Class \ 1^'' I 
 
 Book__ ^ I ! 
 
 .y 
 
•^/ 
 
BETTER IN THE MORNIF. 
 
 B^LXj-A.IDS 
 
 PATHOS, HUMOR, AND SATIRE, 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. LEANDER S. COAN 
 
 ■'LET ME WRITE THE BALLADS OF A PEOPLE, AND I CARE NOT 
 WHO WRITES THEIR LAWS." 
 
 (3xmt Jails, N. % 
 
 EDWARD O. LORD AND COMPANY. 
 
 1880. 
 

 Copyright, 
 
 1880. 
 
 By Edward O. Lord & Co 
 
 %Or 
 
 ^ 
 
 liockictll A VhurcltiU, Printers, 39 Arch Street, Boston, 
 

 -A 
 iL 
 
 111 
 
 TO ALL WHO HAVE WEPT WITH ME IN SYMPATHY FOR 
 
 The Old Corporal in his Sorrow, 
 
 AND TO ALL WHO ARE LOYAL TO THE CAUSE IN WHICH HE WAS 
 
 MAIMED, 
 
 Cf)i0 Uolume fs Mectionatclg ©etJicateti 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
For to-day I write with pen made sharp, 
 Though carping crities smile and carp ; 
 Of yesterday write, though blinded by tears, 
 For hearing having neither haste nor fears 
 For to-morrow, pen with patient thought. 
 With fear nothing, with malice naught; 
 With patience sow my seed, and then 
 Await the tears and smiles of men, 
 And strive no single word to trace 
 I might with tears wish to erase. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 OLD CORPORAL BALLADS. 
 
 Introd^^ction ........... 13 
 
 Better in the Mornin' . 17 
 
 Tears of Joy 20 
 
 The Good Old Farm 23 
 
 The Corporal Marks the Perfect Man 25 
 
 The Old Corporal's Mite 27 
 
 Across the Chasm 29 
 
 The Corporal on Barron 32 
 
 The Corporal on Wood and Coal 34 
 
 Caleb Winn .37 
 
 Corporal to the Parson 41 
 
 POLITICAL. 
 
 Hill's Brigade 43 
 
 Re-form at Hamburg 45 
 
 A Solid South . 47 
 
 After Election 49 
 
 Sauce for the Gander . . . 51 
 
 How they Cared for Jim 53 
 
 Clay in the Hands of the Plotter 56 
 
 Wanted : a Captain 58 
 
 The Corporal Breaks Silence • • 60 
 
 Fallln . 62 
 
 The Parson to the Corporal ........ 64 
 
 The Old Bugle Call . . . ' 66 
 
 The Same Old Flag • • 68 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Simon Garew .....•••••• 73 
 
 Tribute of Smiles and Tears • • - 78 
 
 Solomon Shirk 80 
 
 Skating Song ^2 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 In Affliction 
 
 Water Lilies 
 
 The Eobin's Call 
 
 Cradle Song 
 
 Wide Awake 
 
 The Overland Eastern 
 
 The Mountain Rill . 
 
 A Picture 
 
 The Soldiers' Monument 
 
 Little Ben 
 
 A Memory 
 
 In Memoriam . 
 
 Cannon . . 
 
 England in the Orient 
 
 No Danger 
 
 To the Mowers 
 
 The Midnight Bugle 
 
 Fight your Way Up 
 
 Birch Island Trout . 
 
 J. Wilson Barron 
 
 Don't wait till they're Dead 
 
 Rest .... 
 
 Stars for the Crown . 
 
 On an Invitation to Write 
 
 Memorial Hymn 
 
 The Burning Village 
 
 Wings of Flame 
 
 EARLY POEMS 
 Reply of Night 
 Morning in Spring-time 
 Baptism of Blood 
 Our Country's Call . 
 Carry Christ to the Home by the Sea 
 Change the Figures .... 
 To the Author of "Jim Bludsoe " . 
 The Soldier's Farewell (Last Poem) 
 
 83 
 
 83 
 
 84 
 
 86 
 
 87 
 
 89 
 
 90 
 
 91 
 
 93 
 
 96 
 
 100 
 
 102 
 
 103 
 
 105 
 
 108 
 
 110 
 
 112 
 
 115 
 
 116 
 
 117 
 
 118 
 
 120 
 
 121 
 
 132 
 
 134 
 
 135 
 
 137 
 
 140 
 142 
 144 
 146 
 147 
 149 
 151 
 152 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Ahmaidee 
 Notes 
 
 157 
 183 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 The author of these songs and ballads* was the eldest son of 
 Deacon Samuel Coan, of Garland, Maine ; born in Exeter, 
 Maine, November 17, 1837, and a direct descendant of Peter 
 Coan, who came to America from Worms, Germanj", in 1715. 
 His ancestors, on the maternal side, traced their lineage directly 
 back to the Pilgrims that came over in the " Ma3^flower." 
 
 Plis parents, belonging to the humbler walks of life, were by 
 no means lacking in intelligence, and the}" sought to give their 
 children that w^hich would stand them in hand better than the 
 wealth w^hich the}" could not bestow, — an education and an 
 honest name. His early life was spent in the common and high 
 schools of the towns of Exeter and Garland. 
 
 At a very earl}- age he showed a strong inclination to become 
 a preacher, and while yet ver}^ young would return from church 
 and preach the sermon he had heard over again to his parents 
 and relatives ; going through the whole sermon with great 
 solemnity, ushig his own words, however, but words very apt 
 and accurate to the subject. 
 
 Later on in life he fell in with associates who were believers 
 in liberal doctrines, and for a time he was afloat upon the sea of 
 scepticism and doubt. At the age of twenty, while engaged in 
 teaching at Brewer Village, Maine, he experienced a sudden 
 radical change in his views upon religion, and became a working. 
 
Viii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 sterling Christian. A few months previous to this change he 
 had settled upon the law as his profession, and went to Bangor 
 to study with Ex-Governor Kent ; but, finding himself deficient 
 in some of the languages, decided to take private instructions in 
 them and teach school for a while. His conversion, like Paul's, 
 made a complete revolution in his life, and he soon determined 
 to preach the " Gospel of the Blessed Master." 
 
 Finishing his theological studies, he was graduated from the 
 Theological Seminary at Bangor, Maine, in the summer of 1862. , 
 Supplying the Congregational Church at Amherst, Maine, until 
 the summer of 1863, he was ordained over that church and 
 remained until the spring of 1864, when he spent his vacation 
 in Cohasset, Mass. In August, 1864, his long pent-up patriot- 
 ism burst the bounds that had confined him, and he enhsted as a 
 private in the Sixty-first Massachusetts Volunteers, with the 
 promise that, when the battalion of six companies was increased 
 to a full regiment, entithng them to a chaplain, he should 
 have that position. Meantime he acted as chaplain for his 
 battalion, and as the war drew near its close, and no more men 
 were required, his regiment was never filled, and consequently he 
 was not commissioned chaplain. After the war he preached at 
 Boothbay, Me., three years, Biownville, Me., three years, 
 Bradford, Me., six months, Somerset and Fall River, Mass., 
 above three years, and Alton, N.H., about five years. He 
 began to write verses not far from 1860, and about the first 
 piece was entitled "Change the Figures." ''The Reply of 
 Night" and "Morning in Spring-time" were written not far 
 from this time. 
 
 The last piece of the " Old Corporal Series" was written a 
 few days before the State election in Maine, which took place 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. IX 
 
 September 8, 1879. The piece was entitled " Fall In." I think, if 
 he had been spared until the present writing, January 15, 1880, 
 that the Old Corporal's wooden leg would have come down with 
 more "vicious vim" than when he heard of Hill's speech in 
 Congress. 
 
 I can do no better than to quote an obituary in the editorial 
 columns of the " Independent Statesman," published at Concord, 
 N.H., a short time after his death. The l3Tic referred to was 
 the " Soldier's Farewell," and was his last effort. 
 
 DEATH OF EEV. LEANDER S. COAN. 
 
 By a postal card, thoughtfully forwarded by Commander C. J. Richards, 
 Past Commander, Department of New Hampshire, Grand Army of the 
 Republic, we have received the sorrowful intelligence of the death, on 
 Wednesday morning, at his residence in Alton, of Rev. Leander S. Coan, 
 better known to our readers as the author of the Old Corporal Ballads, 
 most of which were first given to the public in these columns. Although 
 he was known to have been for some time in poor health, and latterly 
 quite ill, his friends at a distance were totally unprepared to hear of his 
 demise. In the prime of life, and apparently of a rugged constitution, 
 being compactly built, with broad shoulders, large, well-poised head and 
 a ruddy countenance, beaming always with good nature, he seemed des- 
 tined to a long life. 
 
 Only a few days since — September 16 — we received a note from him, 
 enclosing the poem which we published last week, entitled " The Soldier's 
 Farewell," which is so characteristic of the man and the true soldier of 
 the Union and of the Cross, that we give it here verbatim : — 
 
 "Friend Stevens : Please find a little lyric enclosed. I would rather 
 have my name at the foot of the piece than over it, so have erased it there. 
 
 " Was sick in bed and couldn't get to Manchester. Guess I will die, but 
 will die game. Yours, Parson." 
 
 Our readers are aware that in the series of ballads the author referred 
 to himself as the "Parson," and in many of his private notes to us he 
 used that signature. Mr. Coan was a man of ardent temperament and 
 strong feelings, without being in the least fanatical or dogmatic. A Union 
 
X BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 soldier in the war of the rebellion, he was proud of his record as such and 
 intensely patriotic. A member of the G.A.K. he took a lively interest in 
 all that pertained to the order, and filled many posts of honor in it, always 
 to the acceptance of his comrades. A clerg^^man of the Congregational 
 denomination, he was also active in all movements for the advancement 
 of the cause of humanity, laboring assiduously Avith voice and pen for the 
 promotion of temperance, good government, and morality. With poetical 
 gifts of no inferior order, he used them always in furtherance of the good 
 of his brother-man. He wrote, whether in prose or rhyme, out of a full 
 heart and for a worthy purpose. Our columns have been enriched by his 
 contributions in metrical verse and an occasional prose sketch. He also 
 acted as our news correspondent, and wrote more or less for other jour- 
 nals, and for magazines. He was a hard-Avorking man, and, with a large 
 family dependent upon him, this was a necessity. Besides his literary 
 labors and his Avork as a pastor, he lectured frequently before lyceums 
 and temperance organizations, adding thus to his meagre pittance as a 
 pastor settled over a small society. 
 
 His poems' have had a Avide circulation, many of them having been 
 extensively copied by the ncAvspaper press of the country. Perhaps the 
 most admired of his metrical effusions is the plaintive poem entitled 
 "Better in the Mornin'." An earnest believer in Republican principles, 
 and a foe to oppression in CA^ery form, many of his Old Corporal Ballads 
 are directed against the attempts to reverse the results of the Avar, and are 
 stinging rebukes to the flunky spirit which gained such headway during 
 and subsequent to the late presidential campaign. Of these "Hill's 
 Brigade " is the most spirited. Some of his battle-pieces are dramatic 
 and realistic, as Avould naturally be the case Avith one Avho has himself 
 participated in the conflict of arms. For some time past Mr. Coan has 
 been engaged in collecting and revising his poems, Avith a vicAv to their 
 publication in book form, and the last time Ave saw him he told us of his 
 plans, Avhich Avere then nearly perfected, for bringing out the book. "VVe 
 belicA^e it is noAv going through the press. We hope so ; and trust that it 
 may have a wide sale, not alone because of its merits, and its excellent 
 inculcations, but because it will be a godsend to his AvidoAV and little 
 children, Avho are left Avith only A^ery limited means of support. 
 
 Mr. Coan had his faults — and Avho has not? He Avas somcAvhat erratic 
 in his ideas, and too sensitive, perhaps, to public praise or censure. But 
 he Avas Avarm-hearted, true to his convictions, and Avithout cant or big- 
 otry. As a friend and comrade he Avill be greatly missed by the boys 
 Avho Avore the blue, for Avhom he had an abiding aflection, Avhich grcAv 
 Avith the lapse of time. 
 
BIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH. XI 
 
 He had been out of health for nearly a year, but his physi- 
 cians had not thought his case a critical one ; consequently his 
 death came with a terrible suddenness to his friends and rela- 
 tives. His funeral occurred September 27th, in the church he 
 had labored in for five years, conducted by the Masons, of 
 whose order he was an enthusiastic member. The ceremony 
 was very impressive, especially that at the grave, when the 
 whispering pines in the background and the mellow autumn 
 sunlight softened the senses and hallowed the spot forever to 
 some of us. I wish to add my tribute to his memor}^ here on 
 these pages. I must confess that I was never so enthusiastic in 
 regard to his writings as he wished me to be, and I will only say 
 in excuse that I never saw his sweetest songs until after he had 
 been transferred to the Grand Arm}^ beyond the River. As I 
 was perusing some of the gems contained in this volume, I 
 chanced to take up the Gospel Hymns No. 2, and read these 
 lines, — 
 
 " Strange we never prize the music 
 Till the sweet-voiced bird is flown." 
 
 I would have given w^orlds if I had had them at my command 
 at that moment to have had him back with us just for one hour. 
 
 E. S. COAN, M.D. 
 Garland, January 15, 1880. 
 
PART 1. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Corporal, ladies and gentlemen, 
 
 Alloiv me, if you please, 
 To present him, and vouch for, 
 
 From reasons such as these: 
 I have hnown him as friend and comrade 
 
 Before and during the war. 
 And since as neighbor and brother, 
 
 In all worth vouching for. 
 
 He never betrayed a secret, — 
 
 He never deserted a friend ; 
 And upon just what he tells you 
 
 You safely may depend. 
 Stalwart, staunch, and honest. 
 
 To his conscience true to the end, 
 In all of life's relations 
 
 Ennobling the naine of friend. 
 
 Often uncouth in expression. 
 
 Yet his meaning is terse and tense; 
 
 And I have never found him 
 LacMng in good sound sense. 
 
Xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 He stands as a type of many 
 
 Whom you^ perhajps, have hnoivn; 
 And whatever he utters, you safely 
 
 May reckon to he his own, 
 
 hi lodge, post, march, and bivouac, 
 
 I have sat, and messed with him, too, 
 And in all I have ever found him 
 
 Loyal, and stanch, and true; 
 And I hope, when life's march is over, 
 
 To meet with and greet him again. 
 When the Lord shall call the honored roll 
 
 Of New England common men. 
 
 And though hut two stirpes on hlae-hlous'd arm 
 
 Give sign of his rank below, 
 His heart deserves a GeneraVs star, 
 
 As we who knew him know ; 
 And when the hosts are gathered 
 
 In the Lord Christ's grand review. 
 Perhaps he then will wear a star, 
 
 Li those legions loyal too. 
 
 And I hope, in the streets of the city 
 
 Said to he paved with gold. 
 To hear (on the mellow pave ringing, 
 
 As in, then to be, days of old) 
 His step and voice so cheerful; 
 
 And this boon I will beg : 
 
 That God ivill there permit hhn to wear 
 
 The badge of a wooden leg. 
 
 The Parson. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 BETTER IN THE MORNIN'. 
 
 " You can't help the baby, parson, 
 
 But still I want you to go 
 Down and look m upon her, 
 
 An' read and pray, you know. 
 Only last week she was skippin' round, 
 
 A-pullin' my whiskers an' hair, 
 A-climbin' up to the table 
 
 Into her little high chair. 
 
 " The first night that she took it, 
 
 When her little cheeks grew red. 
 When she kissed good-night to papa. 
 
 And went away to bed, 
 Sez she, ' 'Tis headache, papa. 
 
 Be better in mornin' — b}^e ' ! 
 An' somthin' in how she said it 
 
 Jest made me want to cry. 
 
 " But the mornin' brought the fever, 
 
 An' her httle hands grew hot. 
 An' the pretty red uv her little cheeks 
 
 Grew into a crimson spot. 
 But she lay there jest ez patient 
 
 Ez ever a woman could, 
 Takin' whatever we gave her 
 
 Better'n a grown woman would. 
 
18 OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 " The days are terrible long an' slow, 
 An' she's grown wuss in each ; 
 An' now she's jest a slippin' 
 
 Clear away out uv our reach. 
 Every night when I kiss her, 
 Try in' hard not to cry, 
 
 She says in a way that kills me — 
 ' Be better in mornin' — bye ' ! 
 
 " She can't get through the night, parson. 
 So I want ye to come an' pray, 
 
 An' talk with mother a little, — 
 You'll know jest what to say ; 
 
 Not that the baby needs it, 
 
 Nor that we make any complaint 
 
 That God seems to think he's needin' 
 
 The smile uv the little saint." 
 
 ******* 
 
 I walked along with the Corporal 
 
 To the door of his humble home. 
 To which the silent messenger 
 
 Before me had also come ; 
 And if he had been a titled prince 
 
 I would not have been honored more 
 Than I was with his heart-felt welcome 
 
 To his lowly cottage door. 
 
 Night falls again in the cottage ; 
 
 They move in silence and dread 
 Around the room Avhere the baby 
 
 Lies panting upon her bed. 
 "Does baby know papa, darling?" 
 
 And she moves her little face 
 With answer that shows she knows liim ; 
 
 But scarce a visible trace 
 
 Of her wonderful infontile beauty 
 Remains as it was before 
 
OLD OORPOEAL POEMS. 19 
 
 The unseen silent messeno^er 
 
 Had waited at their door. 
 " Papa — kiss — baby. I's so tired ! " 
 
 The man bows low his face, 
 And two swollen hands are lifted 
 
 In baby's last embrace. 
 
 And into her father's grizzled beard 
 
 The little red iino^ers clins:, 
 While her husky, whispered tenderness 
 
 Tears from a rock would bring. 
 " Baby — is — so — sick — papa — 
 
 But — don't — want — you — to cry ; " 
 The little hand falls on the coverlet — 
 
 Be — better — in — mornin' — bye ! " 
 
 And night around baby is falling. 
 
 Settling down dark and dense ; 
 Does God. need their darling in heaven 
 
 That he must carry her hence, 
 I prayed with tears in my voices. 
 
 As the Corporal solemnly knelt. 
 With grief such as never before 
 
 His gTcat warm heart had felt. 
 
 O frivolous men and women ! 
 
 Do you know that round you and night, 
 Alike from the humble and haughty, 
 
 Goeth up evermore the cry, 
 " My child ! my precious ! my darling ! 
 
 How can I let you die ! " 
 Oh, hear ye the white lips whisper : 
 
 " Be — better — in — mornin' — bye ! " 
 
 1876. 
 
20 OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 TEAES OF JOY. 
 
 " Thank God, parson, with me now. 
 
 That the bal>y is better here ; 
 Better in earthly morning' ; 
 
 That still her voice we hear. 
 I thought when she was a-layin' 
 
 So quiet, an' sick, an' still. 
 Can it be that God wants this one? 
 
 Could I submit to his will? 
 
 " An' thought while I watched her so careful, 
 
 Throuofh try in' nio-hts an' days, 
 Uv the one who in heaven's mornin' 
 
 Is singin' their hymns uv praise. 
 An' my heart was heavy an' fearful, 
 
 My eyes were hot an' dry, 
 I couldn't see how I could bear it 
 
 To have this little one die. 
 
 " She had filled up the place that was empty. 
 
