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_196">And kill the kindling of the hopeful eye,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_197">Unless you do what even kings have done</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_198">In leniency—unless you shun</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_199">To copy Europe in her worst estate—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_200">Avoid the tyranny you reprobate.”</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem71_201">He ceased. His earnestness unforeseen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_202">Moved, but not swayed their former mien;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_203"> And they dismissed him. Forth he went</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_204">Through vaulted walks in lengthened line</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_205">Like porches erst upon the Palatine:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_206"> Historic reveries their lesson lent,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_207"> The Past her shadow through the Future sent.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem71_s11">
<div class="line" id="poem71_208">But no. Brave though the Soldier, grave his plea—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_209"> Catching the light in the future’s skies,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_210">Instinct disowns each darkening prophecy:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_211"> Faith in America never dies;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_212">Heaven shall the end ordained fulfill,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem71_213">We march with Providence cheery still.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="part" id="meditation">
<h2>A Meditation:</h2>
<h3>Attributed to a northerner after attending the last of two funerals from the same homestead—those of a national and a confederate officer (brothers), his kinsmen, who had died from the effects of wounds received in the closing battles.</h3></div>
<div class="poem" id="poem72">
<h3>A Meditation.</h3>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s1">
<div class="line" id="poem72_1">How often in the years that close,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_2"> When truce had stilled the sieging gun,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_3">The soldiers, mounting on their works,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_4"> With mutual curious glance have run</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_5">From face to face along the fronting show,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_6">And kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s2">
<div class="line" id="poem72_7">What thoughts conflicting then were shared.</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_8"> While sacred tenderness perforce</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_9">Welled from the heart and wet the eye;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_10"> And something of a strange remorse</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_11">Rebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_12">And Christian wars of natural brotherhood.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s3">
<div class="line" id="poem72_13">Then stirred the god within the breast—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_14"> The witness that is man’s at birth;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_15">A deep misgiving undermined</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_16"> Each plea and subterfuge of earth;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_17">The felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_18">Horror and anguish for the civil strife.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s4">
<div class="line" id="poem72_19">Of North or South they recked not then,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_20"> Warm passion cursed the cause of war:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_21">Can Africa pay back this blood</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_22"> Spilt on Potomac’s shore?</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_23">Yet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_24">And hands that fain had clasped again could slay.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s5">
<div class="line" id="poem72_25">How frequent in the camp was seen</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_26"> The herald from the hostile one,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_27">A guest and frank companion there</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_28"> When the proud formal talk was done;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_29">The pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_30">And fields in Mexico again fought o’er.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s6">
<div class="line" id="poem72_31">In Western battle long they lay</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_32"> So near opposed in trench or pit,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_33">That foeman unto foeman called</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_34"> As men who screened in tavern sit:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_35">“You bravely fight” each to the other said—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_36">“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s7">