 At the table an' in our hearts. 
 An' had grown around us so closely 
 
 With her sweet little ways an' arts. 
 That it seemed ez if it would kill me 
 
 To stan' by an' see her die, — 
 To think uv her handis folded 
 
 An' kissin' us all good-by, 
 
 " Ez our sweet little pet you remember 
 
 So tenderly did before. 
 When the ' unseen silent messenger 
 
 A'V^aited at our door.' 
 I think God knew that we couldn't 
 
 Bear it again, an' so 
 On our duml^ fear took ]^ity, 
 
 Concludin' she needn't o'o. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 21 
 
 " Ez I could only thank him 
 
 Ez it's in my heart to do ; — 
 But there ! He knows all about it, 
 
 Ef the good book tells us true, 
 That there isn't a single sparrow 
 
 That flutters an' blindly falls. 
 But He takes notice uv it ! 
 
 He "tnust hear the cry that calls 
 
 " For pity an' mercy in trouble ; 
 
 An' it must be pleasant for Him, 
 When he can do what we ask Him, 
 
 So our faith won't get too dim. 
 An' ef ever I get into heaven 
 
 The first thing that I'll do, 
 Will be to thank Him that this time 
 
 He brought the baby through, 
 
 " Without concludin' He needed her 
 
 With Him jest yet up there. 
 I think he must have noticed 
 
 The tears that wer' in my prayer I 
 They weren't nowhere else, that's certain. 
 
 For my eyes wer' hot an' dry ; 
 But I think he must have noticed 
 
 In my heart a fearful cry. 
 
 " So I want you to thank Him for me. 
 
 An' tell Him just how I feel, 
 For I can't begin to explain it 
 
 Though I try to when I kneel. 
 Why, just see the sweet little precious 
 
 E-unnin' and play in' about, 
 A-fillin' the house with sunshine 
 
 An' the joy uv the playful shout 1 
 
 " Come here an' kiss papa, sweet one ; 
 His heart thanks God to-day 
 
22 OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 (Though you know little about it) 
 That the Lord could let you stay. 
 
 I think ef God takes notice 
 In heaven's tearless days 
 
 Uv the joy he sometimes gives us 
 He will find that his pity pays. 
 
 " I can't see how he helps cr^dn' 
 
 When he looks down 'n' sees 
 The joy it gives to have them 
 
 A-patterin' round our knees, 
 When we have been weepin' over them 
 
 In fear that they might go, 
 When they just seemed to be driftin' 
 
 Away from us sure an' slow." 
 
 And I have thought with the Corporal : 
 
 There is something in the plan 
 That gives to the throne in heaven 
 
 The heart of the Son of Man. 
 Yes, He who to-day, and ^^esterday, 
 
 And forever is the same, 
 Weeping from joy at our happiness 
 
 Gives heaven another claim 
 
 To our love and loyal devotion 
 
 To One who knows and feels 
 The heart's unutterable anguish 
 
 When a trembling pleader kneels. 
 And I think that the Corporal's fancy 
 
 Of God's sympathetic tears 
 Finds blessed confirmation 
 
 In the Intercessor's years. 
 1878. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 23 
 
 THE GOOD OLD FAEM. 
 
 " There's got to be a revival 
 
 Uv good sound sense among men, 
 Before the days uv prosperity 
 
 Will dawn upon us again. 
 The boys must learn that learnin' 
 
 Means more'n the essence uv books ; 
 An' the girls must learn that beauty 
 
 Consists in more'n their looks. 
 
 " Ef the boys all grow up savants, 
 
 Studyin' rocks 'n' bugs. 
 An' the girls grow up blue-stockin's 
 
 Or experts in kisses 'n' hugs, — 
 \Mio'll keep the old plow in order. 
 
 Or fix up the traces 'n' tugs ; 
 Who'll sweep the floor uv the kitchen, 
 
 Or weave up the carpets 'n' rugs ? 
 
 "Before we can steer clear uv failures. 
 
 An' big financial alarms. 
 The boys have got to quit clerkin' 
 
 An' git back onto the tarins. 
 I know it aiut quite so nobby. 
 
 It aint quite so easy^ I know, 
 Ez partin' yer hair 'n the middle 
 
 An' settin' up for a show. 
 
 " But there's more hard dollars in it, 
 
 An' more independence, too, 
 An' more real peace 'n' contentment, 
 
 An' health that's ruddy an' true. 
 I know^ it takes years uv labor. 
 
 But yu've got to ' hang on ' in a store 
 Before you can earn a good livin' 
 
 An' clothes, with but little more. 
 
24 OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 " An' yer steer well clear uv temptation 
 
 On the o'oocl old honest farm, 
 An' a thousand ways 'n' fashions 
 
 That only brings ye to harm. 
 There aint hut a few that can handle, 
 
 With safety, other men's cash, 
 An' the fate uv many who try it 
 
 Proves human natur' is rash. 
 
 " So, when the road to State's-prison 
 
 Lays by the good old farm, 
 An' the man sees a toilin' brother 
 
 Well out uv the way uv harm, 
 He mourns 't he hadn't staid there, 
 
 A-tillin' the soil in peace, 
 Where he'll yet creep back in dishonor 
 
 After a tardy release. 
 
 "What hosts uv 'em go back, broken 
 
 In health, 'n' mind, 'n' pur^e. 
 To die in sight uv the clover. 
 
 Or linofer alono- which is worse ! 
 An' how many mourn when useless 
 
 That they didn't see the charm. 
 The safety 'n' independence, 
 
 Uv a life on the o'ood old farm. 
 
 " So preach it up to 'em, parson, 
 
 Jest lay it out plain 'n' square, 
 That land flows with milk 'n' honey. 
 
 That health 'n' peace are there. 
 An' call back the clerks 'n' runners 
 
 An' show 'em the peace 'n' charm 
 That waits to cheer an' bless them, 
 
 On father's dear old farm." 
 
 The Corporal's farm b(>ars witness. 
 His cottage is snng and trim, 
 
OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 25 
 
 The failures and embezzlements 
 
 Have no "hard times" for him. 
 Long may he live to enjoy it, 
 
 Free from financial harm, 
 A true New England nobleman, 
 
 Who thinks, while tilling his farm. 
 
 THE OLD CORPORAL MARKS THE PERFECT 
 
 MAN. 
 
 "He has been to my house, parson, 
 
 A-peddlin' the Holy Hook, 
 An' speakin' a word ag'in him 
 
 Won't have a kindly look. 
 But he says he haint sinned, parson, 
 
 Li deed, nor even thought, 
 For risin' eiHit vear, nor had a loish 
 
 But what a Christian ought ! 
 
 "So I'm afeard uvhim, parson. 
 
 He's so awful, terrible good; 
 For he o'oes brafrsfin' about it, 
 
 Ez a humble man never would. 
 I think that bein' perfect, 
 
 Aint a thing to be boastin' about ; 
 It won't make a man obtrusive 
 
 For fear w^e won't find it out. 
 
 "Ef a man is so near the blessed light 
 
 Uv the everlastin' sun, 
 You cannot fiiil to be convinced 
 
 Uv the glorious work that's done. 
 An' he w^on't be blowin' about it, 
 
 Like the pamter I think uv now, 
 
26 OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 Who had to write, under a doubtful daub, 
 ^ This animal is a cow ! ' 
 
 "Ef he hadn't claimed to be perfect, 
 
 I sartinly shouldn't have guessed 
 That his life would level up higher 
 
 Or better than the rest. 
 So I'm jest a goin' ter marh him 
 
 (Its scriptural, so I can). 
 For, don't the good book tell us 
 
 To ^ mark the perfect man ' ? 
 
 "He haint learned the grace uv modest}^ 
 
 Nor uv mindin' his own concerns ; 
 Nor the grace uv a charitable sperrit ; 
 
 Nor that spinnin' tattling yarns 
 Don't jibe well with his wonderful claim 
 
 Uv not havin' sinned for vears, 
 And for these, an' other reasons, 
 
 I have for his truthfulness, fears. 
 
 "Ef he's perfect, this mark won't hurt him ; 
 
 He'll only shine more bright ; 
 An' the town where he lives will be noted 
 
 For havin' a shinin' light. 
 An' agin, ef he's really perfect, 
 
 Readin' this he won't be mad, 
 But, for an oner ate sinner, 
 
 Will be only a trifle sad." 
 
 Cut this out, and if you see him 
 
 In the daylight or in the dark, 
 Just look him carefully over. 
 
 To find the Corporal's mark. 
 Take this truth (in a nut-shell), ; 
 
 On which good sense relies : 
 The man who claims to he sinless 
 
 Is foolish, or he lies. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 21 
 
 THE OLD COEPOEAL'S MITE. 
 
 "There's a dollar, parson, 
 
 An' I TV ant to have it 2:0 
 For the forefather's monument. 
 
 Which seems to be risin' slow. 
 The year that I enlisted 
 
 I tried to get down to the j^lace, 
 To see where they landed and wintered, 
 
 For I belong to their race. 
 
 " But I couldn't o'et a furlouo'h 
 
 To run down, not for a day ; 
 An' somehow it slipped my memory 
 
 After I marched away. 
 An' so many things have happened. 
 
 The losin' uv my leg. 
 An' stumpin' around these many years 
 
 On this ere wooden peg, — 
 
 " I somehow forgot they were buildin' 
 
 A monument down there. 
 So I never yet have given 
 
 What I may call my share. 
 We can't afibrd to forget them I 
 
 It will pay us well to build 
 In memory uv the fothers who 
 
 Gave us the soil weVe tilled. 
 
 "An' they gave us a sight more, parson, 
 
 Ef our eyes were open to see ! 
 They died a-foundin' a nation, 
 
 Ez we fought to keep it free. 
 When I think uv their freezin' in winter, 
 
 All' starvin' when crops were poor, 
 An' lightin' the savage Indians, 
 
 An' the fate that seemed so sure, 
 
28 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 '' Staiidin' there, bold an' unflinchin', 
 
 Ez firm ez their Plymouth Rock, 
 Pestilence thinnin' the lannber 
 
 Uv the little undaunted flock ; 
 Or think uv their places of worship, 
 
 Uv the hardships they underwent, 
 I think we have good reason 
 
 To thank them, an' be content. 
 
 " An' I just feel ashamed to murmur, 
 Ez I'm sometimes tempted to do, 
 When I think uv what they sufi'ered. 
 
 An' what they all went through. 
 Where would be Yale or Haiward, 
 
 An' the shaft at Bunker Hill, 
 "Ef they had been lacking in conscience. 
 Or muscle, or pluck, or will? 
 
 "Ef they'd lacked religi'n an' learnin', 
 
 Pve been askin myself uv late. 
 Could they have planned a Nation, 
 
 Or planted the seed uv a State ? 
 Where would be Boston 'n Chicago, 
 
 Ef they had failed to stand ? 
 An' where the flao^ that's floatin' 
 
 In peace over all the land ? 
 
 " Eiach year we give for monuments. 
 
 For far less deservina' men ; 
 Fly buntin' an' burn powder 
 
 On Fourth of July, an' then 
 Complete^ but only on paper, 
 
 A monumental ^/(7?i, 
 For the man who died a foundin' 
 
 A Eace, on the Rights uv Man. 
 
 " An' I won't neglect it longer. 
 So here's the dollar for me ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 29 
 
 I'll stump round 'n' earn anotlier, 
 
 For those who kept it free ! 
 I can save for such noble offerings, 
 
 Ef I do wear a w^ooden leg ; 
 Ef all felt this ez they ought to 
 
 The cause w^ouldn't have to beg." 
 
 So accept the old corporal's offering, 
 
 For the monument on the shore, 
 Where now as when they landed 
 
 Atlantic surges roar. 
 And while the sun shines or storm-clouds 
 
 Shall darken our changing skies, 
 May it stand complete and sacred 
 
 In other Pilorim eyes. 
 
 I— ^ 
 
 And loyal to conscience and duty, 
 
 May they tread the hallowed sod, 
 Where rests the dust of heroes, 
 
 Freemen and men of God. 
 May we keep alive the lessons 
 
 Their lives and valor teach. 
 So lono' as our race has beinof, 
 
 And freedom of thought and speech. 
 
 ACROSS THE CHASM. 
 
 ^It reads like a nightmare, parson. 
 
 The way they've been dying, down South, 
 
 At Memphis an' all them places ! 
 
 I've been rather rough with my mouth, 
 
 Ag'iiji some of them sassy ex-rebels : 
 But my heart has never been cold : 
 
30 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 An' I'm ready to help 'em in trouble, 
 With ice, food, clothing, or gold. 
 
 " It has made my heart ache for our brothers 
 
 That are dying a hunderd a day, 
 Without nurses, or ice, or blankets. 
 
 The tide uv the scourge ter stay, 
 My heart has grown warm towards 'em. 
 
 An' I'm glad that we're able ter show 
 That in times ov sicli terrible trouble 
 
 Xo North or South w^e know. 
 
 "So, over the bloody chasm. 
 
 Rent by the Rebel war, 
 We ve held out our hands ter give 'em 
 
 Things they were dying for. 
 It'll be just ag'in all natur 
 
 Be that natur' white or black, 
 Ef a wave ov warm Southern gratitude 
 
 Doosn't come surgin' back." 
 
 God grant that this expression ' 
 
 Of the warmth of the Northern heart, 
 A wave of brotherly welcome 
 
 From the stricken South may start. 
 We will meet it, and gladly greet it 
 
 As a sign of better days, — 
 A breath of fate may scatter 
 
 The mists, the battle's haze. 
 
 So, clasping hands and kindly 
 
 Looking into each other's eyes, 
 May a new fraternity rising. 
 
 Fill all with glad surprise. 
 The lessons of war have taught us 
 
 The hand of a foe to respect : 
 May the lessons of peace and sufferings 
 
 The love of our hearts reflect. 
 
OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. ol 
 
 Until all doubt and dissension 
 
 Forever shall disappear, 
 As the archino^ dome of the Union 
 
 Cemented with love we rear ; 
 And when that dome is completed, 
 
 Both Xorth and South maj^ it span. 
 Until humble and haughty acknowledo-e 
 
 The brotherhood of man. 
 
 Though they believed not, nor thought it ; 
 
 For this we have stood, and have fought ; 
 Then, with arms we taught it. 
 
 And now, with our alms have taught, 
 God grant that aright they read it, 
 
 In this hour of stricken woe ; 
 That we and they may heed it. 
 
 And the fruit of fraternity grow. 
 
 Often uncouth the expressions 
 
 I bring from my soldier friend. 
 The Corporal, yet I repeat him. 
 
 And trust that in the end, 
 His words shall bear for justice 
 
 And equal rights for all. 
 Whether war, with its clarion summons, 
 
 Or charity tenderly call. 
 
32 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 THE OLD CORPORAL ON Bx^RRON. 
 
 " Didn't you write up, parson, 
 
 Mr. Barron, your old-time friend? 
 An' what do ijou think uv the ' theory,' 
 
 That his own hand sought his end? 
 Is your martyr an' hero to tumble 
 
 From that eminence so high, 
 Where, at ' the Post of Duty 
 
 He was ready an' strong to die ' ? " 
 
 Yes, comrade, I Avrote and repeat it ; 
 
 There is not one word to unsay. 
 Of okl, such ghouls of the Master 
 
 Said, " They came and stole him away." 
 Are those wonderful detectives 
 
 Quickened by hope of reward? 
 And are those tardy doctors 
 
 Standing in sweet accord? 
 
 He must have had genius like Dante, 
 
 Or Dickeus, or grand Sliakespeare, 
 To plan out that plot and details. 
 
 Which seemed to run so clear. 
 And hushed all thoughts of suspicion 
 
 Until almost a year 
 Had wreathed his brow with a halo 
 
 That gleamed out grand and clear. 
 
 You may well ask who are they. 
 
 And what are their ultimate aims ? 
 Who, and what stands back of this theory 
 
 Which a dead man's honor defames? 
 And what shall rise up to hinder 
 
 The claim we next shall hear? 
 Will it be the reward for hnding 
 
 Who murdered the dead cashier ? 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 33 
 
 Like the Prince of all patient martja-s, 
 
 He stands while malice adorns 
 Under the radiant halo 
 
 With the still cruel crown of thorns. 
 Thank God his pure brow feels not 
 
 The touch of grave-robbing hands ; 
 And now our just indignation 
 
 Before the accuser .stands ; 
 
 To ask in the name of honor 
 
 And justice, and all things fair, 
 That they prove beyond a cavil, 
 
 Clear as the noonday air, 
 Beyond all doubt or question. 
 
 Or stand for all time. 
 Like the Master's selfish accusers, 
 
 Damned by a double crime. 
 
 Who are these ghouls that are digging 
 
 At the grave of our dead cashier ? 
 Some motive unseen impels them ! 
 
 The real red hand may be here — 
 Some one will gain, if this falsehood 
 
 Gain credence and stand as true. 
 These men and their motives 
 
 We propose to pierce through and through. 
 
 We call them now to answer ; 
 
 Tliey live, and may defend • 
 
 Against the charge that they rest behind 
 
 Some base and selfish end. 
 We will not wait till the silence 
 
 Of death has sealed their lips, 
 Before we cast on their honor 
 
 The doubt of a damning eclipse. 
 
84 OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 THE OLD CORPORAL ON WOOD AND COAL, 
 
 "I woke up the other night, parson, 
 
 A-hearin' the cold wind blow, 
 A-howlin' around my dwellin' 
 
 Drivin' the driftin' snow, 
 An' I thought of the poor folks, parson, 
 
 Who haint got so much ez we ; 
 Who haint got no work nor money ; — 
 
 Got to thinkin' how 'twould be 
 
 Ef I hadn't clothin' sufficient, 
 
 Ef I hadn't wood nor coal. 
 Nor a bed that wuz warm and decent, 
 
 Nor a shoe that wuz dry an' whole ; — 
 'N' I shuddered with only the thinkin', 
 
 Tucked up nice an' warm ; 
 Thinkin' about the people 
 
 A-sufferin' in the storm. 
 
 " 'N' I thought uv 'em sick an' hungry, 
 Thought uv 'em dyin' an' dead ; 
 An' thinkin' uv New Years an' Christmas, 
 
 An' what the good Lord said 
 About bein' alwus with us ; — 
 
 Though the meanin' uv that is dim 
 The other is plain an' simple, 
 • 'Bout doin' it unto him. 
 
 *' An' I just laid awake, thinkin', 
 
 A'most the livelong night, 
 Turnin' it over and over. 
 
 An' try in' to get it right. 
 But I couldn't fix it nohow. 
 
 To make it foot up square — 
 The way that things is divided 
 
 Seems anything but fair. 
 
OLD COKPORAL POEMS. 35 
 
 " Why, there's that old man Stingy, 
 
 Who never did anything good, 
 Who never did anything honest, — 
 
 I don't think he ever would, — 
 Surrounded with wealth an' comfort, 
 
 A sight too ugl}^ to die, 
 So fat an' sleek an' happy ! — 
 
 Can't see the reason why. 
 
 "But the widder Joneses children, 
 
 So modest an' good an' kind ; 
 An' she is proper an' upright 
 
 Ez any that you can find : 
 An' her husband was upright an' honest, 
 
 Nor was he afeared to die ; — 
 Seein' them cold an' hungry, — 
 
 I caji't see the reason wdiy, 
 
 " Except that they're alwus with us 
 
 To give us a chance to give. 
 While showin' the terrible trouble 
 
 Through which some folks can live ; 
 Showin' how patient an' thankful 
 
 All uv us ought to be. 
 To make us kind to the people 
 
 Who haint got so much ez we. 
 
 " There's poor little Tim McPeters 
 
 A-coughin' his life away, * 
 
 Who ouHit to be out a-slidiu' — 
 
 Jest the right age to play ; 
 Sick, yet patient an' thankful. 
 
 Without any grapes or beef, 
 A-hoverin' over a broken stove 
 
 With no hope — no relief. 
 
 " We can give 'em some wood to warm 'em, 
 W^e can give 'em a loaf uv bread, 
 
36 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 An' pull over the stuff in the attic 
 
 To find a quilt for the bed. 
 'Twould be a shame an' a pity 
 
 To see the poor boy dead, 
 Without any wood for a fire, 
 
 An' not enough on the bed. 
 
 "Can't you think uv somethin', parson , 
 
 Can't you think uv somethin' to d^o. 
 To stir up the wealthy people 
 
 To help the poor folks through? 
 There's many uv 'em sick an' needy 
 
 Without any fault uv theirs. 
 Can't you kind uv hint to the rich folk 
 
 That wood '11 warm up their prayers ? 
 
 "That when they set down by the bedside 
 
 An' take a sick child's hand. 
 An' leave a smile fur cumfort, 
 
 Along uv the jell on the stand, 
 An' hear the child's ' God bless ye ! ' 
 
 A-wipin' away the tears, 
 They^re layin^ up treasures avb riches 
 
 Fur the best uv heaven's years ! " 
 
 The Corporal paused, could say no more, 
 
 His heart was all too full ; 
 It seemed as thouo^h it would burst and break 
 
 Beneath his jacket of wool. 
 So here's my hand, old comrade, 
 
 My heart and my pen to-day. 
 To speak your generous counsel 
 
 For the Lord Christ's Christmas day. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 37 
 
 CALEB WINN. 
 
 One day, as I sat in my study, 
 ' I heard on the gravelled walk 
 A step which to me was familiar, 
 
 But I missed the familiar talk, — 
 The Corporal's Yankee lingo, — 
 
 So I knew that something was wrong, 
 For the old fellow's cheery accents 
 
 Were never silent long. 
 
 * 
 
 "I want ye to come with me, parson, 
 
 Down to see comrade Winn ; 
 He was with me in my regiment. 
 
 An' the best uv neighbors has been. 
 He is sick an' in great trouble, 
 
 An' wants to talk with you ; 
 You'll find whatever he tells ye. 
 
 Like the gospel, straight an' true. 
 
 " He haint told me about it. 
 
 So I think it's somethin' sad ; 
 He has taken his bed, an' wild-like, 
 
 Takin' on terrible bad ; 
 His old wooden leg is hangin' 
 
 Agin the bedroom wall ; 
 For you he keeps enquirin'. 
 
 But don't want others to call. 
 
 " Here we are at his cottage : 
 
 Don't knock, but go right in ; 
 I'll wait here in the kitchen. 
 
 Where I have often been ; 
 I hope you can help him somehow, 
 
 I reckon it's caused by grief, 
 For he says that the doctors 
 
 Can't give him any relief. 
 
38 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 "I'm reported in hospital, chaplain. 
 
 And my time here is short, 
 But I'm not goin' to whinin', — 
 
 You know I aint that sort ; 
 Ever sence that day in the Wilderness 
 
 I've been prest here, the heart ; 
 Sence I lost my leg by a minnie, 
 
 Couldn't stan' no great start. 
 
 "And now I've had one, chaplain, 
 
 I'm sure I'm almost done ; 
 This shot's goin' ter drop me, 
 
 I've got ter turn in my gun. 
 When I knew that I was goin'. 
 
 That my march was almost through, 
 I thought that I might die easier 
 
 Ef I could tell it ter you. 
 
 "No, no — 'taint that, chaplain, 
 
 I fixt that long ago. 
 An' now, ef the Captain's ready. 
 
 Then I'm all ready ter go. 
 I know that I'm fur from perfect. 
 
 But I've been a-tryin' for years ; 
 And 'bout that comin' roll-call 
 
 I haint got any fears. 
 
 " It's about my daughter Mary, 
 
 Who cried so when I went ; 
 Who grew so tall 'n' han'some. 
 
 So patient 'n' content ,- 
 How o-ood a oirl she's alwus been. 
 
 How fair she's grown to be ; 
 How kind she's been, and faithful. 
 
 An' sot the world by me I 
 
 " O God ! I can't tell it to ye ! 
 It came I don't know how> 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 39 
 
 But it's here, the T^Tist of trouble, 
 
 With no help for it now. 
 But he came so proper an' pleasin'. 
 
 He seemed to love her too ; 
 I'd ez soon have thouo'ht uv watchin' 
 
 Or gone ter mistrustin' you. 
 
 " But the wust uv it is he's left her. 
 
 And she's 2:one well-nio-h mad ; 
 It breaks my heart to see her ; 
 
 You know the smile she had, — 
 She sits now with a kind uv stare. 
 
 That's jest heart-breakin' ter see ; 
 She don't know't I'm dyin'. 
 
 No, sir, she don't know me ! 
 
 " You needn't tell me 'bout laiv for it ! 
 
 A hell, or a God, or not, 
 Ef there's any sich thing ez jestice. 
 
 The villain ought ter be shot ! 
 Ez I hope fur heaven, I'd do it. 
 
 An' think I wuz doin' well ; 
 An' ef God knows a father's feehn's 
 
 Be runnin' small resk uv hell. 
 
 " Some folks sez that ther' aint none ! 
 
 But what's ter be done with sich ? 
 Where else can ther' be jestice 
 
 For one hke himj that's rich? 
 Ef ther' aint none, then ther' should be, 
 
 I guess that there'll be enough ; 
 An' fur sich fair-seemin' scoundrels, 
 
 God can't make it too rough. 
 
 " Don't set there mutterin' ' law for it ' ! 
 What chance can ther' be in law ? 
 Can ye show me a case uv jestice 
 In that way't ever ye saw ? 
 
40 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 What chance ter bring back honor, 
 
 Or innocence back again, 
 Or wipe from an honest family 
 
 The least uv an awful stain ? 
 
 " Why, he goes abroad respected, 
 
 While she's ez good ez dead ; 
 An' byme-by he'll be back ag'in, 
 
 A-holdin' up his head. 
 But ef I could live ter see him here, — 
 
 A Jedgment Pay, or not, — 
 Ef his gravestone told the truth on it, 
 
 'Twould say, ' The Villain was shot.' 
 
 " Been — weeks — has it — chaplain ? 
 
 Ye — see — I'm — goin' fast, 
 I want — you — to stay here — ^with me ; 
 
 It's comin' — dischars^e — at last. 
 I hope — that — Christ — will — ^remember, 
 
 When — he — ^makes up the books, 
 The — ^blood — I shed — in battle. 
 
 He — knows — ^how your own blood looks. 
 
 " Is — it night — now — or evenin' ? " — 
 
 "No, comrade, the sun shines clear." — 
 " Then — that — roll-call — is — comin' , 
 P'raps — jou — can hear it — ^here, — 
 Dress hy the colors!'' He wanders. 
 
 " Could — ^I have — a flag — for a pall ? 
 It seems — I can — see — one — floating 
 From a flag-staff — grand and tall. 
 
 " It seems — to float — clear to heaven, 
 Hark ! — can I — hear — a bell ? 
 Yes — ^it's — still — a-ringin' — 
 
 You — cannot — hear it? — ^Well, 
 Good-by — take — care — uv — Mary — 
 And when he heard the roll. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 41 
 
 I trust that Christ had mercy 
 On the rough old soldier's soul. 
 
 And there on the wall of his bedroom, 
 
 Hung up by its straps to a peg, 
 Just where he last had left it, 
 
 Was his well-worn wooden leg. 
 We buried it carefully with him. 
 
 Strapped on as it was before, 
 With the flag, as he requested. 
 
 For none deserved it more. 
 
 And while I live and remember, 
 
 I never can forget 
 His chivalric honor and " jestice," 
 
 Nor how his cheeks were wet 
 At the thought of the flag and Mary, 
 
 Nor the treason he fought so well. 
 Nor the treason to woman's trust and love, 
 
 By which at last he fell. 
 
 -^>oJ=®4< 
 
 THE CORPORAL TO THE PARSON. 
 
 [Written by the author a few months before his decease.] 
 
 " Come, open yer heart to me, parson. 
 
 What makes yer face so sad ? 
 You've always been kind in my troubles, 
 
 All that Pve ever had. 
 An' now^ ef the thing is reversed like, 
 
 An' yer need a helpin' hand, 
 I'm one that'll be found loyal. 
 
 Close by your side to stand." 
 
42 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 This is all that it is, corporal : 
 
 My strength has been eb1)ing away ; 
 My hope and my cour-ige have fallen, . 
 
 As life's power slipped away ; 
 And right in the midst of toiling. 
 
 Right under a noon-day sun, 
 I feel that the day is ended. 
 
 That my work and struggles are done. 
 
 I've got to lie down in the harness, — 
 
 To give up and cease to vie 
 With athletic or any striver — 
 
 Resisfned and willino^ to die. 
 But wdiile your words are powerless 
 
 To lift the load I bare, 
 I could bless you to God forever, 
 
 With kindest wish and prayer, 
 
 For seeing under cheeks that are paling. 
 
 What baffles the healer's art, — 
 That something was wearing slowly away 
 
 The streno'th of one beatinof heart. 
 And I will bless, and bless you ever 
 
 For the kind words you have said , 
 For speaking the words sympathetic 
 
 I would yearn for, even though dead. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 43 
 
 POLITICAL. 
 
 HILL'S BRIGADE. 
 
 "Comrade, I've been mad to-day, 
 
 Nigh mad enough to swear, 
 Thinkin' about the war 'n' the South, 
 
 An' all we sufiered there. 
 Those four long 3^ears, the dead we left. 
 
 An' those who come home to die, 
 Uv what we fought an' hoped for — 
 
 Mad with good reason why I 
 
 "I can't forgit they wer' rebels, — 
 
 That this was their General Hill ! 
 We have heard their yells afore ; 
 
 It seems I can hear them still. 
 To think uv that yell hi Congress ! 
 
 Wal, let us 'move back the hands ! 
 He boastin' uv 'father's' house, while 
 
 No thanks to him it stands ! 
 
 "Yes, lifted his hand ag'in' it. 
 
 An' sot it well on fire ! 
 An' knocked out the underpinin'. 
 
 Or, at least, 'twas his desire ; 
 An' when ' father ' caught and cuffed him, 
 
 Lettin' him up with hall" enough, — 
 To come back so crank and sassy 
 
 Is a-usin' the old man rough. 
 
44 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 " Then there's that ' Wilkes Booth Hambleton ' ! 
 
 Doughfaces a-crawlin' back 
 To obey their old-time masters, 
 
 An' hear the slave-whip crack ! 
 Centennial ! W'al, I'm for it ; 
 
 An' peace, an' good- will, an' such ; 
 But it seems they're askin' uv us 
 
 Just a leetle too much. 
 
 " Ther's Gettysburg an' Antietam, 
 
 The horrid Wilderness, too ; 
 Fort Pillow, Macon, an' Anderson ville, 
 
 With Wirtz an' his wicked crew. 
 An' we've Sfot to knuckle at last, — 
 
 To swaller our shame an' chagrin ; 
 To confess we were wrong, an' are sorry ; 
 
 That loyalty was a sin ! 
 
 " Ef comin' back they'd been decent. 
 
 Hadn't sneered over Lincoln's grave, 
 Had left off braggin' uv treason 
 
 An' the cause they couldn't save, 
 I'd 'ave swallered all resentment 
 
 In spite uv this wooden leg ; 
 An' ez fer goin' ag'in 'em 
 
 I wouldn't have moved a peg. 
 
 " I was ready to bury the hatchet, 
 
 To forgive an' try to forget ; 
 But beggin Jeff Davis's pardon . 
 
 Is ruther the wiist thing yet ! 
 The centennial plan of ' oblivion ' 
 
 Was good, so fur ez it went, — 
 To bottle well up our anger, 
 
 But to give to their venom vent ! " 
 
 The Corporal's Northern blood was up. 
 As he muttered, and hobbled away, 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 45 
 
 From the look and tone he carried, 
 
 I reckon it wasn't to pray. 
 At every step his wooden stump 
 
 Came down with a vicious vim ; 
 And it is my cahii opinion 
 
 They get no help from him. 
 
 He sees an insolent menace 
 
 In the venom of Hill's tirade, 
 The germ of another secession, 
 
 The stuff of which rebels are made. 
 But you can depend upon it. 
 
 Whether with ballot or blade, 
 Enough, upon call, will rally 
 
 To wipe out Hill's Brigade. 
 
 March, 1876. 
 
 RE-FORM AT HAMBURG. 
 
 Re-form — without masks — at Hamburg ! 
 
 On a white line campaign plan ! 
 An' ^ Sun-set ' in Congress excuses 
 
 Ez quick ez ever he can ; 
 Jest like my dog Bose ther', 
 
 Who runs afore I say sic ! 
 •Good fellow I Northern doughface, 
 
 The blood from their hands to lick. 
 
 "An' that rebel rag in Missouri, 
 Floatin' over a court-house ther' ! 
 
 With judge, 'n' lawyers, 'n' jury, 
 A yellin' He-form in the air ! 
 
46 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 He-form! yes, the old line is re-formin 
 
 Wherever they safely can, 
 To shoot down the colored voters, — 
 
 Centennial campaign plan ! 
 
 ''Then ther's that rag-haby to swoller, 
 
 An' lock-step with Morrissey John, 
 An' along with old Tammany holler 
 
 Hooray for Heforin ! and move on 
 The enemy's works, — which is nisforers, — 
 
 And down with their friends to a man, 
 Is what seems, at present, the secret 
 
 Confident campaign plan ! 
 
 "Their blood was ez red ez Custer's, 
 
 An' they're dead sure in the right — 
 Shot down after surrender, 
 
 JVot in a stand-up fight. 
 By them as had no right to do it, 
 
 Hadn't no shadder of excuse 
 To ask their arms, or receive 'em ! 
 
 Why, it's wits'' n the bloody Sioux! 
 
 " Is this their Southern chiv'lry ? 
 
 Is this their kind uv reform? 
 It's ruther their criminal deviltry. 
 
 Too fur gone to reform I 
 It's the same old slave-drivin' devil 
 
 We thought we had cast out an' killed. 
 When they gave the Avliite flag to Custer, 
 
 'N' we thought enuft' blood was spilled. 
 
 " When he took that flag at Farmville, 
 An' they piled their rusty guns. 
 
 We called it Southern manhood. 
 Proud uv our nation's sons ! 
 
 But ef tJiis is Southern manhood. 
 Their boasted chivalry, too. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 47 
 
 Ef this is valor and lionor, — 
 
 Wal, — then the war aint thru! " 
 
 The Corporal turned to his mowing 
 
 In the sweltering July sun, — 
 A broad clean swarth he was mowing, 
 
 In the meadow along the run ; 
 And at every swing of his long, keen blade 
 
 His lips were more firmly set ; 
 With a muttered curse on the Hamburg raid, 
 
 " They're all blanked rebels yet ! " 
 
 And when there is call for soldiers, 
 
 In the coming November storm, 
 He will be sure to rally, 
 
 The true blue line to re-form, — 
 And his old wooden leg go stumping, 
 
 I reckon the very first one, 
 To vote on this Hamburg matter, 
 
 As he voted before with his gun. 
 
 July 17, 1876. 
 
 A SOLID SOUTH. 
 
 '' So the South is goin' in solid ! 
 
 Who can say when it wa'n',t ? 
 What it meant before to be solid, 
 
 Some uv us haint forgot. 
 They were solid for Jeflf and secession, 
 
 An' solid ao'in the flas; ; 
 An' solid in fightin' an' yellin' 
 
 For that Southern bastard rag. 
 
48 OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 " But ef I remember correctly, 
 
 There was somethin' else solid then, 
 Which seems, ez now I think uv it. 
 
 Like a line uv blue-blousecl men. 
 An' our batteries blazed an' thundered 
 
 Only one answer forth ; 
 While the old flag floated to emblem 
 
 The will uv a solid North. 
 
 " An' ef they are comin 'together, 
 
 Solid an' savage ag'in. 
 It's only because they're hopin' 
 
 State rights an' Secession will win ! 
 Solid? Aint rogues alwus solid, 
 
 When the sherifl^ is on their track 
 To arrest an' bring 'em to justice, 
 
 An' bring the plunder back? 
 
 " An' ez good men go in together 
 
 To hunt out a thievin' pack 
 With no lack uv motives to move 'em. 
 
 No longer slow nor slack. 
 You'll find the Solid South boastin'. 
 
 Brings only one answer forth — 
 They'll meet, as they met before. 
 
 The ranks of a Solid North." 
 
 With whatever lack of honor 
 
 Political leaders stand, 
 Or lack of unselfish devotion 
 
 To justice and native land. 
 The Corporal's honor fails not ; 
 
 His heart is untarnished and pure ; 
 In his face glows the solemn purpose, 
 
 That the Union shall endure. 
 
 God bless the old Corporal's valor, 
 His keen and unerring scent. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 That this Solid South boast and business 
 Means what it always meant ; 
 
 And grant to thwart and defeat them, 
 To trouble and prosper them not, 
 
 That the roused Solid North give answer, 
 Like the plunge of a solid shot. 
 Oct., 1876. . " 
 
 49 
 
 AFTER ELECTIOISr. 
 
 " Well, I reckon God isn't cornered. 
 
 Nor his light gettin' dmi. 
 That we've got to cheat in the corner, 
 
 To carry a point for him ! 
 Yes, God, with one hundred eighty. 
 
 Is a surer way to thrive 
 Than to stain even one uv the figures 
 
 That make up eighty-five. 
 
 " It's a time uv danger, parson. 
 
 For our good old ship of state. 
 An' the best thing I can think uv 
 
 Is jist to quietly wait. 
 Ef we mast, why, yield the advantage, 
 
 Gained by those buUdozin' frauds ; 
 An' then, in the next election, 
 
 Roll up the honest odds. 
 
 " An' I shall be loyal, parson, 
 Whichever way it goes ; 
 I'm not the stuff* for a rebel, 
 
 Though it's ruther a tough old dose ; 
 But we can't allow them canvassers 
 To stretch a point for us ; 
 
50 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Ef tliey do, the next election 
 Will be o^oin' as^'in us, wus. 
 
 " To win is alwus welcome, 
 
 But it's better far to be right ; 
 Especially ef it happens 
 
 That we should have to fight ; — 
 To fio^ht a fraud is fur better 
 
 For the stomach uv a man 
 Than to go to lightin'/br 'one, — 
 
 I doubt ef a good man can. 
 
 " The old ship seems to be driftin' 
 
 Right onto a ragged rock ; 
 An' I sometimes ruther question 
 
 Ef she can stand the shock. 
 But we'll man her like men, and stand ready, 
 
 Honest an' square at our post ; 
 An' hope that the silent Captain 
 
 Will find a pass in the coast, 
 
 " An' steer the old sliip through it, 
 
 Escapin' the rocky bar ; 
 I reckon he haint lost the bearin' 
 
 Uv Truth fur a steerin' star. 
 It's better to build on jestice ; 
 
 It won't do to wink at wrong ; 
 Ef God has an eye to this business, 
 
 Tliat can't triumph long. 
 
 " I've got more faith in the people — 
 
 The real people, North and South — 
 Than I have in the brao- and bluvster 
 
 Uv the hottest fire-eatin' mouth. 
 An' Fate, with God, will see to it, 
 
 AA^ill smite every infamous fraud, 
 Till, sooner or later, they'll learn it, — 
 
 They can't steal a inarch on God, 
 
OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 51 
 
 "So, I reckon God isn't cornered, 
 
 Nor his light gettin' dim. 
 That we've got to cheat in the shadow, 
 
 To make a point for him. 
 Whoever goes out in countin', 
 
 Be sure that jon count God in. 
 For it's sure defeat without him. 
 