<div class="line" id="poem72_37">And pale on those same slopes, a boy—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_38"> A stormer, bled in noon-day glare;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_39">No aid the Blue-coats then could bring,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_40"> He cried to them who nearest were,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_41">And out there came ’mid howling shot and shell</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_42">A daring foe who him befriended well.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s8">
<div class="line" id="poem72_43">Mark the great Captains on both sides,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_44"> The soldiers with the broad renown—</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_45">They all were messmates on the Hudson’s marge,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_46"> Beneath one roof they laid them down;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_47">And free from hate in many an after pass,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_48">Strove as in school-boy rivalry of the class.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s9">
<div class="line" id="poem72_49">A darker side there is; but doubt</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_50"> In Nature’s charity hovers there:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_51">If men for new agreement yearn,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_52"> Then old upbraiding best forbear:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_53">“<i>The South’s the sinner!</i>“ Well, so let it be;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_54">But shall the North sin worse, and stand the Pharisee?</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza" id="poem72_s10">
<div class="line" id="poem72_55">O, now that brave men yield the sword,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_56"> Mine be the manful soldier-view;</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_57">By how much more they boldly warred,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_58"> By so much more is mercy due:</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_59">When Vickburg fell, and the moody files marched out,</div>
<div class="line" id="poem72_60">Silent the victors stood, scorning to raise a shout.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="section" id="supplement">
<h3>Supplement.</h3>
<p>Were I fastidiously anxious for the symmetry of this book, it would
close with the notes. But the times are such that patriotism—not free
from solicitude—urges a claim overriding all literary scruples.</p>
<p>It is more than a year since the memorable surrender, but events have
not yet rounded themselves into completion. Not justly can we complain
of this. There has been an upheavel affecting the basis of things; to
altered circumstances complicated adaptations are to be made; there are
difficulties great and novel. But is Reason still waiting for Passion to
spend itself? We have sung of the soldiers and sailors, but who shall
hymn the politicians?</p>
<p>In view of the infinite desirableness of Re-establishment, and
considering that, so far as feeling is concerned, it depends not mainly
on the temper in which the South regards the North, but rather
conversely; one who never was a blind adherent feels constrained to
submit some thoughts, counting on the indulgence of his countrymen.</p>
<p>And, first, it may be said that, if among the feelings and opinions
growing immediately out of a great civil convulsion, there are any which
time shall modify or do away, they are presumably those of a less
temperate and charitable cast.</p>
<p>There seems no reason why patriotism and narrowness should go together,
or why intellectual impartiality should be confounded with political
trimming, or why serviceable truth should keep cloistered by a cause not
partisan. Yet the work of Reconstruction, if admitted to be feasible at
all, demands little but common sense and Christian charity. Little but
these? These are much.</p>
<p>Some of us are concerned because as yet the South shows no penitence.
But what exactly do we mean by this? Since down to the close of the war
she never confessed any for braving it, the only penitence now left her
is that which springs solely from the sense of discomfiture; and since
this evidently would be a contrition hypocritical, it would be unworthy
in us to demand it. Certain it is that penitence, in the sense of
voluntary humiliation, will never be displayed. Nor does this afford
just ground for unreserved condemnation. It is enough, for all practical
purposes, if the South have been taught by the terrors of civil war to
feel that Secession, like Slavery, is against Destiny; that both now lie
buried in one grave; that her fate is linked with ours; and that
together we comprise the Nation.</p>
<p>The clouds of heroes who battled for the Union it is needless to
eulogize here. But how of the soldiers on the other side? And when of a
free community we name the soldiers, we thereby name the people. It was
in subserviency to the slave-interest that Secession was plotted; but it
was under the plea, plausibly urged, that certain inestimable rights
guaranteed by the Constitution were directly menaced, that the people of
the South were cajoled into revolution. Through the arts of the
conspirators and the perversity of fortune, the most sensitive love of
liberty was entrapped into the support of a war whose implied end was
the erecting in our advanced century of an Anglo-American empire based
upon the systematic degradation of man.</p>
<p>Spite this clinging reproach, however, signal military virtues and
achievements have conferred upon the Confederate arms historic fame, and
upon certain of the commanders a renown extending beyond the sea—a
renown which we of the North could not suppress even if we would. In
personal character, also, not a few of the military leaders of the South
enforce forbearance; the memory of others the North refrains from
disparaging; and some, with more or less of reluctance, she can respect.
Posterity, sympathizing with our convictions, but removed from our
passions, may perhaps go farther here. If George IV. could out of the
graceful instinct of a gentleman, raise an honorable monument in the
great fane of Christendom over the remains of the enemy of his dynasty,
Charles Edward, the invader of England and victor in the rout at Preston
Pans—Upon whose head the king’s ancestor but one reign removed has set
a price—is it probable that the grandchildren of General Grant will
pursue with rancor, or slur by sour neglect, the memory of Stonewall
Jackson?</p>
<p>But the South herself is not wanting in recent histories and biographies
which record the deeds of her chieftains—writings freely published at
the North by loyal houses, widely read here, and with a deep though
saddened interest. By students of the war such works are hailed as
welcome accessories, and tending to the completeness of the record.</p>
<p>Supposing a happy issue out of present perplexities, then, in the
generation next to come, Southerners there will be yielding allegiance
to the Union, feeling all their interests bound up in it, and yet
cherishing unrebuked that kind of feeling for the memory of the soldiers
of the fallen Confederacy that Burns, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd
felt for the memory of the gallant clansmen ruined through their
fidelity to the Stuarts—a feeling whose passion was tempered by the
poetry imbuing it, and which in no wise affected their loyalty to the
Georges, and which, it may be added, indirectly contributed excellent
things to literature. But, setting this view aside, dishonorable would
it be in the South were she willing to abandon to shame the memory of
brave men who with signal personal disinterestedness warred in her
behalf, though from motives, as we believe, so deplorably astray.</p>
<p>Patriotism is not baseness, neither is it inhumanity. The mourners who
this summer bear flowers to the mounds of the Virginian and Georgian
dead are, in their domestic bereavement and proud affection, as sacred
in the eye of Heaven as are those who go with similar offerings of
tender grief and love into the cemeteries of our Northern martyrs. And
yet, in one aspect, how needless to point the contrast.</p>
<p>Cherishing such sentiments, it will hardly occasion surprise that, in
looking over the battle-pieces in the foregoing collection, I have been
tempted to withdraw or modify some of them, fearful lest in presenting,
though but dramatically and by way of a poetic record, the passions and
epithets of civil war, I might be contributing to a bitterness which
every sensible American must wish at an end. So, too, with the emotion
of victory as reproduced on some pages, and particularly toward the
close. It should not be construed into an exultation misapplied—an
exultation as ungenerous as unwise, and made to minister, however
indirectly, to that kind of censoriousness too apt to be produced in
certain natures by success after trying reverses. Zeal is not of
necessity religion, neither is it always of the same essence with poetry
or patriotism.</p>
<p>There were excesses which marked the conflict, most of which are perhaps
inseparable from a civil strife so intense and prolonged, and involving
warfare in some border countries new and imperfectly civilized.
Barbarities also there were, for which the Southern people collectively
can hardly be held responsible, though perpetrated by ruffians in their
name. But surely other qualities—exalted ones—courage and fortitude
matchless, were likewise displayed, and largely; and justly may these be
held the characteristic traits, and not the former.</p>
<p>In this view, what Northern writer, however patriotic, but must revolt
from acting on paper a part any way akin to that of the live dog to the
dead lion; and yet it is right to rejoice for our triumph, so far as it
may justly imply an advance for our whole country and for humanity.</p>
<p>Let it be held no reproach to any one that he pleads for reasonable
consideration for our late enemies, now stricken down and unavoidably
debarred, for the time, from speaking through authorized agencies for
themselves. Nothing has been urged here in the foolish hope of
conciliating those men—few in number, we trust—who have resolved never
to be reconciled to the Union. On such hearts every thing is thrown away
except it be religious commiseration, and the sincerest. Yet let them
call to mind that unhappy Secessionist, not a military man, who with
impious alacrity fired the first shot of the Civil War at Sumter, and a
little more than four years afterward fired the last one into his own
heart at Richmond.</p>
<p>Noble was the gesture into which patriotic passion surprised the people
in a utilitarian time and country; yet the glory of the war falls short
of its pathos—a pathos which now at last ought to disarm all animosity.</p>
<p>How many and earnest thoughts still rise, and how hard to repress them.