 Though fur a time you win." 
 
 The Corporal touches his old cloth cap 
 
 With the soldier's firm salute. 
 And stumps with his wooden leg, sturdily, 
 
 Alons: his dailv route. 
 And in the old fellow's rough horse sense 
 
 There shines a Heam of liHit 
 That makes success fade out and pale 
 
 Before the Immortal — Eight. 
 
 Nov. 27, 1876. 
 
 -<^>*ic 
 
 SAUCE FOR THE GANDER. 
 
 "Hold up, parson, I tell ye 
 
 It aint no sort uv use 
 To slap and bang about Conoverf 
 
 This well-baked Policy goose 
 Must be carved and served, I reckon. 
 
 Let Thurman cut an' slash ; 
 Let Conover vote for Hamburg, — 
 
 He's leo^itimate Policv Hash. 
 
 " If the noble Hampton's governor now, 
 It seems to my limited view 
 That a legal Legislature 
 Makes a legal Senator, too. 
 
52 OLD COEPOBAL POEMS. 
 
 There's no sort uy use in kickin' 
 Ag'in them politieiil pricks ; 
 
 They're fools, ef with all their schoolin' 
 They haven't learned the tricks. 
 
 "It's no time now to cry baby, 
 
 To mourn they've lost the game ; 
 You can't depend on the swimin' 
 
 Of the duck who wades in lame. 
 The gong for the feast has sounded, 
 
 An' it aint no sort uv use 
 To refuse the roast we furnished 'em, — 
 
 They've cooked and '11 carve that goose. 
 
 " Then they'll jest pay for it in silver, 
 
 That's legal (an' tender too), 
 And ef Jonathan should refuse it. 
 
 Then, pray, what can he do? 
 For he'll lose his goose, an' his Senate 
 
 (Ef the Whigs don't rise to view) ; 
 Ef he will not take their silver, 
 
 Then, pray, what can he do? 
 
 "Fur Banning '11 make a gesture. 
 
 An' Bland will be child-like an' blue, 
 AVhile Ewing will soak his little sponge 
 
 In the Ohio (Kentucky, too), 
 To wipe out our Butler's bloated bonds 
 
 While he watches his pile uv bricks ; 
 And Schurz en«langers his elegant limbs 
 
 A-kickin' political pricks ! " 
 
 Mr. President, Senators, Gentlemen ! 
 
 There are men, and not a few. 
 Who in ways and walks that are humble, 
 
 Keep the Ca[)itol well in view. 
 Their judgment is not hasty. 
 
 Their aims and their hearts are large ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 53 
 
 And they will call you to strict account 
 For the trust you took in charge. 
 
 The past they have not forgotten, 
 
 Nor the future lost from view : 
 Though Senates and Presidents pass away, 
 
 The people will yet stand true. 
 They will render work that is foolish, 
 
 And only the Right shall stand, 
 For they will smite, stamp out, and slay 
 
 Each trading political band. 
 
 -OO'^^OO- 
 
 HOW THEY CAEED FOR JIM. 
 
 " It aint very often, parson, 
 
 That I am tempted to swenr. 
 But there's some things so mean 'n' ungrateful. 
 
 So niggardly base 'n' unfair, 
 That there aint no way uv expressin' 
 
 The rage that is soaked in chagrin 
 In language that's riglit 'n' proper, — 
 
 That's when I'm tempted to sin. 
 
 " They've sent poor Jim to the almshouse ! 
 
 The squire an' the selick men 
 (Who grew rich ez substitute brokers) 
 
 Got tired uv givin', an' then 
 They histed him off ez a pauper. 
 
 They're done wastin' money on him, 
 For all that they promised his father 
 
 That they would look out for Jim. 
 
 " Jim's father, at Cedar Mountain, 
 Was aaiong the first to fall, 
 
54 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 An' when he lay a-d^dn' 
 
 All torn by a cannon-ball ; 
 When streno^th an' breath was failin' 
 
 An' his eyes a-growin' dim, 
 He said, 'Tell the squire an' selick men 
 
 To take good care uv Jim.' 
 
 " They had all nv his pay an' bounty, 
 
 A-keepin' it snug an' trim, 
 In case he was killed or disabled, 
 
 To feed an' care for Jim. 
 You know how they boosted an' farmed him out 
 
 To pay for his board in chores, 
 Never once gettin' to decent feed 
 
 Nor darkenin' decent doors. 
 
 " An' the new selick men have forgotten 
 
 That ever there was a war — 
 An' the men who died so long ago — 
 
 An' what they all died for ; 
 So, eager for pacification, 
 
 A-hidin' the bloody past. 
 They've shipped Jim off to the poor-house. 
 
 An' they're at peace at last. 
 
 " Well, I guess we aint a Nation — 
 
 At least worth dyin' for ! 
 Could I safely float the stars an' stripes 
 
 Where I followed them in the war? 
 They ought to protect a citizen 
 
 In Hamburg or Mobile 
 Without his havin' a single fear 
 
 Of treacherous lead an' steel. 
 
 " But no — the Government has no power 
 Till some great Hampton calls, 
 To protect the life uv its citizens 
 From murderous rifle -balls. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 55 
 
 What wonder when this doctrine 
 
 Is heard from executive halls, 
 That the cripple child uv a soldier 
 
 Away to the poor-house crawls ? 
 
 " We fought for the Union an' saved it — 
 
 We saved it ez we ought ; 
 We fought for the ballot an' lost it, 
 
 An' lost just where we fought, 
 Unless we vote ez the Southern grays 
 
 A-swaofs^eriu' swear we ous^ht. 
 No ! that aint the Union 
 
 That lived in our loyal thought." 
 
 You may doff your hats to Treason, 
 
 The Corporal's conscience yet 
 Is too keen and shai'ply consistent 
 
 To allow him to forget ; 
 And thousands of us are with hiui, 
 
 And glad I surely am 
 Not to look yet upon loyalty 
 
 As a sentimental sham. 
 
 The right to-day is as sacred 
 
 As when, under Southern Stars, 
 , We gathered in line against the lie 
 
 Of rebel Stars and Bars. 
 If right looms up to-day in the haze 
 
 It is clear we were all wrong then. 
 And if so there is not a Corporal's guard 
 
 Who would fio^ht for the Union ao^ain. 
 
 And when the old question confronts us, 
 
 As meet us again it will. 
 With what heart conld loyal legions 
 
 Follow the old cause still ? 
 If they fall, why otf to the poor-house 
 
 Their children and wives may go. 
 
56 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 And the heart of their cause be clean-cut out 
 And thrown to a beaten foe. 
 
 We ask of them surely nothing 
 
 But what we readily grant, — 
 The right of free speech and ballot ; 
 
 To reap as well as to phmt. 
 Until these things are free and fair, 
 
 Under Southern as Northern sun, 
 The work in which our brothers fell 
 
 Cannot be said to be done. 
 
 o>&<< 
 
 CLAY IN THE HANDS OF THE PLOTTER. 
 
 Ez clay in the hands uv the Potter ! 
 
 Well, the old wheel goes 'round, 
 The Potter obeying the Plotter, 
 
 Who scents all frauds like a hound. 
 With what acute precision 
 
 He scents a Republican trail, 
 An' lifts his nose high into the air 
 
 With regulation wail. 
 
 How they lift their eyebrows in horror ! 
 
 While tonofues are thrust into their cheeks, 
 A-showin' the patriot purpose 
 
 Which " Fraud " & Co. seeks. 
 They won't ketch the wrong fish this time. 
 
 They don't fish the Tilden pond ; 
 They're only goin' a-fishing. 
 
 Not thinkin' uv what is beyond. 
 
 The old Fraud goes a-fraudin' ; 
 He knows how it is himself, 
 
OLD CORPOKAL POEMS. 57 
 
 A-smilin' 'an blinkin' so artful, 
 
 The old ''cold clam on the shelf." 
 An' he siiisfs 'an hums, while watchiu* 
 
 The mischief he's trying to brew — 
 Florida and Louisiana — 
 
 Anything moi*e won't do. 
 
 They're cla}^ in the hands uv my Potter, 
 
 An' Potter himself is clay ; 
 Ef the old wheel keeps a-whirlin' 
 
 They'll fall into line 'an obey. 
 Can't I scent a fraud and find it? 
 
 I'm brenthin' my native air ; — 
 Just skip New York an' Oregon, 
 
 For Goff and Cypher are there ! 
 
 About those frauds no matter ; 
 
 I've seen all them before ; 
 We w^ant only a trail to take us 
 
 Eight up to the White House door ; 
 An' then we'll walk up boldly 
 
 (We didn't mean it before). 
 An' Rutherford ? — oh ! he'll meekly 
 
 Back out uv some back door. 
 
 The old "cold clam" is a-warmin' 
 
 A horrible, terrible stew : 
 Why, he'd cut up even the White House ! 
 
 It'll make line kindlin', too, — 
 This fine old Kailroad Wrecker, 
 
 A-waitin' to clutch the spoils. 
 No matter what goes for kindlin' 
 
 Ef his own fraud pot-boils. 
 
58 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 WANTED : A CAPTAIN. 
 
 Ef God's everlastin' purposes 
 
 Concernin' this favored land 
 Depend on sicli tools ez Anderson 
 
 An' the cards in Tilde n's hand, 
 I reckon he'd throw up the business, 
 
 Just close the old thing out ; — 
 But I reckon his purpose is deeper, 
 
 An' he will bring it about. 
 
 I can't think he is planin' 
 
 To let the whole thing slip ; 
 I reckon he'll find a master 
 
 To sail the good old ship. 
 He's got too much invested, 
 
 Too much by far at stake, 
 To allow his plans to miscarry 
 
 By any one. man's mistake. 
 
 I don't fear for the safety 
 
 Uv the cargo, nor the ship, 
 Because God's cables an' anchors 
 
 Are not very likely to slip. 
 He rules the tides an' the currents. 
 
 The calms an' edtlys, all ; — 
 An' the good old ship won't founder 
 
 In any sudden squall. 
 
 An' he will " lay to " to help us, 
 
 Sendin' a Pilot aboard ! 
 With God for convoj^ an' escoi't 
 
 To wait we can well aft or d. 
 So we'll throw the anchor uv jestice 
 
 Held well by cal)les uv law ; 
 Clew up our sail, an' safely 
 
 Kide out the sudden flaw. 
 
OLD CORPORAIi POEMS. 59 
 
 With colors at peak an' mizzen, 
 
 Nailed up sure an' fast, 
 Though the white squall whirl an' whistle, 
 
 Its fury will soon be past. 
 An' when once more on the quarter-deck 
 
 We hear the old Captain's tread. 
 An' hear his trumpet a-callin' 
 
 " Stand by, to heave the lead ! " 
 
 " Shake out the main-sail uv labor ; 
 
 Look sharp ! stand by to belay ! " 
 He'll put about on the right course, 
 
 An' we shall be under way. 
 Then we shall gather headway, 
 
 An' then the old sails will fill. 
 An' belly an' tug an' take us away, 
 
 Obeyin' the Captain's will. 
 
 All that we want is a Captain ; 
 
 So we'll anchor an' ride the gale, 
 Till the old Tanner's gig uv leather 
 
 Heaves to alongside to hail. 
 An' then we'll man the old gangway, 
 
 Throw the old rope-ladder out, 
 W^elcoming home from foreign shore 
 
 With tremendous cheer an' shout. 
 
 An' then the whole gang uv traitors 
 
 Wlio are tryin' to scuttle the ship 
 Shall be ironed by pviblic opinion. 
 
 Chained by a righteous grip. 
 An' cargo, an' crew, an' passengers, 
 
 Shall lose all cause uv fear, 
 " Steady," shall be the word at the wheel ; 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir," the answer clear. 
 
CO OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 THE CORPORAL BREAKS SILENCE. 
 
 "I've been tiyin', parson, 
 
 To find where I am, an' what : 
 That I ivas a Union soldier 
 
 I hardly have forgot, 
 But why I was, or the good uv it, 
 
 Don't seem plain to-day ; 
 That I'd go again, if able, 
 
 I'm not quite ready to say. 
 
 " They've thrown away the victory 
 
 We bought with toil an' blood ; 
 Hear the Senate and House a-ringin' 
 
 With roar uv treason's flood ; 
 The crew a-conspirin' to scuttle 
 
 The good old Union ship ! 
 Ef the man at the wheel don't save us, 
 
 They've got us in their grip. 
 
 " An' they'll jest ez surely triumph 
 
 Ez we allow them to gain 
 Control uv the helm an' keep it ; 
 
 The plan uv their fight is ez plain 
 Ez ever their line of battle. 
 
 When in more manly way 
 They sought to wrest a victory 
 
 From the heat uv deadly fray. 
 
 *' My hope is that the reptile 
 
 Whose rattle an' venomous hiss 
 Gave us of old, sure warning, 
 
 Will rattle again in this 
 His renewed an' reckless battle, 
 
 Afifin Union with the North ; 
 Ef so, we may know the coarse 
 
 Ou which his hate goes forth. 
 
OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 61 
 
 "The fono- uv that snake is deadly. 
 
 Let us hope that his rattle is sure ; 
 That he won't have the sense to hide it, 
 
 While we're asleep secure, 
 But on the floor of the Senate, 
 
 An' in the k)wer hall, 
 Will unwittingly sound the summons 
 
 That again to the lines will call, 
 
 "All who fought for the Union, 
 
 All who gave brotht-rs an' friends. 
 To rally again to meet them, 
 
 Though the Solid South defeuds. 
 Where is the faith an' the spirit, 
 
 That arose in 'sixty-one, 
 Standi u' unfliuchin' an' loyal, 
 
 Until the battle was done ? 
 
 "Let us leave our soldiers' monuments, 
 
 An' level their humble graves; 
 Hide our old swords an' muskets, 
 
 An' cringe like a pack uv slaves 
 Before the swasftrer an' flourish ; 
 
 No, ' we've come back to stay ' 
 An' suck the blood uv the nation. 
 
 An' vote its life away ! 
 
 "Ef my old leg in the Wilderness 
 
 Doesn't kick their traitorous sod, 
 I swear I will not own it 
 
 In the last great day uv God, 
 When he in the resurrection 
 
 Gives back my buried limb ; 
 I'll limp forever through glory, — 
 
 Ef it's all the same to him, 
 
 " Before I'll wear about me 
 One bit uv blood or bone 
 
62 OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 That doesn't hate treason forever, 
 Whether its front is shown 
 
 On the lines of the Appomattox, 
 Or in legislative halls ; 
 
 Whether it light with bullets, 
 Or slay with ballot balls." 
 
 Four years since the Corporal 
 
 Predicted Hill's Brigade 
 Would make on the Union Congress 
 
 A fatal and deadly raid. 
 He has lived to see Hill in the Senate, 
 
 And to hear a live rebel say, 
 " We're here to sweep every vestige 
 
 Of war legislation away." 
 
 -ooj«4« 
 
 FALL IN ! 
 
 [Written for the *,' Bangor Daily Whig and Courier," and published within a few 
 clays of the State Election, held in Maine, Sept. 8, 1879, and the last of the Politi- 
 cal Series of the Old Corporal Ballads, and the last but one of Mr. Coan's satires.] 
 
 We're formin' the old line, comrades. 
 
 In our good old Pine Tree State, 
 Uv the men who were boys in 'lifty-six. 
 
 An' in 'sixty voted straight 
 For the sainted Abraham Lincoln, 
 
 With a piu'pose plain an' clear. 
 That swept to the goal uv victory 
 
 With loyal an' ringin' cheer. 
 
 Last year there was dissatisfaction ; 
 
 Deserters were all along, 
 Who wouldn't close in with the column, 
 
 But swelled the stragglers' throng, 
 
OLD COBPORAL POEMS. 63 
 
 That lost us the State an' the battle 
 Which by right we should have won, 
 
 An' would, ef we'd wisely measured 
 The work that w^as bein' done. 
 
 We were sold to the foe we had battled, 
 
 Yes, whipt, without favor or fear; 
 A foe we can always handle 
 
 Ef the issue is plain an' clear. 
 An' now that we've heard the warnin' 
 
 Uv venomous rattle an' hiss, 
 We propose to write on our banners 
 
 A victory in this, 
 
 Our campaign for honest money, 
 
 For honest an' loyal men ; — 
 For freedom, an' right uv ballot, 
 
 Anywhere, an' anywhere. 
 For, ef they can Yazoo Dimercrats, 
 
 On the Mississippi plan, 
 They are really rol)bin' the franchise 
 
 Uv every Northern man. 
 
 For each one they slay, or frighten 
 
 Away from a freeman's right, 
 •In Yazoo, Memphis, or Hamburg, 
 
 It's the same ez ef shot in our sight : 
 It is freedom that they are slayin' 
 
 With assassin's shot an' stab, 
 However Lamar an' the leaders 
 
 May whine out their loyal gab. 
 
 The cloven foot uv their purpose 
 
 Is too soon an' too plainly shown 
 To the men who have faced their rifles 
 
 An' the sound uv their yell have known. 
 So three times three an' a tiger, 
 
 Shall rend our September air 
 
64 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Till their famished an' hnngrv tiger 
 Skulks away to his hidden hiir. 
 
 So here's to our Corporal Davis 
 
 Who shall giace our Governor's chair; 
 Honest men an' honest money, 
 
 With elections on the square, 
 An' the Greenhack-Grayback alliance, 
 
 A delusion all an' a snare, 
 Shall show up the Salt river rapids 
 
 To camp on the head-waters there ! 
 
 It's a rill to whicli they're accustomed. 
 
 They know the spot uv their camp. 
 Although last year they wandered 
 
 From the beat uv their usual tramp. 
 Already their scouts are explorin' 
 
 A suital)le campin' place, 
 For they scent defeat in the air. 
 
 An' know they have lost the race. 
 
 a^^^^c 
 
 THE PARSON TO THE CORPORAL. 
 
 They might hope to harness the whirlwind; 
 
 They might hope to check the tide ; 
 But had better not make the endeavor 
 
 To stem the current and ride 
 On an angry public upheaval, 
 
 Thinkino* to make it ofo 
 Some other way than the fated 
 
 Course of its certain flow. 
 
 When rebels ^tand up to berate us 
 For our part in 'sixty-one, 
 
OLD COKPORAL POEMS. 65 
 
 It seems that Pacification's 
 
 Work is clumsily done ! 
 The cloven foot of their motive 
 
 Appears a little too quick 
 To leave them a chance of succeeding 
 
 In the work of their treacherous trick. 
 
 If you give enough rope to the devil 
 
 He is sure to hang himself ! 
 The doughface politician is sure to find his place, 
 
 Is sure to find his shelf, 
 And climb to it briskly, 
 
 And pack himself away, 
 As ever the night is sure 
 
 To follow the light of day. 
 
 Let them howl on, then, and threaten ! 
 
 They only make more sure 
 The fate we have predicted, — 
 
 That men will not endure 
 Their rashly renewed endeavor 
 
 To do through political strife 
 What they failed to do before 
 
 With bullet and bowie-knife. 
 
 So look sharp to their Congress ; 
 
 Be ready and quick to hear 
 The yell of those rampant rebels ; 
 
 So rang their joyful cheer 
 When the lines of the loyal faltered, 
 
 Or turned white faces to God ; 
 When their red blood flowing freely 
 
 Enriched their Southern sod. 
 
 We foro^et not the foes who fousfht us 
 
 So long as that old-time cheer 
 From the ranks of political leaders 
 
 In Congress we plainly hear. 
 
66 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 But stand alert, and ready 
 
 To strike for freedom and ris^lit, 
 
 Whether with arms they front us 
 Or in political ambush fight. 
 