We feel what past years have been, and years, unretarded years, shall
come. May we all have moderation; may we all show candor. Though,
perhaps, nothing could ultimately have averted the strife, and though to
treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes,
nevertheless, let us not cover up or try to extenuate what, humanly
speaking, is the truth—namely, that those unfraternal denunciations,
continued through years, and which at last inflamed to deeds that ended
in bloodshed, were reciprocal; and that, had the preponderating strength
and the prospect of its unlimited increase lain on the other side, on
ours might have lain those actions which now in our late opponents we
stigmatize under the name of Rebellion. As frankly let us own—what it
would be unbecoming to parade were foreigners concerned—that our
triumph was won not more by skill and bravery than by superior resources
and crushing numbers; that it was a triumph, too, over a people for
years politically misled by designing men, and also by some
honestly-erring men, who from their position could not have been
otherwise than broadly influential; a people who, though indeed, they
sought to perpetuate the curse of slavery, and even extend it, were not
the authors of it, but (less fortunate, not less righteous than we) were
the fated inheritors; a people who, having a like origin with ourselves,
share essentially in whatever worthy qualities we may possess. No one
can add to the lasting reproach which hopeless defeat has now cast upon
Secession by withholding the recognition of these verities.</p>
<p>Surely we ought to take it to heart that that kind of pacification,
based upon principles operating equally all over the land, which lovers
of their country yearn for, and which our arms, though signally
triumphant, did not bring about, and which law-making, however anxious,
or energetic, or repressive, never by itself can achieve, may yet be
largely aided by generosity of sentiment public and private. Some
revisionary legislation and adaptive is indispensable; but with this
should harmoniously work another kind of prudence not unallied with
entire magnanimity. Benevolence and policy—Christianity and
Machiavelli—dissuade from penal severities toward the subdued.
Abstinence here is as obligatory as considerate care for our unfortunate
fellow-men late in bonds, and, if observed, would equally prove to be
wise forecast. The great qualities of the South, those attested in the
War, we can perilously alienate, or we may make them nationally
available at need.</p>
<p>The blacks, in their infant pupilage to freedom, appeal to the
sympathies of every humane mind. The paternal guardianship which for the
interval government exercises over them was prompted equally by duty and
benevolence. Yet such kindliness should not be allowed to exclude
kindliness to communities who stand nearer to us in nature. For the
future of the freed slaves we may well be concerned; but the future of
the whole country, involving the future of the blacks, urges a paramount
claim upon our anxiety. Effective benignity, like the Nile, is not
narrow in its bounty, and true policy is always broad. To be sure, it is
vain to seek to glide, with moulded words, over the difficulties of the
situation. And for them who are neither partisans, nor enthusiasts, nor
theorists, nor cynics, there are some doubts not readily to be solved.
And there are fears. Why is not the cessation of war now at length
attended with the settled calm of peace? Wherefore in a clear sky do we
still turn our eyes toward the South, as the Neapolitan, months after
the eruption, turns his toward Vesuvius? Do we dread lest the repose may
be deceptive? In the recent convulsion has the crater but shifted? Let
us revere that sacred uncertainty which forever impends over men and
nations. Those of us who always abhorred slavery as an atheistical
iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of humanity over its
downfall. But we should remember that emancipation was accomplished not
by deliberate legislation; only through agonized violence could so
mighty a result be effected. In our natural solicitude to confirm the
benefit of liberty to the blacks, let us forbear from measures of
dubious constitutional rightfulness toward our white
countrymen—measures of a nature to provoke, among other of the last
evils, exterminating hatred of race toward race. In imagination let us
place ourselves in the unprecedented position of the Southerners—their
position as regards the millions of ignorant manumitted slaves in their
midst, for whom some of us now claim the suffrage. Let us be Christians
toward our fellow-whites, as well as philanthropists toward the blacks
our fellow-men. In all things, and toward all, we are enjoined to do as
we would be done by. Nor should we forget that benevolent desires, after
passing a certain point, can not undertake their own fulfillment without
incurring the risk of evils beyond those sought to be remedied.