 THE OLD BUGLE CALL. 
 
 Bring out the old battered bugle 
 
 That sounded in 'sixty-one, 
 Rousing each gray- headed father. 
 
 Daughter, and daring son. 
 We have not all forgotten 
 
 Those stirring heroic days 
 When the fairest for the bravest 
 
 Twined their immortal bays. 
 
 It is well that some of us see clearly 
 
 The drift of commercial stream, 
 And dare on the tide swift rushing 
 
 The light of truth to beam ; 
 And to swear in the lio-ht of those lessons, 
 
 And the lost light of loyal eyes. 
 To kindle anew the signals 
 
 That shall flash athwart the skies.' 
 
 The lessons of the brave dead teach us. 
 
 As though they were with us yet ; 
 The look of whose eyes as we closed them 
 
 We never can forget. 
 When they lay in the damps of evening, 
 
 After the battle was done, 
 Pulseless, cold, and livid. 
 
 Cold, under tropic sun. 
 
OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 67 
 
 We forgive the brave who fought us, 
 
 Nor cling to one thought of war ; 
 But will hate forever and deeply 
 
 The cause which they suffered for ; 
 And will hate it and fight it forever, 
 
 And them, if they dare defend 
 The fratricide right of secession, 
 
 Which we thouo^ht the war would end. 
 
 We have guns yet, swords, and saddles. 
 
 That are red with loyal stains, 
 Hid now under rust which encrusts them 
 
 With each year's suns and rains ; 
 And until Time's hand efface them. 
 
 Those tokens of loyal death. 
 We swear that our hearts shall be loyal 
 
 And our lives breathe loyal breath. 
 
 And whatever guise that serpent 
 
 State Sovereignty shall wear, 
 We will tear off that guise, and throttle 
 
 Till its heart from its carcass we tear ; 
 For we learned to hate treason and traitors, 
 
 And will teach to our daughters and sons 
 The lessons from lips and faces 
 
 Made livid by State Sovereign guns. 
 
68 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 THE SAME OLD FLAG. 
 
 Bring out the old campaign colors, 
 
 Hoist the old banner high, 
 With starry blue and crimson, 
 
 Clear in the autumn sky, — 
 The same old flag that in 'sixty, 
 
 And later in 'sixty-one. 
 We hailed with tears of devotion , 
 
 When the skies were heavy and dim. 
 
 We followed it in its peril, 
 
 That its folds might know no stain ; 
 And now that dishoifor threatens 
 
 We rally around it again. 
 We perilled our lives for its honor ; 
 
 Can we not give watchful toil. 
 That no fanatic delusion 
 
 Its unsullied lustre soil ? 
 
 When the old world's socialist convicts 
 
 Hiss out fanatic hate. 
 Assailing our free republic 
 
 As they would a tyrannous state. 
 We will rally around the standard. 
 
 We will lift the old banner high. 
 Will vote and toil for its honor. 
 
 As once we w^ere ready to die. 
 
 Defendino' now with the ballot, 
 
 • 
 
 As we did with the bayonet then. 
 With cordons of steel and iron. 
 
 In the hands and hearts of men. 
 We will ofive no vote to dishonor 
 
 The sheen of its starry flow, 
 That shall shame when in the future 
 
 The deeds of to-day are told. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. ()9 
 
 We fought disunion and treason 
 
 As loyal freemen then ; 
 And now dishonor and folly 
 
 In the hearts of misguided men. 
 Though the load to be borne is heavier 
 
 Than we in the darkness saw, 
 We may not refuse without breaking 
 
 The sacred segis of law. 
 
 'Tis the fate of war and the nation, 
 
 Cursed by a traitor's crew ; 
 Though they were false to their pledges, 
 
 For us it remained to be true. 
 We stand by the bond — our honor 
 
 And safety bind us there ; 
 Of breaking the nation's pledges 
 
 It behooves us well to beware. 
 
 Bangor, Sept. 9, 1880. 
 
PART II 
 
PART II. 
 
 ^>9i< 
 
 SEVION GAKEW. 
 
 A LEGEND OF GULF GLEN.* 
 
 If I could paint the North Maine woods, 
 
 The sweep of grand old hills, 
 The bald gray granite mountain range. 
 
 The clear moss-bedded rills ; 
 Bring scent of balsam odors here. 
 
 Or sounds of forest night, 
 The soughing wind in tasselled pine. 
 
 The glow of camp-fire light ; 
 Or etch the flash of speckled trout 
 
 Through deep, clear mountain pool ; 
 Or sketch September sunsets, and 
 
 The nio-ht aii' clear and cool ; 
 The relished fare, the hunger keen, 
 
 The game-feast spread in camp ; 
 Or slumber deep on scented boughs 
 
 After a day's long tramp, ^ 
 
 Sketch you the fair Ebemee * 
 
 As pleasant as it sounds. 
 Or give the rugged Hagus Gorge ;* 
 
 The mountain, hunting-grounds ; 
 The graceful poise of startled deer. 
 
 The rough, majestic moose. 
 
 * See note at end of book. 
 
74 OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 The swift, ungraceful caribou, 
 
 The wily hunter's ruse ; — 
 I then would paint exactly where 
 
 The old guide sat and told 
 Of strange Garew, the French half-breed, 
 
 And frontier days of old , — 
 Would paint the jutting boulders there, 
 
 The strong human face, 
 So silent, thoughtful, stern and grand, 
 
 That you might know the place 
 Where still it hangs, the same as then. 
 
 On rugged mountain side, 
 Gazing adown the wild old glen 
 
 Into the torrent's tide. 
 
 Nor pen nor pencil reproduce 
 
 Such scenes and sounds as those. 
 The best eludes the artist's skill 
 
 As odor in the rose. 
 So only now the story weird 
 
 Of old-time frontier day, 
 Repeating here the old guide's words. 
 
 As near as ballad may : — 
 ******* 
 
 " Have a light ? There ! that is better. 
 
 How's this for a camping-place ? 
 You'll have to move back to the shelter, 
 
 Or the heat will scorch yer face. 
 Never heard of Garew? That's queer. 
 
 'Twas 'round Ebemee, and here 
 He came with his dog and rifle, — 
 
 Came twice in every year. 
 
 Once when the snow was crusted, 
 And once when the leaves were red, 
 
 And the river was low in Hagus, 
 So he could follow the bed ; 
 
OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 75 
 
 His mother, an Oldtown Indian girl, 
 By a roving French trader betrayed ; 
 
 But a noiseless Indian arrow 
 Avenged the beautiful maid. 
 
 " But the child grew silent and thoughtful. 
 
 And always every year, 
 After he grew to manhood. 
 
 Came twice to this forest here. 
 Still he lived with his mother at Oldtown ; 
 
 And when, at last, she died. 
 He followed alone to her burial 
 
 With only his dog at his side. 
 
 " And still he kept the old cabin. 
 
 With the same half-savage ways, 
 Till he grew to be old and feeble 
 
 In his own last, lonely days ; 
 And then all the neighbors wondered 
 
 What made him persist to go 
 To the Gulf when the leaves grew red, 
 
 And again on the crusted snow. 
 
 " But at last he told them his secret. 
 
 With great solemnity said : — 
 ' The Great Spirit comes to the face in the rock. 
 
 The moon when the leaves grow red ; 
 And when the round moon shines upon it. 
 
 Shines into the Gulf at night. 
 Shines full and fair upon it. 
 
 Making it plain and white, — 
 
 " ' Whoever waits there, with fasting. 
 Below the strong face. 
 With a young deer's blood for offering, 
 Always finds pardon and peace.' 
 
76 01.D COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 This the Great Spirit had told him, 
 And had many times proved true ; 
 
 And once more he purposed going, 
 Though he solemnly said he knew 
 
 " (The Great Spirit surely had told him) 
 
 He would never again come out ; 
 Yet still would he go and die there 
 
 (Of this he had never a doubt) . 
 So soon as the August moon told him 
 
 The waters in Hagus were low. 
 To be sure of the needed offering, 
 
 With rifle and dog would go. 
 
 " He went, as purposed, and living 
 
 He came not out again, 
 And the villagers down the river 
 
 Watched for his coming in vain. 
 That time the face of the full moon 
 
 Shone not on the face in the rock, 
 For a storm hung black in the heavens, 
 
 And the winds and the tempest's shock 
 
 "Roared through a week of storms. 
 
 Such as ever and only is known 
 When the storm is too dense and heavy 
 
 To be lifted by the moon. 
 That autumn, they say, the hunters 
 
 Saw lingering in the glen 
 A strange dog, gaunt and wistful, 
 
 Going and coming again 
 
 " To the point whence we see the face ; 
 And the legend also saith 
 That the faithful dog, like his master. 
 Was faithful unto death. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 77 
 
 Near the close of that week of tempests 
 
 The full moon's night came on, 
 But the storm hung heavy and sullen, 
 
 The stars and the moon were o^one. 
 
 " Gray and turgid the river rose, 
 
 And roared down the fearful glen, , 
 
 And just at his time of offering, — 
 
 The storm was wildest then, — 
 Did he wait there alone in the darkness, 
 
 Watching in vain for the face ? 
 Did he perish in the floods that 
 
 Roar down that fearful place ? 
 
 " Well, the Indians down the river. 
 
 And some other people, say. 
 That still on the moon when the leaves are red, 
 
 The very same hour of the day 
 When the full moon shines into Hagus., 
 
 The man and the dos: come back 
 And wait for the pardon he found not. 
 
 The night when the storm was black." 
 
 TW T^ ^ y^ ^ 
 
 If now the light of weird camp-fire, 
 
 The old guide's dreamy maze. 
 Could flash and gleam a moment here ; 
 
 The flickering, fitful blaze 
 Shine here upon you as you read. 
 
 And darkness gathers round ; 
 The river's ceaseless monotone ; 
 
 The niglit birds in the tree ; , 
 
 The beast's wild yell in forest near 
 
 That seems your blood would freeze. 
 And you could lend your fancy 
 
 To the leadings of all these ; 
 Could drift and dream along the maze 
 
 Of stray and sombre sj)ell 
 
78 OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 To which my vagrant fancies then, 
 
 After listening, fell, — 
 Then I might hope this border tale 
 
 Might seem the same to you 
 As there that night it seemed to me. 
 
 This Legend of Garew. 
 
 -oo>»4<: 
 
 TEIBUTE OF SMILES AND TEAES. 
 
 A JUNE SONG. 
 
 Bobolink, jaunty and joyous ! 
 
 Brave singer, I greet you to-day ! 
 Would I could weave your music 
 
 And melody into my lay. 
 Could I catch its rollicking movements, 
 
 Its melody, liquid and clear, 
 Its generous, wild abandon. 
 
 Its gladsome, challenging cheer ; 
 
 Its joy of anticipation. 
 
 Its love of mate and young, 
 I woidd fill the air with the sweetest 
 
 Song that ever was sung ; 
 Pour it out with ecstatic pleasure 
 
 On the tremulous, throbbing air, 
 Fillino' men's hearts with its solace 
 
 For toil and worry and care. 
 
 I would strive to sing away sadness 
 From the hearts of sorrowing men. 
 
 Until they should listen and love me. 
 And bless me again and again. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 79 
 
 As I have blessed you for your riotous, 
 
 Rapturous rush of song, 
 Until heart after heart should echo 
 
 Your generous strain, and prolong. 
 
 O bird of my boyhood's fancy ! 
 
 Do you know how you bring back the years 
 Before life was earnest and tragic. 
 
 Or my eyes had been dim with tears 
 For the dead and the dying, 
 
 Or my heart had been torn with pain, 
 Or become the place of burial 
 
 For bright hopes ruthlessly slain ? 
 
 My mother's kind voice, and the loving, 
 
 Radiant light of her face. 
 Making home bright by its presence 
 
 With nameless and blessed grace ; 
 Sweet sisters, brothers and playmates. 
 
 Father and questioning boy, — 
 All come throno^ino- around me 
 
 Through the rush of your turbulent joy. 
 
 Sing, brave bird of June joy. 
 
 Heed not my pleasure or tears ! 
 How little you know that you people 
 
 The air with life of those years, 
 Some of them gleaming with sabres. 
 
 Red with the blood of the slain. 
 Which come trooping back at your summons, - 
 
 Your song has not been in vain. 
 
 And white faces that are reposing. 
 
 With pale hands folded and crossed. 
 In silence sweep past my vision. 
 
 While the trill of your song has been tossed 
 With such defiant abandon 
 
 Out over the roses of June, 
 
80 OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 In strange and curious contrast 
 To the roll of your jubilant tune. 
 
 So into mj heart the minor 
 
 Refrain of memory came, 
 Unbidden, but blessed and welcome ; 
 
 And you the power may claim. 
 From the spell of your magical genius. 
 
 On through Time's coming years, 
 What I your song have rendered, 
 
 A tribute of smiles and tears. 
 
 SOLOMON SHIRK. 
 
 Old Solomon Shirk was a blue hard-shell. 
 
 With a hatchet face, and a long hooked nose ; 
 We all knew the tale he used to tell 
 
 When he in prayer-meeting arose. 
 He w-as such a sinner ! you wouldn't believe 
 
 If he was telling about it. 
 Yet it came with an unction you cannot conceive, 
 
 And some of us didn't doubt it. 
 
 But he did not mean it any while, 
 
 And if another had said it 
 Would have put on his resignation smile, 
 
 Giving persecution credit ; 
 A poor, sick neighbor might starve and die, — 
 
 He would not bother about it ; 
 And this was just the reason why 
 
 Some of us didn't doubt it. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 81 
 
 The generous Master's golden rule 
 
 To him was a meaningless mjth ; 
 And in life's rough-and-tumble school 
 
 He knew neither kin nor kith ; 
 The years did not mellow his leathern heart, 
 
 Nor abate his clutch of pelf ; 
 In Charity's mission he had no part, 
 
 He loved alone his own mean self. 
 
 In an old red school-house a meeting was held ; 
 
 It was full, "the interest intense ; " 
 At the usual time the crowd beheld 
 
 " Old Sol " arise ; a pause, — suspense. 
 But he told the worn and hackneyed tale. 
 
 Of his fearful, "terrible, wicked heart," 
 And closing with his old lugubrious wail, 
 
 Sat down, having "taken a part." 
 
 Then up rose Jim, a sinner indeed, — 
 
 Of this we hadn't a doubt. 
 When he arose they all gave heed. 
 
 For "Jim must be a-comin' out." 
 " What that mean old hulk is sayin' is true, 
 
 And I can bear witness tew it ; 
 Ef there's anything meaner'n the devil can dew, 
 
 He is jist the sinner to dew it." 
 
82 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 SKATING SONG. 
 
 The bright steel rings ; the skater swings 
 
 With rhythmic movement, lithe and slow, 
 To deftly glide o'er the frozen tide, 
 
 While fair cheeks flush with mantling glow. 
 The ice-field rings ; like flash of wings 
 
 The cloud of fleet forms flying fast, 
 With swifter rush and deafening flush ; 
 
 The sport of winter reigns at last. 
 
 With graceful whirl and gleaming swirl 
 
 They spin with deft and swift device ; 
 And cut the name of blushing fame 
 
 In feathery monogram of ice. 
 Away, away ! they rush away, 
 
 O'er gleaming lake and crystal bay ; 
 Nor bird on wing nor flying thing 
 
 Can whirl with swifter grace than they ! 
 
 Like maze of dance, or flying lance, 
 
 A tournament of sport and glee ; 
 Nor would refuse to sing the muse 
 
 Of olden sports and minstrelsy. 
 The strain prolong, ye joyous throng ! 
 
 Shout out your songs on winter air ; 
 Nor pine for ways of other days. 
 
 For youth more lithe nor maids more fair. 
 
 So now we slide with homeward glide. 
 
 The nortli wind whirls us down the bay ; 
 Nor ease nor pride shall set aside 
 
 This splendid sport of winter's day. 
 The bright steel rings ; the skater swings 
 
 With rhythmic movement, lithe and slow ; 
 They fleetly glide o'er frozen tide. 
 
 While fair cheeks flush with mantling glow. 
 December, 1876. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEBIS. 83 
 
 IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 Alike over sunshine and darkness 
 
 Bendeth the heaven of God, 
 We stumble and bleed in the pathway 
 
 Where thousands before have trod, — 
 Have trod with ^Tief as bitter, 
 
 With struggles as blind and wild, 
 And passed on into the sunshine 
 
 Where Heaven again had smiled. 
 
 Though the stars are hidden in darkness, 
 
 Though the light of day depart, 
 Light above abides unchanging. 
 
 Though hidden from eye and heart. 
 Hold still I in the fire of the furnace, 
 
 Yea, have you not been told. 
 From heat that is white and blinding 
 
 Gleameth out the moulten gold ? 
 
 January 18, 1878. 
 
 WATEE LILIES. 
 
 Our little white lily has fallen ; 
 
 It dropped on a barren strand. 
 And floated away on the water. 
 
 Beyond the reach of my hand. 
 
 Into the mists and the darkness. 
 
 Far away from the clamorous strife, 
 
 It floats, and I may not reach it, — 
 My little white lily of life. 
 
84 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Oh, tKe little white face of my darling ! 
 
 How it shone with a light serene, 
 As cleaving the turbulent river. 
 
 Its tremulous light was seen ! 
 
 And now the mists rise in the darkness, 
 And the black spray dashes afar. 
 
 But flashing and white in the distance 
 That little face shines as a star. 
 
 Though the waves of that river are fearful, 
 And the storm on its bosom is wild, 
 
 There is floating, untouched by terror. 
 The face of a little child. 
 
 THE KOBINS' CALL. 
 
 All through the beautiful summer, — 
 
 The last that our darling was here, — 
 The robins sang out so sweetly, 
 Speaking so plainly and neatly 
 
 Their meaning was always clear. 
 To the golden head that kept dancing 
 
 In and out the long day through, 
 Flitting like one of their number. 
 With no fear or care to encumber 
 
 The joy his blithe heart knew. 
 
 I am sure they knew and called him, 
 
 Well aware of his prattle and play ; 
 When he strolled to the tree where they nested. 
 Unruffled they worked on, or rested, — 
 No fear of our darling had they. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 85 
 
 And when the brown autumn had silenced 
 
 The noise of their turbulent song, 
 They seemed saddened at thought of leaving 
 Our darling alone to be grieving 
 
 For them the whole winter long. 
 
 But when the last flock had vanished, 
 
 And fallen the last autumn leaf, 
 When the bare fields, brown and forsaken, 
 No more to their echoes awaken, 
 
 Seemingly silent in grief. 
 Little golden head ceased his flitting 
 
 In and out at the open door, — 
 Flew away like the birds of the summer, 
 His trusting playfellows of summer. 
 
 To rest in our arms no more. 
 
 When the robins came back to our garden. 
 
 With the early days of spring. 
 And awoke us from morning slumber, 
 The sweetest of all their number 
 
 Came close to our window to sing : 
 " Come out, little golden hair, darling ; 
 
 Come out for your morning play ; 
 We are here bright and early, to . meet you, 
 With the loudest of songs to greet you. 
 
 The sweetest bright hour of the day ! " 
 
 And then he waited and listened, 
 
 Then quickly around by the door. 
 More loudly, sweetly, and purely. 
 With music of human speech surely. 
 
 Would the same sweet summons outpour. 
 And all day long he kept calling, 
 
 And still he seemed to say : 
 "Come out, little golden-haired Freddie, 
 We're waiting ; strange you're not ready ; 
 
 You were always ready for play." 
 