Something may well be left to the graduated care of future legislation,
and to heaven. In one point of view the co-existence of the two races in
the South—whether the negro be bond or free—seems (even as it did to
Abraham Lincoln) a grave evil. Emancipation has ridded the country of
the reproach, but not wholly of the calamity. Especially in the present
transition period for both races in the South, more or less of trouble
may not unreasonably be anticipated; but let us not hereafter be too
swift to charge the blame exclusively in any one quarter. With certain
evils men must be more or less patient. Our institutions have a potent
digestion, and may in time convert and assimilate to good all elements
thrown in, however originally alien.</p>
<p>But, so far as immediate measures looking toward permanent
Re-establishment are concerned, no consideration should tempt us to
pervert the national victory into oppression for the vanquished. Should
plausible promise of eventual good, or a deceptive or spurious sense of
duty, lead us to essay this, count we must on serious consequences, not
the least of which would be divisions among the Northern adherents of
the Union. Assuredly, if any honest Catos there be who thus far have
gone with us, no longer will they do so, but oppose us, and as
resolutely as hitherto they have supported. But this path of thought
leads toward those waters of bitterness from which one can only turn
aside and be silent.</p>
<p>But supposing Re-establishment so far advanced that the Southern seats
in Congress are occupied, and by men qualified in accordance with those
cardinal principles of representative government which hitherto have
prevailed in the land—what then? Why the Congressman elected by the
people of the South will—represent the people of the South. This may
seem a flat conclusion; but in view of the last five years, may there
not be latent significance in it? What will be the temper of those
Southern members? and, confronted by them, what will be the mood of our
own representatives? In private life true reconciliation seldom follows
a violent quarrel; but if subsequent intercourse be unavoidable, nice
observances and mutual are indispensable to the prevention of a new
rupture. Amity itelf can only be maintained by reciprocal respect, and
true friends are punctilious equals. On the floor of Congress North and
South are to come together after a passionate duel, in which the South
though proving her valor, has been made to bite the dust. Upon
differences in debate shall acrimonious recriminations be exchanged?
shall censorious superiority assumed by one section provoke defiant
self-assertion on the other? shall Manassas and Chickamauga be retorted
for Chattanooga and Richmond? Under the supposition that the full
Congress will be composed of gentlemen, all this is impossible. Yet if
otherwise, it needs no prophet of Israel to foretell the end. The
maintenance of Congressional decency in the future will rest mainly with
the North. Rightly will more forbearance be required from the North than
the South, for the North is victor.</p>
<p>But some there are who may deem these latter thoughts inapplicable, and
for this reason: Since the test-oath opertively excludes from Congress
all who in any way participated in Secession, therefore none but
Southerners wholly in harmony with the North are eligible to seats. This
is true for the time being. But the oath is alterable; and in the wonted
fluctuations of parties not improbably it will undergo alteration,
assuming such a form, perhaps, as not to bar the admission into the
National Legislature of men who represent the populations lately in
revolt. Such a result would involve no violation of the principles of
democratic government. Not readily can one perceive how the political
existence of the millions of late Secessionists can permanently be
ignored by this Republic. The years of the war tried our devotion to the
Union; the time of peace may test the sincerity of our faith in
democracy.</p>
<p>In no spirit of opposition, not by way of challenge, is any thing here
thrown out. These thoughts are sincere ones; they seem
natural—inevitable. Here and there they must have suggested themselves
to many thoughtful patriots. And, if they be just thoughts, ere long
they must have that weight with the public which already they have had
with individuals.</p>
<p>For that heroic band—those children of the furnace who, in regions like
Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible
trials—we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them. Yet
passionate sympathy, with resentments so close as to be almost domestic
in their bitterness, would hardly in the present juncture tend to
discreet legislation. Were the Unionists and Secessionists but as
Guelphs and Ghibellines? If not, then far be it from a great nation now
to act in the spirit that animated a triumphant town-faction in the
Middle Ages. But crowding thoughts must at last be checked; and, in
times like the present, one who desires to be impartially just in the
expression of his views, moves as among sword-points presented on every
side.</p>
<p>Let us pray that the terrible historic tragedy of our time may not have
been enacted without instructing our whole beloved country through
terror and pity; and may fulfillment verify in the end those
expectations which kindle the bards of Progress and Humanity.</p>
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