86 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 And after their nest was finished, 
 
 When, peeping out over the brim, 
 They seemed to wait for his coming, 
 They listened, it seemed, for his drumming, 
 
 Mournfully chirping for him ; 
 And now, every day, they keep calling, 
 
 With a challenge loud and clear ; 
 Or, pausing, they listen and ponder, 
 Musing, with bird-like wonder. 
 
 Why golden head does not hear. 
 
 Fall River, June, 1874. 
 
 -o-oJ^OO- 
 
 CRADLE SONG. 
 
 Come, fairy, come, fairy. 
 
 And build me a palace, 
 A castle, a castle, 
 
 Huno; hio-h in the air ; 
 Build well for my darling, 
 
 My wee 1-ady Alice, 
 Build it and fill it 
 
 With radiance rare. 
 Build that impurity 
 
 Never may mar it ; 
 Build that the joy of joy 
 
 Ever may cheer it ; 
 Build that sweet purity 
 
 Never may fear it ; 
 Yes, bathe it and fill it 
 
 With radiance rare. 
 
 Singing low lullabies 
 To sweet little Alice ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. ^'^ 
 
 Singing slow and softly, — 
 
 She floats on the air, 
 Floating slowly away 
 
 To her dreamland palace, 
 And fairy-land welcome 
 
 Awaiting her there. 
 O God ! keep my darling, 
 
 My sweet sleeping darling. 
 My merry-eyed, rosy-lipped, 
 
 Dimpled-touched darling ! 
 Forgive the light fancy 
 
 I sing to my darling, 
 And fit for thy palace, 
 
 With radiance rare. 
 
 3^©<C 
 
 WIDE AWAKE. 
 
 Dear little clear-eyed Jessie, 
 
 What do you see afar 
 In the evening's deepening shadows ? 
 
 Oh, the Evening Star ! 
 Two eyes wide with wonder. 
 
 Little hands dimpled and pink, 
 Eesting here in the twilight. 
 
 What does my little one think ? 
 
 Smiling so happy and peaceful, 
 
 Dreamily gazing afar. 
 The little white face of my darling 
 
 Wondering at a star. 
 Dreamily droop her eyelids 
 
 Over her limpid eyes, 
 Swaying here in the twilight 
 
 Sweet little Jessie lies. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Alice, the baby-mother, 
 
 Whispers, while gliding around, 
 Fearing to wake the sleeper, 
 
 Moving without a sound, — 
 " Just see my darling sister ! 
 
 Isn't she darling, ma? 
 Gone to sleep in her cradle 
 
 While she was watching a star." 
 
 Wide awake, Alica. watches ; 
 
 She is a " lady " now. 
 Care for dear little sister 
 
 Marking her baby brow. 
 But her lids drop while watching, 
 
 Dreamily gazing afar, 
 Joiijs " dear little sister " sleeping. 
 
 While she is watching a star. 
 
 Sleep, sweet babes, in the twilight ! 
 
 Lips apart over pearls. 
 The sweet breath of the sleepers 
 
 Swaying a tangle of curls. 
 May the dawn of day be sure, 
 
 Sure, but be it far, 
 When their bright eyes shall awaken 
 
 To the light of the Morning Star. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 89 
 
 THE OVERLAND EASTERN. 
 
 Rush and rattle ! roar and scream ! 
 
 Crash through the night like a meteor's gleam ! 
 
 Death or life, dashing on ! 
 
 Thundering, crashing on I 
 A glance of a grim Titanic dream ! 
 A flash of the iron-black wing of steam ! 
 
 Out and on ! and on ! and far away ! 
 Dashing on into the dawn of day ! 
 
 Liofht and shade roarino^ on ! 
 
 Flashing; and thunderino- on ! 
 Shooting into the night a fiery spray ! 
 Careering on over the iron way ! 
 
 Before it those unwound ribbons of steel 
 Awaiting the iron coursers heel ! 
 
 Waiting the steady, clear 
 
 Glance of the engineer ; 
 The rhythmic throb of the flying wheel ! 
 The messenger swift of woe and weal ! 
 
 Behind it the sullenly silent track ! 
 
 The voiceless night, now silent and black ; 
 
 Like a dream I like a flash ! 
 
 Through a thunderous crash ; — 
 A far-away warning scream echoing back 
 Over those lustreless lines of black ! 
 
 Shivering, pulseless, fateful thing ! 
 Lustreless flash of an iron wing ! 
 
 Pantino' and shriekino; I 
 
 Lifeless, yet reeking ! 
 Making the starless welkin ring 
 With the thunderous storm of sound you bring ! 
 
90 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Rush and rattle ! roar and scream ! 
 
 Crash through the night like a meteor's gleam ! 
 
 Death or life, dashing on ! 
 
 Thundering, crashing on ! — 
 The glance of a grim Titanic dream ! 
 A flash of the nio;ht-black wins; of steam ! 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RILL. 
 
 A mountain rill, purling down a glen 
 Among pebbles and green mossy banks. 
 
 Quenching thirst of wanderers now and then, 
 Seeing liquid eyes brimming with thanks. 
 
 Sighed, " Oh, we go plashing and tumbling down 
 
 Where multitudes daily meet. 
 To gladden sad hearts in the sultry town, 
 
 And freshen the torrid street." 
 
 But alas ! and alas ! the brook knew not 
 
 Its need of its own green dell ; 
 That it needed the charm of sylvan spot, 
 
 For the power of its siren spell ; 
 
 That gutter, or sewer, or putrid drain. 
 
 Is a rill in the crowded town ; 
 A scouring servant, bound by chain. 
 
 Despised by the meanest clown ; 
 
 Or held by the fountain's hand, 
 
 In art's superb device. 
 Chained in marble by sylvan band 
 
 With the chill of imprisoned ice. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 91 
 
 O mountain rill ! mountain song flowing free ! 
 
 Despise not thy birthright again, 
 If throngs do not flock to be soothed by thee, 
 
 Bless the wanderer now and then. 
 
 A PICTUKE. 
 
 The old First New England Cavalry 
 
 In line of battle stood. 
 At the base of a hill * whose rounded top 
 
 Was crowned with a crest of wood, — 
 Crowned with a crest of hidden steel 
 
 And a band f of rebel gray, 
 While batteries, masked and unmenacing, 
 
 In treacherous silence lay ; 
 
 But " boot and saddle " has sounded, 
 
 And they must charge the wood 
 Over that fateful grassy slope — 
 
 Those strong steeds, stanch and good. 
 " Charo-e I " flares the bustle, — 
 
 And the blue line sweeps away 
 To where the storm of hurthng lead 
 
 In waiting silence lay. 
 
 The banner, unfurled, flies forward ; 
 
 The spurs touch bleeding flanks. 
 While loyal blood is boiling 
 
 All alono' the rusliins: ranks. 
 Like a living thing that splendid line 
 
 Sweeps up and up the hill ; 
 But the wood that crowns the summit 
 
 Is with boding silence still. 
 
 * Cedar Mountain. f '* Stonewall's " forces, masked. 
 
92 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 A sino^le o^iin ! a crown of flame 
 
 Encircles the brow of the hill, 
 And the batteries' hidden menace 
 
 Belches forth its deadly will. 
 The air is alive with bullets' hiss ; — 
 
 O God, see the blue forms fall ! 
 A moment more of a storm like this 
 
 And the ground must cover all ! 
 
 'No recall sounded the bugle. 
 
 But the rent line wavered, fled. 
 Tearing over that fateful slope, 
 
 Now covered with dying and dead. 
 A handful flying headlong down 
 
 Away from the rebel shout ; — 
 Going in a full battalion. 
 
 But barely a squad came out. 
 
 The faithful bugle call rallies them ! 
 
 They are forming in line again ; 
 Here and there horses fly riderless. 
 
 Here and there crouchino' men. 
 But see ! down the slope comes tearing, — 
 
 A horseman ? No ! a horse ; 
 Rushinfi: straio;ht down to the formino- hue, 
 
 Leaping over the dead in his course. 
 
 A lone white horse, with flowing mane 
 
 And nostril distended wide. 
 His red blood pouring with every leap 
 
 Down over his milk-white side ! 
 He reaches the line, Avheels into place. 
 
 Though flows the crimson tide. 
 Fronting the foe with dauntless face, — 
 
 But an empty saddle must ride. 
 
 A moment he stood, and down the line 
 A wild thrill slowly crept ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 93 
 
 They brushed the falling tears away, 
 
 Nor blushed they that they wept. 
 A moment he stood, with head borne high. 
 
 With streaming, tremulous flanks ; 
 Then a shudder ran through his royal frame. 
 
 And he fell and died in the ranks. 
 
 It may be treason to tell a tale 
 
 With spirit of deeds like this ; 
 But if we dare not tell them still. 
 
 The dead in their graves will hiss ! 
 With no malice for the living. 
 
 We come with uncovered head. 
 And swear, while sun and stars shall shine, 
 
 To honor the loyal dead. 
 
 THE SOLDIERS' MONUMENT. 
 
 [Read at the dedication of the the Soldiers' Monument at Dover, N.H. 
 
 Sept. 14, 1877.] 
 
 We were boys when the first gun thundered, 
 And we waited in fear and wondered, 
 
 With a vague sense of evil to come : 
 For we knew not the meaning of battle, 
 We knew not the musketry's rattle. 
 
 Nor the roll of the wakenins: drum. 
 
 But signs of strife gathered round us ; 
 By our books and farms they found us ; 
 
 As the sick and the wounded came back, 
 Bringing fire to young hearts of tinder. 
 What power on earth could hinder 
 
 A flame springing swift from their track ? 
 
94 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Like a dream the old scenes rise before us, 
 In the bhie the old banner floats o'er us ; 
 
 See, the blue line steadily comes ! 
 They are gone, leaving fathers and mothers ; 
 Leaving sisters and wives, and — others, 
 
 At the call of the bugle and drum. 
 
 Through the shadow and shine of autumn suns 
 The war cloud gathered its blackness dun, 
 
 And short letters came from the front. 
 Bringing lists of the dead and the dying, 
 Who, with heroes of history vying. 
 
 Went down in the battle's front. 
 
 But what pen can picture the gloom of those years 
 A nation's agony, blood, and tears. 
 
 With graves from shore to shore ? 
 The sad voice of fate from executive halls 
 Trembles with sorrow^ but bravely calls 
 
 For three hundred thousand more ! 
 
 And never in vain that sad voice calls, 
 Never in vain his sunmions falls, 
 
 From graves with fresh earth covered o'er. 
 He sees, through eyes that are dim with tears. 
 The need at the end of three red years. 
 
 Of three hundred thousand more ! 
 
 Oh, hang out your banners in peace to-day, 
 Nor blush to believe, nor fear to say, 
 
 " The cause was worthy for which they died ; " 
 They were Liberty's sons, and her banner fair 
 May well float in the blue of our autumn air. 
 
 To emblem a nation's pride. 
 
 You may cover their graves wath marble and stone, 
 And blazon their names from zone to zone, — 
 Unless true to the truth for which they bled 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 95 
 
 They will bid you blot out each chiselled name, 
 And blush at the marble lie of fame, 
 
 And rejoice that they sleep with the dead. 
 
 Their ensign means justice to one and to all ; 
 If justice fail its folds may fall, 
 
 And for it we shed no tear ; 
 EmblazoD it, gild it, bang it high ; 
 Unless justice triumphs it flaunts a lie, — 
 
 Its defenders sleep not here. 
 
 Far purer than marble, more lasting than stone. 
 The monument where their deeds are shown, — 
 
 The temple they proudly reared. 
 Whose base from the far Pacific shore 
 To the wild Atlantic's ceaseless roar 
 
 Their dying vision cheered. 
 
 Build that, from the lakes to southern sea, 
 And make it indeed " the home of the free," 
 
 And then they shall rest in peace, 
 And smile when marble and granite rise 
 To pierce the overhanging skies, — 
 
 An emblem of man's release. 
 
 You may garnish their graves and thunder with guns, 
 But if you forget their daughters and sons 
 
 Who suffer as paupers to-day. 
 You publish your shame, for you told them all, 
 ''We will care for your children if you fall ; " 
 
 Believing they went their way. 
 
 Believing your promise, they smiled and died 
 AVith the soldier's simple faith and pride 
 
 In the home of the noble free ; 
 That their children might safely stand beside 
 1'heir graves, and the spot whereon they died, 
 
 Unscathed by " chivalry." 
 
96 OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 LITTLE BEN. 
 
 In sio^ht of old Katahclin 
 
 I sat in a woodman's camp, 
 In the generous glow of an evening fire, — 
 
 Which was furnace, and even lamp, — 
 Listening to varied stories, 
 
 Quaintly and aptly told, — 
 Some of them braggart boasting, 
 
 Others thrilling and bold. 
 
 But one was so full of pathos. 
 
 That weird, though mellow spell 
 On the brawniest boaster in the lot 
 
 In curious contrast fell ; 
 Hushinof the tide of that turbulent mirth. 
 
 That boisterous jovial glee ; — 
 And as near as I can, in phrase and words, 
 
 I tell as 'twas told to me : 
 
 " Little Ben was the child of a soldier 
 
 Who died in the Union war, 
 Jest a little before poor Mary, 
 
 Who the angels waited for ; 
 Who, when she lay a-dyin'. 
 
 And cryin' for little Ben, 
 Gave the boy to farmer 'Bijah — 
 
 And the angels took her then. 
 
 " Her eyes were large and dreamy, 
 
 The neighbors thought her queer, 
 And looked with a kind of wonder 
 
 On her face so pale and clear. 
 Benny was frail and blue-eyed. 
 
 The same light in his eyes. 
 And he asked such cur'ous questions, 
 
 And made such strange replies. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 97 
 
 " 'Bijah — he was known for a rough, hard man, 
 
 And never a tender word 
 To a soul save little baby Bell 
 
 From him was ever heard. 
 He worked his farm in the summer. 
 
 In the winter, in the woods ; 
 His home was plain and simple. 
 
 And w^as scant of worldly goods. 
 
 " With never a thought of restin', 
 
 Hoardin' and stintin' he saved, 
 While he and all around him 
 
 Not simply worked, but slaved. 
 80 little Ben grew thinner, 
 
 Wantin' love and over-worked, 
 While 'Bijah fretted and scolded, 
 
 Thinkin"he always shirked. 
 
 " So the reins his rough hands tightened. 
 
 And he sometimes used the rod ; 
 But the blue eyes only brightened. 
 
 Maybe with thinkin' of God. 
 So, without a single murmur, 
 
 Or rough or hasty way. 
 He grew paler and weaker and sadder, — 
 
 His little life wastin' away. 
 
 " One day in the dead of winter, 
 
 When the man to his work had gone. 
 When Bell and Benny and Nancy 
 
 Were left at home alone. 
 That mother's fear fell sudden, — 
 
 The croupy cry they heard, — 
 And baby Bell was a-stiflin' ; 
 
 They must send the father word. 
 
 " But 'twas miles away and winter, 
 W^hile the day was so bitter cold 
 
98 OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 That scarce could a man in safety 
 His way to the deep woods hold. 
 
 But baby Bell was a-dyin', 
 
 And while his poor heart bled, 
 
 The scant-clothed form of Benny 
 Away for 'Bijah sped. 
 
 "Bitter and keener blew the wind, 
 
 The cold more fearful grew, 
 As over the crisp an' frozen snow 
 
 His eager footsteps flew. 
 But the frost, like Fate, was pitiless, 
 
 For his hands began to freeze ; 
 His feet grew numb an' painless, 
 
 As he faced the icy breeze. 
 
 "But he prest on still, though free^in', 
 
 Thinkin' only of little Bell, 
 Till breathless, and almost lifeless, 
 
 At 'Bijah's feet he fell, 
 A-pantin' the fearful message 
 
 He had scarce the breath to tell, 
 While the little hands, white an' rattlin', 
 
 Told 'Bijah what befell. 
 
 "Quickly in snow he held them then, 
 
 And chafed the stifi'enin' form, 
 Wrappin' aiound the slender child 
 
 His thick frock, nice and warm. 
 Then, close in his strong arms claspin' him, 
 
 Hurried so swiftl}^ home. 
 Back over a shorter and w^armer path 
 
 Than the boy's brave feet had come. 
 
 " And all the way he brought him along, 
 Never once putting him down, 
 Suddenly lovin' the fragile child 
 On whom he was wont to frown. 
 
OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 99 
 
 The look on that little pallid face 
 
 Was enough to melt a stone, 
 So happy, so glad, for a little love, — 
 
 Jest what he had never known. 
 
 " 'Twas a strange, new light in them blue eyes, 
 
 With tears their lids were wet ; 
 Fearin' to lose the love he'd found, 
 
 He nestled the closer to oret. 
 While the rough man's tears ever fallin' fast 
 
 On I lis own and Benny's face, 
 And he press'd him closer to his heart 
 
 And quickened his swingin' pace. 
 
 "Little Bell lived, but Benny, well, 
 
 He better at first have died. 
 For his little thin hands were taken off, 
 
 And buried side by side. 
 No one could be kinder than 'Bijah now ; 
 
 But he said 'twas all in vain 
 When he saw them little handless arms 
 
 Movin' about in pain. 
 
 " And every blow he had ever struck 
 
 Came back with a fearful smart, 
 While often that clingin' and wistful look 
 
 Would make him shudder an' start. 
 One day he could bear it no longer, 
 
 As he sat by the little bed, 
 So he told his heart and grief to the boy, 
 
 While bitter tears he shed. 
 
 " 'If I had hands,' said the little saint, 
 
 ' I'd wipe them tears away ; 
 Stoop lower, and let me kiss them off, 
 
 Don't sob so, 'Bijah, pray ! 
 I was never so happy in all my life 
 
 As on that awful day 
 
100 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 When you lield me kindly in your arms, 
 A-lmggin' me all the way. 
 
 ' An' now that I'm goin' — I know it well — 
 
 I don't want you to mourn 
 'Bout anything you ever said, 
 
 Or in anarer ever done I 
 Will you bury me close to mother ? 
 
 Come closer — I — can't — see — plain ; 
 And — hug — me — once — before — I go 
 
 . X — shall not — mind — the pain I ' 
 
 ' And he lifted his little handless arms 
 
 Both by 'Bijah's face, 
 While strong arms held him gently 
 
 For his last and faint embrace. 
 He kissed that rough face soothingly, 
 
 And then the white arms fell, 
 And so pleadin' as there they told it, 
 
 His story I cannot tell." 
 
 3>©<CH>- 
 
 A MEMORY. 
 1865— April 14—1878. 
 
 It is night on the Appomattox, — 
 
 A happy and joyful night ; 
 Faces are glad, yet thonghtful, 
 
 Around the canip-iire light ; 
 For Lee has surrendered his legions, 
 
 The day of strife is past ; 
 And on the retiring tempest 
 
 The bow of peace bends at last. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 But what is this ominous message 
 
 Trembling over the wires ? 
 What fearful thing sets flashing 
 
 Those mysti<3 signal fires ? 
 And why those muttered curses 
 
 From lips that are not profane ? 
 Why lips compressed and bleaching, 
 
 And the pallor that speaks of pain ? 
 
 What is whispered from one to another 
 
 In an agony of fear ? 
 ** The President ussassinated T^ 
 
 Are the fearful words w^e hear. 
 Grim fires gleam in the gloaming, 
 
 The pines sigh overhead, 
 And our hearts are filled with horror — 
 
 Numb with nameless dread. 
 
 The sun that shines on the morrow 
 
 Lights many a saddened camp, 
 And hearts heavy in unison 
 
 With the sentrj^'s measured tramp. 
 In suspense we await the message 
 
 The day will surely bring ; 
 The nightmare of fear hangs over 
 
 The day as a fateful thing. 
 
 The mute wires tell the message ; 
 
 The signal flag dips o'erhead ; 
 The head-quarters flag is lowered, — 
 
 So we know that Lincoln is dead! 
 Pent curses are whispered and muttered 
 
 With a nervous clenching of hands ; 
 With musket at trail and motionless, 
 
 Unrebuked the sentry stands. 
 
 God pity the wretch ! if that moment 
 He had chanced in our hands to fall, 
 
 101 
 
102 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 He had gone uiishriven to judgment, 
 Without coffin, or jDrayer, or pall. 
 
 The star of peace that shone brightly 
 Is covered with mist and dim, 
 
 The bow from the cloud has vanished 
 Because of our tears for hi m. 
 
 O Martyr Emancipator ! 
 
 Our hands bring laurels now ; 
 The years but brighten the lustre 
 
 Of thiue immortal brow. 
 Oh, hail him and crown him, comrades ! 
 
 His sad face smiles on us still, 
 And lights up the ominous darkness 
 
 Of days that presage ill. 
 
 And we swear, in the light of his teaching, 
 
 No blunder, or worse, shall wrest 
 From the land or the race he ennobled 
 
 His priceless and deathless bequest. 
 His foes may exult and triumph, 
 
 Plan plunder or treason still. 
 They must learn, in Union and Liberty 
 
 Alone abide peace and good-will. 
 
 =>i«<<x^ 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Rear tlje white marble shaft solemnly over them ; 
 Scatter sweet spring blossoms tenderly over them ; 
 Thunder of cannon no more shall awaken them, — 
 In glory and fame the grave hath taken them. 
 
 Your tears and your sighs even cannot revive them, 
 
 Nor sneers of foes of glor}'- deprive them ; — 
 
 As iirm as this granite their loyal devotion. 
 
 As pure as this marble their hearts' warm devotion. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 103 
 
 Tear off the crape from your briofht silken banners ! 
 Rend the l3hie air with your deafening- hosannas ! 
 Bid the loud bugle with no dead march unman us, 
 But blare in accord with these star-spangled banners. 
 
 Their sons, not their sn^es, to-day weep above them ; 
 Grief-stricken wives more devotedly love them, 
 As we with deep reverence stand uncovered above them, 
 For the years as they fly more gloriously prove them. 
 
 Then dash the swift tear that courses unbidden, 
 And smile over sorrow and orriefs canker-hidden ; — 
 And swear here, the sons standing proudly above them, 
 That no threat of Treason ever shall move them. 
 
 Then tune your glad strains to the thunder of cannon, 
 To Treason's vile head hiy the patriot's ban on. 
 And tear with our Eaofle's red beak and black talon 
 The heart from the traitor, or brand him a felon I 
 
 [Written for the dedication of the Soldiers' Monument, Dover, !N,H., 1877, but 
 " The Soldiers' Monument" wiitteu and read instead.] 
 
 3j«<< 
 
 CANNOK, '62-'79. 
 
 READ AT THE WEIR'S REUNION, '79. 
 '62. 
 
 To the thunder of cannon we gathered 
 Mid the screaming of shot and shell, 
 
 And around us youthful heroes 
 Like the leaves of autumn fell ; 
 
 Our skies by the tempest were darkened. 
 Portentous of fearful doom, 
 nd they cast over youthful fancies 
 The pall of a horrible gloom. 
 
104 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 For the Flas: and the Nation were menaced, 
 
 To be severed, aye, rent in twain ! 
 The dream of our forefathers threatened, 
 
 Should Yorktown's blood be in vain? 
 Had Washino'ton wasted the counsel 
 
 Which his compatriots heard? 
 Should the sons of sires who were heroes 
 
 Be no more to loyalty stirred? 
 
 And four red years gave answer 
 
 With one-fourth of a million dead ; 
 And to-day who loves his country 
 
 May proudly lift his head 
 In any of all the nations 
 
 That crowd the populous earth, 
 Nor blush for our starry emblem, 
 
 Nor blush for the land of our birth. 
 
 '79. 
 
 And now, to the thunder of cannon 
 
 We gather by Northern hike, 
 To kindle in peace our camp-fires. 
 
 And the rolling echoes to wake 
 Over glen and glade and mountain, 
 
 Andalonofthe peaceful shore, 
 As erst we heard them with meaning 
 
 In the battle's deadly roar. 
 
 Each o:un that thunders a welcome 
 
 To our hero-guests to-day. 
 To them and to all who hear it 
 
 Let its red tongue leap to say, 
 "A nation ! a nation ! a nation ! 
 
 Assail, and I speak to slay, 
 And send shot instead of welcome 
 
 On deadly and direful way." 
 
OLD CORPOEAL POEMS, 105 
 
 Speak out then, iron prophet ! 
 
 In short, sententious speech 
 To the veterans here assembled ; 
 
 Bring reminders to all and to each 
 Of the days when you spake against treason 
 
 In such savage and deadly tongue 
 That all who heard your message 
 
 Henceforth its meaninof have known. 
 
 ENGLAOT) IN THE OEIENT. * 
 
 It reads like a tale of enchantment. 
 
 Or old Arabian Nights ; 
 Like a scene that flashes and dazzles 
 
 In the conqueror's scenic lights ; 
 But Fate stands clear and undoubted, 
 
 The power which rules the seas 
 Unfurls her banner in triumph 
 
 In the Oriental breeze. 
 
 A Crusade, allied to commerce, 
 
 Shall seize the Holy Land, 
 And wrest the holy sepulchre 
 
 From the Moslem's bloody hand. 
 And along the banks of Euphrates 
 
 Shall civilization bloom. 
 And dispel from early Eden 
 
 The Crescent's night of gloom. 
 
 Again on the heights of Salem 
 
 The temple of God may rise. 
 And gleam, as of old, in splendor, 
 
 Under Judean skies. 
 
106 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 And a God-fearing, worshipping people 
 
 Unto Zion may return, 
 And again on the ancient altar 
 
 The incense of worship burn. 
 
 What meaneth England's triumph? 
 
 And what her godly queen ? 
 Why through long fateful centuries 
 
 Still flashes her falchion's sheen? 
 Was it that, when the moment 
 
 Of a land's deliverance came, 
 She then mio-ht stand to rekindle 
 
 The old historic flame ? 
 
 A Tlhristian queen ! the protectoress 
 
 Of Christian subjects there. 
 Is more than entered their hearts' desire 
 
 In faith's most earnest prayer. 
 And eyes that have wept in sorrow, 
 
 Hearts that were heavy with fears, 
 Are smiling to-day in gladness 
 
 Through joy-begotten tears. 
 
 Why, Disraeli, of Israel, 
 
 Like Josepli, or Mordecai, stands 
 Hio'hest and first in council 
 
 In a far and foreign land. 
 But there to unfold the purposes. 
 
 Unseen of human e^^es. 
 Which God still keeps before him 
 
 While nations fall and rise. 
 
 And what the advance of nations 
 Throughout the populous world ; 
 
 Our own great war for freedom. 
 Our banner in peace unfurled ? 
 
 What mean the triumphs of science ? 
 That we to-day may stand 
 
OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 107 
 
 And read the fate which yesterday 
 
 Brouo'ht to the Holv Land. 
 
 o «•■' 
 
 India, now in the fingers 
 
 Of England's royal hand. 
 And Cyprus the thumb that encloses 
 
 And clasps the historic land. 
 Her argosies ride in triumph 
 
 AVhere the Pharaoh's legions trod, 
 Where the Red Sea's waves closed over 
 
 The hosts which fought agiiinst God. 
 
 A world-wide dominion and kingdom ! 
 
 The old Israelitist dream, 
 In which Jehovah is worshipped 
 
 As God, over all — supreme ! 
 Does it wait on the verge of fullihnent ? 
 
 Has the pride of the Gentiles come 
 To stand in reverent worship 
 
 And rear ao-ain the dome 
 
 Which Eoman legions levelled ? 
 
 It is well to pause, and turn 
 The leaves of the scroll of the prophets 
 
 Who spake tliat man may learn, 
 For if God is God, and ruler 
 
 Of the old historic land, 
 Nor flag, nor sword, shall raise therefor 
 
 Without his guiding hand. 
 
108 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 NO DANGER. 
 
 " Hush, Grace ! the baby 11 be better ; 
 
 The doctor told me so. 
 I'll not be out late, surely; 
 
 I promised, or would not go." 
 His form was erect and manly. 
 
 His glance was steady and clear, 
 Yet the young wife's heart was heavy 
 
 With a shrinking nameless fear. 
 
 Only a little feverish ; 
 
 " No dano'er " — the doctor said 
 
 "» 
 
 But ere the mifhiight hour had come 
 
 He stood again by the bed, 
 Where the little one tossed in anguish, 
 
 Crying out for breath and air ; 
 And while the mother was frantic. 
 
 The father was not there. 
 
 He sits among boon companions. 
 
 Flushed with gaming and drink, 
 Of wife and dj-ing baby 
 
 He pauses not to think. 
 A brawl, — the lie, — and a pistol shot 
 
 Cuts into his clustering curls. 
 And sense and sensatiou forsake him, — 
 
 The scene into darkness whirls. 
 
 The last resort in the baby's case — 
 
 The little white throat is bare, 
 The silver tube is inserted 
 
 To give the sufferer air. 
 His reason clear, his brown eyes bright, 
 
 His lips move to sa}^ " papa " — 
 He lono:s for his father's kiss. 
 
 And pleads with his eyes for papa. 
 
4 
 
 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 109 
 
 Heavy steps cease at the doorway, 
 
 The door-bell loudly rings, — 
 The time is the gray of morning, 
 
 Which this horrible burden brings, 
 The little eyes still pleading for father, 
 
 He wistfully looks again. 
 His brave heart longs to hear his step 
 
 But listens and waits in vain. 
 
 Father is there but his eyes are closed 
 
 In a stunned and sottish sleep. 
 And mother alone with breaking heart . 
 
 Her vigil of love must keep. 
 With love for a thousand and kisses for two, 
 
 She hangs o'er the sufferer's bed. 
 As speechless lips and pleading eyes 
 
 Drift away to the dream of the dead. 
 
 He puts up his speechless lips for a kiss. 
 
 Soothes his mother with tender hand. 
 Caressing her face and neck like this, — 
 
 His eyes fix on vacancy — and 
 The wounded father's boy is dead. 
 
 The father, unconscious, breathes heavy and slow, 
 The mother a maniac wild — 
 
 While neither their dead boy know. 
 
 The morn brings the father's reason, 
 
 The night was a horrible dream, 
 
 wife's good-by — a baby's moan — 
 
 A flash and a bkide's bright gleam. 
 He wakes with a bandaged head, 
 
 A shattered and bleeding hand. 
 While watchful and sad attendants 
 
 Expectant around him stand. 
 
 He calls for Grace and the baby — 
 They put his inquiries by 
 
110 OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Until the day of the burial 
 
 When he stands tottering nigh, 
 
 While prayer and funeral rites consign 
 His boy to an early grave, 
 
 And him to a life of anguish 
 From which no hand can save. 
 
 We wonder not that in after years 
 
 He hates and shuns the bowd, 
 Which casts such witherinii', cursino^ bli2:ht 
 
 Upon body and home and soul. 
 When fair lips say, "No danger," 
 
 Wine flashing in jewelled hands. 
 Is it strange that a pallor comes o'er his face, 
 
 That he like statue stands ? 
 
 From fire like this sad scene 
 
 Are Temperance apostles born. 
 Whose homes and hopes are blasted. 
 
 Whose hearts are bleedin<^ and torn. 
 May that devil's lie of " No danger " 
 
 Rob no more homes of bliss. 
 Lead no more hearts to the gilded dens 
 
 Where wine serpents crawl and hiss. 
 
 a^i^^oo- 
 
 TO THE MOWERS. 
 
 At morn we hear the mower's song 
 
 We hear tlie scythe's sharp ring, 
 And thoughts go out to absent boys, 
 
 Who other weapons swing ; 
 Who grasped with us these weapons here 
 
 But two short vears asro ; 
 And think the change of harvests strange 
 
 Which you are called to now. 
 
OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 When ill the sultry summer's air 
 
 We hear the insects hum, 
 Our toil with yours we oft compare, 
 
 The bees' drone w ith the drum ! 
 And if we tire in toils of peace, 
 
 Or faint in Northern fields, 
 We scorn the wish which seeks relief 
 
 While you such weapons wield. 
 
 The grain is ripening in the field, 
 
 The harvest groweth brown ; 
 A symbol of the rebel host. 
 
 And of their going down. 
 We thiuk of belching batteries' roar 
 
 On hill and mountain side. 
 Of swaths made by the screeching shell, 
 
 Red with the battle's tide. 
 
 We think of the sabre's deadly thrust, 
 
 The rifle's rattling noise. 
 And, as we wipe the tears away, 
 
 Ask, " Where are now the boys? " 
 When from the stench of battle-field 
 
 You fain would turn away. 
 Comes e'er a fragrant memory 
 
 Of clover-scented hay? 
 
 Oh, nerve your hearts like beaten steel 
 
 To meet each coming blow, 
 And you shall see Rebellion reel ; — 
 
 At word we wait to go I 
 Remember we have heard the call. 
 
 That soon we'll be with you. 
 And grasp the soldier's harvest scythe 
 
 To mow the rebel crew. 
 Aug., 1863. 
 
 Ill 
 
112 OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT BUGLE. 
 
 (a dee am.) 
 
 I heard the voice of a bugle 
 
 That sounded through the land, 
 From Washington to Oregon, 
 
 From Maine to the Rio Grande ; 
 And the lips that blew that summons 
 
 Were bloodless, thin, and white. 
 And the spectre vanished in darkness 
 
 Of the weird and lone midnight. 
 
 To the nation's living sleepers 
 
 The sound was all unheard, 
 But the earth over every soldier dead 
 
 At that strange summons stirred ; 
 And forth from those thousand nameless mounds 
 
 By the broad Potomac's side. 
 And forth from those wide and gastly pits 
 
 By the Eappahannock's tide. 
 
 And from under marble monuments 
 
 From over all the North, 
 The hosts of slain to life again 
 
 From bivouac came forth ; 
 And they marched in the midnight silence. 
 
 Nor uttered e'er a word ; 
 And the horses slain with their riders 
 
 Were seen, but were not heard. 
 
 Their tattered battle banners 
 
 From the nation's halls they took, 
 
 And forth in silence beneath the stars 
 Their blackened folds they shook. 
 
 Hatless and shoeless, with pale white feet. 
 Over the grasses of June, 
 
OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. Ho 
 
 They marched with measured cadence 
 To the soul of martial tune. 
 
 Unused and rusty armor 
 
 In haste they buckle on, 
 Sheathed sword, and shouldered musket. 
 
 And straight aw^ay w^ere gone. 
 The guns of blackened batteries 
 
 And caissons in line w^ere wdieeled, 
 And murdered gunners mounted them, 
 
 And rode as for the field. 
 
 And up from the Hampton w^aters 
 
 The sunken Cumberland came. 
 And there trod the deck in silence. 
 
 Who sank with her the same ; 
 Straight for Mount Vernon, silently, 
 
 Swiftly aw^ay she sailed, 
 Under the guns of grim Monroe, 
 
 Nor answered she nor hailed. 
 
 " Summon them from their slumber. 
 
 The hosts by treason slain ; 
 Summon and bring them ! Every man 
 
 Is needed for duty again ! " 
 From the tomb upon Mount Yeruon, 
 
 From a voice w^e need not name. 
 The order w^ent forth to the Nation's dead. 
 
 And thither in ranks they came. 
 
 Where the first or last dead commanders 
 
 Were riding side by side, 
 And there passed before them, in review, 
 
 Our heroes, true and tried ; 
 There was whispered to each, "The Union ! " 
 
 From the nation's sacred grave ; 
 While ''Law forever and Liberty I " 
 
 For countersign they gave. 
 
114 OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 " For the front ! " and away towards Washington 
 
 Battalions wheel again ^ 
 And they march inspired as the soul of one — 
 
 One fourth of a million men. 
 ''Go ! put the sword to treason, — 
 
 A sword that is swift to slay ; 
 Sweep the capital clean of corruption 
 
 Before the light of day. 
 
 " Post guards at doors of the White House, 
 
 And guards at the Senate Hall, 
 And guards in the other chamber, 
 
 And be they true men, all ! 
 To every hamlet in the land 
 
 A silent sentinel send, 
 On every hill, in every vale, 
 
 To walk till time shall end ! " 
 
 And ever more at midnight hour, 
 
 Detiles this sad "relief;" 
 And then the relieved return to salute 
 
 The first and the Martyr Chief. 
 Lo ! mothers and fathers by those posts 
 
 Shall wait for fallen sons. 
 And children watch in silent awe 
 
 For the gleam of their spectre guns. 
 
 June, 1878. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 115 
 
 FIGHT YOUE WAY UP. 
 
 Inch by inch you must win your way, 
 
 By steady and sturdy blows ; 
 Scornful alike of fawning friends 
 
 Or the sneer of incredulous foes. 
 You may not pause to be lifted, 
 
 Nor the nectar of dalliance sup. 
 But, with tiroi and relentless endeavor, 
 
 Fight your way steadily up. 
 
 Indolence, envy,. and malice, 
 
 The open or covert attack. 
 Will meet you at every footfall, — 
 
 Even friends will hold you back. 
 But grim, relentless, and earnest. 
 
 From the shadow into the light, 
 If you rise at all you rise because 
 
 Of dauntless and upward fight. 
 
 The laurel bay and crown await, 
 
 But rugged paths and steep 
 Will mock all puny effort, 
 
 While fate her guard doth keep. 
 Then nerve your hand with iron will, 
 
 Strong to caress or smite. 
 For you alone reach crown and bay 
 
 By steady and stalwart fight. 
 
116 OLD COEPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 BIRCH ISLAND TROUT. 
 
 A prince among fish is the tnm Like trout. 
 
 He strikes with a vigorous vim ; 
 And you must know well what you're about 
 
 To succeed in hooking him. 
 
 But give me the other trout, 
 
 The trout of the mountain brook, 
 That gleams through the black pool in and out. 
 
 With a dash at your bated hook. 
 
 Then here's to the trout, be he little or big',, 
 
 In lake or in mountain brook. 
 If he dance in a net to the fisherman's jig, 
 
 Or go it alone on a hook I 
 
 So yellow and luscious, so dainty and rare, 
 
 So crisp if he's done to a turn ; 
 Perhaps nature furnishes sport more rare. 
 
 But that w^e have yet to learn. 
 
 There may be a daintier, choicer dish, 
 
 For the palate of the epicure ; 
 But if so, we have never heard of the fish,, 
 
 Nor shall we ever, I am sure. 
 
OLL» CORPORAL POEMS. 117 
 
 J. WILSON BARROISr. 
 
 Brave Barron ! with blue eye undaunted, 
 
 When the rope tightened round your neck, 
 Was there naught in its martyr pleading 
 
 The murderer's purpose to check ? 
 From the vault where you faithfully guarded 
 
 The trusts of your humble bank 
 A spirit went forth well worthy 
 
 With heroes and martyrs to rank. 
 
 And they must make room in heaven 
 
 For a hero in honor high, 
 One more with the chivalric courao^e, 
 
 At the post of duty to die. 
 We will blush less now for the faithless. 
 
 Defaults and embezzlements rife, 
 And point with pride to the hero 
 
 Who defended his trust with his life. 
 
 And we will thank God for Christian honor. 
 
 And courage, that men though dead 
 Take new faith in human nature 
 
 From your bruised and wounded head ; 
 And will answer the sneer of the cynic. 
 
 Who says, "Every man has his price ; 
 Religion ! a sham and delusion ! — 
 
 A defaulter's deceitful device ? " 
 
 Remember the brave man, Barron, 
 
 With sense of honor so high. 
 That guarding the trusted treasure, 
 
 He was ready and strong to die. 
 Make room for a civic hero. 
 
 In America's temple of fame. 
 An untitled New England baron, 
 
 Well worthy the title to claim. 
 
1 18 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Make room for a Christian hero ! 
 
 Awa}'^ with the lil:>ellous lie 
 That all are too callous iox honor, 
 
 Too sordid for duty to die. 
 Friend Murray, this man was a deacon, 
 ■ Let the world give the Church its due, 
 And weep with us who knew him, 
 
 For a heart strong as steel and as true. 
 
 DON'T WAIT TILL THEY'KE DEAD. 
 
 If you have a neighbor near 3'ou 
 
 Trying to lift up his head, 
 And a kind word or look will help him, 
 
 Pray, don't wait till he is dead 
 Before you recognize him, 
 
 And speak your word of cheer. 
 But do it now, frank and cheerful, — 
 
 Do it while he is here. 
 
 The world has been full of this waiting, — 
 
 To the shame of men be it said ! — 
 Before they do a man justice 
 
 They wait, as a rule, till he's dead. 
 Withholding all helpful sympathy, 
 
 Sometimes even bread ; 
 And then they will l)uild a monument, 
 
 After the toiler is dead. 
 
 How many l^rave hearts have struggled, 
 
 With brave and hopeful tread, 
 Waiting man's tardy justice. 
 
 Winning life's scanty bread, 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 119 
 
 As well woi-tliy of^bay and laurels, 
 
 Stmggling, toiling aliead, 
 As when a marble monument 
 
 Eises to tell — they are dead. 
 
 Look around you, then, and never 
 
 Give reason to have it said 
 That you waited T\dthout recognition 
 
 Until your neighbor was dead. 
 Go and siye now vour sfreetino:, 
 
 With o-enerous words, mstead 
 Of waiting, as most have waited, 
 
 Until the toiler was dead. 
 
 It may be a wife or daughter, 
 
 Passing, with patient tread, 
 The round of hfe's simple duties. 
 
 With hearts as heavy as lead ; 
 With hands that never falter. 
 
 With aching and weary head. 
 While waiting your recognition, 
 
 Receivinof but coldness instead. 
 
 ■& 
 
 It may be a husband or father. 
 
 Or brother, whom you have led. 
 Who waits with wistfiil pleading 
 
 For the word you have not said. 
 Oh, wait no longer ! life passes, — 
 
 Its hours will soon have sped, — 
 Delay not your heart's kind prompting ; 
 
 Don't wait till they are dead. 
 
 It is strange how soon and surely. 
 After death has claimed his own. 
 
 The world remembers their virtues. 
 And speaks what it has known. 
 
 It seems I have seen a smile lurking, 
 Lighting up a dead cold face 
 
120 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 In scorn of the tardy mockery 
 They knew to be taking place. 
 
 Go with niggardly words no longer 
 
 For those who toil by your side, 
 Waiting, without commendation. 
 
 Till tlie tired toilers have died ; 
 Meet them and greet them frankly, 
 
 Encourage while they are here. 
 And see the face sad and thoughtful, 
 
 Break into a smile of cheer. 
 
 Wait not till hope has vanished. 
 
 Till heai-ts, from neglect, have bled ; 
 Wait not till earth is dreary. 
 
 Till odoom orathers overhead ; 
 Wait not till feet worn and weary. 
 
 By the hand of Fate are led. 
 Sad and mutely, despairing 
 
 Down into the rest of the dead ; 
 
 Before you give generous greeting, — 
 
 Chasing the ghoul of fear, — 
 Before you witness the grateful 
 
 Smile of faces really dear ; 
 But with eyes beaming glad recognition, 
 
 Faithful, and frank, and clear. 
 Dispense to each toiler around you 
 
 Your helpful and hopeful cheer. 
 
 REST. 
 
 O hills of my boyhood, I greet you again ! 
 
 Let me rest on your broad, brown sides ! 
 Oh take from my heai-t this wearying pain 
 
 While the sun o'er your round crest rides ! 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 121 
 
 Of brown Earth's bosom the cheering fount, 
 
 On you my head I rest ; 
 Though weary footsteps tardily mount 
 
 To the joy of your nourishing breast. 
 
 Fold ye, and hold me in sheltering arms ; 
 
 To your grand maternity press ; 
 Till you soothe from my heart all sad alarms 
 
 With the peace of your blessed caress. 
 
 To the sting of disease thy healing balm 
 
 In the fulness of faith I bind ; 
 Nor doubt I in thy restful calm 
 
 The joy of healing to find. 
 
 STAES FOR THE CROWN, 
 
 A CHRISTMAS LESSON. 
 PR EL UDE. 
 
 Long hate the Prophets ceased to warn, 
 
 And Faith in doubt was shrouded ; 
 To those who w^aited for the morn 
 
 The heavens were darkly clouded. 
 The valley held the Lily's bloom. 
 
 Waiting, wan, and wearied, 
 Lebanon's cedars stood in gloom. 
 
 While the Redeemer tarried. 
 The glory of Zion seemed afar. 
 
 The night held not its gem. 
 And, while it waited the Morning Star, 
 
 Knew not its Bethlehem. 
 
122 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 The mantle of night lay on the plain, 
 
 The stars al)ove shone clear, 
 In sparkling welcome of the strain. 
 
 Ere they of earth could hear. 
 For lo ! the lost song of their morning joy 
 
 Again in the heavens is ringing ; 
 Well may the vaulted heavens employ 
 
 The whole of their hosts in sina'ins: 
 The glad anthem of joy again — 
 
 "Peace on earth ; good will toward men.'' 
 
 Shout the glad message, ye sons of God ! 
 
 Sing ye stars with them ! 
 Mercy noAv stays the chastening rod, 
 
 Christ is born in Bethlehem ! 
 " Glory to God ! " sang the angel choirs ; 
 
 " Glory to God ! " sang the answering stars ; 
 " Glory to God ! " flashed the beacon fires 
 
 To heavens remotest bars. 
 Rang the grand choral of joy again, 
 
 "Peace on earth ; good Avill toward men." 
 
 It seemed sadly in vain ; 
 
 For the innocent slain 
 
 Mothers in sorrow are weejDing ; 
 
 Sharon's opening bud 
 
 To be crushed in blood, — 
 With sin, was in sorrowful keeping. 
 So, fitly for aye, at Christmas time, 
 May we gladden the heart of the Child, 
 For the first martyrs now, near the throne sublime, 
 From the hand of a Herod, red with crime, 
 
 Came up from that massacre wild. 
 And He who escaped till the day of his death 
 Spake with his OAvn dear, life-giving breath 
 
 The sweetest Avords He has given, 
 " Suffer the children to come unto me, 
 
 They must not l^e forbidden ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 123 
 
 So the hearts of all who come must be, 
 Of such is the kinaxlom of heaven," 
 
 But His own face yet, 
 
 With His own blood wet, 
 Must be laid in bitterest anguish down ; 
 There is l:)uftet and insult, scoura^ino- and scorn, 
 The mock robe of royalty, crown of thorn. 
 Ere he wears by right the Redeemer s crown. 
 
 He PToans in aoony, wild and aloud. 
 
 The thorn-torn head in death is bowed. 
 
 The dumb earth answers its Maker's moan, 
 
 A low dirge the stars of the morning momi, 
 
 And shed in shame their pitying tears. 
 
 While God's mercy mantles this crime of the years. 
 
 And they bore Him away to the waiting tomb ; 
 
 The Rose and the Lily came not to bloom. 
 
 But the work of the Master is not complete ; 
 They must hear the tread of those buried feet ; 
 They must see the ligiit of those closed eyes ; 
 From the gloom of that death He must arise. 
 The}^ must hear again the matchless voice. 
 Ere in Christ, as " God with us," they fully rejoice. 
 From Edom, and Bozrah, in garments red, 
 
 They hear from the door of the opening grave, 
 The sound of His footsteps, welcoming^ tread, 
 
 Who speaks now in rigiiteousness, mighty to save. 
 
 " Reach hither thy hand to this pierced palm. 
 
 Thrust it into the Avound of the Roman spear, 
 That the suro-e of your sad doubts I may calm. 
 
 And take from ^^'our hearts your blinding fear. 
 And lo ! I am with you unto the end ; 
 
 Go with the glad tidings afar, 
 For healing and life the Word shall attend. 
 And ye shall know well what meaneth, ^ The Friend 
 
 That is closer than brothers are.^ " 
 
124 OLD COKPORAL POEMS. 
 
 The angels are waiting with honor to greet, 
 
 Yet hushed is their triumphant psalm, 
 While gratitude covers with tears the feet, 
 
 Wounded in l3ringing to earth a balm. 
 Wide are now swinging the portal doors. 
 
 And the golden gates are lifted high ; 
 There are palms and crowns on the golden floors, 
 
 For the Victor Prince is nigh. 
 Lift higher 3^our heads, ye glorious gates. 
 Before you, to enter, the Conqueror waits ; 
 Higher and higher till He enters in. 
 From the fearful contest with death and sin. 
 
 Centurial ages have passed away 
 
 Since they steadfastly gazed into heaven that day. 
 
 But the Master hath promised, and still He guides ; 
 
 And here on this gladsome Christmas eve 
 
 Into every heart that will believe 
 
 He silently enters and there abides. 
 
 THE LESSON. 
 
 Still soundeth that mystic minstrelsy, 
 
 — " Forever, to-day, and j^esterday," — 
 And Conscience, the wakeful shepherd, keeps 
 Unwearied vigil while Reason sleeps. 
 And ever in times of the spirit's calm, 
 With the power and spell of a soothing charm, 
 If the soul will listen, it still is there, 
 The soundless song, on the midnight air. 
 And thouo^h those ans^els strand and olden, 
 Who flashed from portals gemmed and golden, 
 Have never repeated to mortal ear 
 The song of that night, so sweet and clear, — 
 Thous^h never ao^ain to mortal eves 
 Have given one gleam of their angel gnise, — 
 Still, on the air o'er the slum'brous soul. 
 Broken strains of that symphony, silently roll ; ' 
 
OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 125 
 
 Who hears their song on this sorrowing earth, 
 May know that it heralds a Saviour's birth. 
 Well may this heraldry banish fears, 
 For the cradle of Christ is the heart that hears. 
 
 To one listening life this music came 
 
 With all its meaning manifold, 
 Imparting the glow of a heavenly flame, 
 
 And more of joy than heart could hold, 
 The golden bowl brimming to overflow. 
 Surely, sorrow need only know 
 There was lis^ht for nis^ht, 
 And life for death, 
 And a song of joy. 
 For sorrow's breath ; 
 A soul redeemed, its sins forgiven, 
 A glimpse of the many-mansioned heaven, 
 To gladl}^ receive the tidings given. 
 It seemed to His early love that all 
 Must yield their hearts to the gentle call : 
 "They perish now. Master, in pain and woe;" 
 And his prayer was pleading " Oh, bid me go ! " 
 
 The Lord Christ heard, as the rapt youth prayed, 
 
 A sweet smile over His features played ; 
 
 On the low bowed head of his weeping child, 
 
 His pierced hand tenderly left a blessing ; 
 
 While the answering voice so clear and mild, 
 Thrilled, with joy that was almost wild. 
 
 The heart that was dumb with delight, while pressing 
 
 His head now raised to that blessed rest. 
 
 Which is known when pillowed upon His breast 
 
 And he heard the warning : 
 
 " Would you know 
 
 That the world has sin as well as woe ; 
 
 That many will scorn both the message and thee ; 
 
 That the rage of their madness died not with me : 
 
 That still there is possible Calvary ? " 
 
126 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 "Thou shalt go, my son, but with me awhile, 
 You must learn the spell of the tempter's wile, 
 Which is over the W'orld and even thee : — 
 I will teach you how they w^elcome me." 
 And clasped in the strength of encircling arms, 
 
 He felt on his brow the Saviour's kiss, 
 That sealed him safe from the tempter's charms, 
 
 With a foretaste faint of heaven's bliss. 
 
 They w^eut where the great world's thoughtless throngs 
 
 Sped on to the grave with laughter and songs. 
 
 There the Lord himself called, and called in vain. 
 
 The enthusiast heart Avas torn with pain, 
 
 As he said, "O Master ! why must they die? 
 
 Let us stand in their path, and strive, and cry." 
 
 But swifter and swifter it sped along ; 
 
 For answer, some strain of a bacchanal sonof. 
 
 Their eifort was futile, they could not detain 
 
 The throngs of that passional pleasure train. 
 
 Faint and far in the distance their voices were lost, 
 
 And life w^as the price which this madness cost. 
 
 There were rulers and statesmen hurrying joast ; 
 
 Xot a look on the patient pleader cast. 
 
 From this thoughtless revel the young man turned ; 
 
 With deep indignation his spirit burned ; 
 
 He had heard them there with foul scoffing deride, 
 And curse with the name of the Crucilied ; 
 While scorn wdth hate exultingly vied, 
 
 Love deeper than his Avas lightly spurned. 
 
 " Why, some would crucify now, I fear. 
 
 For the warning you speak so kindly here." 
 
 But he meets, as he listens with strange surprise, 
 
 A keen rebuke in the low replies. 
 
 "My child, though scorned, I come each day, 
 And call to the throngs that crowd this way. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 127 
 
 For anon, when these fair cheeks are paling, 
 And the joy of this false lure is failing, 
 Some will call with hopeless wailing. 
 Whenever they call, I wait to go — 
 And am only sad when they scorn me so." 
 The zeal of impatience in shame is weeping ; 
 While the vigil of pity the Christ is keeping. 
 
 " Let us turn to those who have wisely heard, 
 And heeded the call of the livino- Word. 
 Your spirit would falter and faint, I fear, 
 If I were to teach you only here. 
 My children have reared a temple of praise, 
 Where they gather to worship on holy days." 
 
 Gay doors are closed, the marts are still. 
 
 The bells of the Sal^bath quietly thrill 
 
 The air, and hearts, and hunying feet. 
 
 That river of life in the silent street. 
 
 They have gathered from many a home of prayer ; 
 
 The strong and the aged, the young and the fair, 
 
 In reverent silence are waitino- there. 
 
 The great organ breathes out its suppliant strain, 
 A sound like the pleading of many souls. 
 As through the high arches its melody rolls, 
 
 Then sobs its low prayer into silence again. 
 
 By prayer the worshipping throng is led, 
 
 The Word, with reverent heeding read ; 
 
 Then an anthem of praise whose choral swell, 
 
 Voices the worshipping host so well. 
 
 Now, from lips where the Master's touch has stayed, 
 
 From heart that His deathless love has fired, 
 From mind which saving truth has swayed. 
 
 From soul, by the strength of faith inspired, 
 Came the spoken Word with power endued. 
 By the blood of the Crucified deeply imbued. 
 
128 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Even while He plead there were answering sighs, 
 And tears were falling from soulful eyes. 
 They were fired with the joy the Saviour sends, 
 When the worshipper low in penitence bends. 
 
 The heart of the young disciple was filled 
 
 With an ecstatic longing and fervor thrilled, 
 
 As anew for the work of his life he burned ; 
 
 i^nd, again to Him who had led him there he turned, 
 
 While his heai-t and features were all aglow. 
 
 For this must gladden the sad one so. 
 
 But the touching sadness remained the same. 
 
 Though he gTeeted T\dth joy Love's bursting flame. 
 
 "My child, I am glad for these and thee. 
 
 But through this worshipping throng I see 
 
 The sad homes of the children of poverty. 
 
 They have barred by these grand and massive doors 
 
 The steps that would stain these mufiled floors, — 
 
 The paths which my earthly footsteps trod 
 
 Lead not to this, though the house of God. 
 
 And while I am glad for this scene to-day, — 
 
 Glad when the rich and gifted pray. 
 
 My heart for the poor and the humble bleeds, — 
 
 The gulf is wide from this to their needs." 
 
 The listener clasped his hands in prayer ; 
 
 Into his heart as never before 
 
 Came the Spirit that seeks the huml^le door. 
 " Bid me to the lowly thy message bear ; 
 I will walk till my feet be bare and bleeding, 
 If thou wilt grant thy blessed leading ! " 
 Then over that face a ncAV light stole. 
 That flooded with peace that pleading soul ; 
 He rests, as John, in a moment of bliss, 
 And his lips were sealed by a sacred kiss. 
 
 "Thus do I," He said, slow and solemnly, 
 " Consecrate thee to this blessed ministry ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 129 
 
 Thy lips thus sealed shall never plead 
 
 In vain with the chldren of toil and need ; 
 
 I have given this consecration holy, 
 
 Let the words of thy mouth be pure and lowly ; — 
 
 Even now I will lead you to win the first gem 
 
 With which I will fill your diadem." 
 
 Past stately abodes of plenty, of jDride, 
 
 Where were ringing the sounds of Christmas cheer, — 
 For the morrow would bring that a day so dear, — 
 
 Wondering he followed the steps of his guide, 
 
 To a place that wronged the name of home ; 
 
 To the depths for priceless pearls they come. * 
 
 A worn mother watches a fluttering breath. 
 
 O'er her pale infiuit struggling with death. 
 
 The breath of the drinker has left its blight, 
 
 And banished the lustre of Love's quiet light. 
 
 A face, full of longing, so shrunken and pale. 
 
 As no words can tell, told the sorrowful tale ; 
 
 There was no food nor warmth for the dying child 
 
 Whose piteous wail was driving her wild. 
 
 Unconscious the while in a sottish sleep 
 
 Lay the woman's protector, — "To cherish and keep." 
 
 How vain that sacred nuptial vow 
 
 Seemed to that wrono:ed woman now. 
 
 The only comfort in this her grief, 
 
 This drunken slumber was real relief. 
 
 In vain the aid so kindly brought — 
 
 The lio'ht, the warmth and nursinof — were nauo;ht 
 
 To stay the destroyer. The child was dead ! 
 
 In mercy, soon from its misery sped. 
 
 One thought of the day of betrothal to him 
 
 Now unconscious, and all grew dim ; - — 
 
 For pale and still as her dead child there. 
 The mother fell back in a swoon of despair ; 
 But the spell on the stupid sleeper is past, 
 From a base debauch, awake at last, 
 
130 OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 To behold the wreck his life had wrought, 
 
 To be by this fearful ruin taught. 
 
 For a moment he sat in silence there, — 
 
 He had known her w^hen youn^: and saintly fair, 
 
 And had loved her long and loved her well, 
 
 Till held in the chains of that demon spell, — 
 
 Back to those bright and happy years, 
 
 His conscience scourged ; with remorseful tears 
 
 He plead for one look, one answering w^ord, 
 
 Till the thoughtful strangers turned away, 
 
 Thinking God and conscience wiser than they. 
 
 Her closed eyes opened, unrebuking and mild, 
 
 They lingered a moment on father and child, 
 
 Then closed amid such a pallor of w^oe, 
 
 As only the patient, heart-broken know. 
 
 "My God ! I thank thee," said the now earnest man, 
 
 And he spake as only the fervid can ; 
 
 "And here by the side of my dead, I swear 
 
 To follow no more this path of despair." 
 
 But the "Man of Sorrows," who has watched the fears 
 
 Of eighteen hundred circling years 
 
 To enter this life, is waiting here ; 
 
 His locks were white with the cares he bore, 
 The dews of night had sprinkled them o'er ; 
 His kind hand knocked at the closed door 
 Of the strong man's heart — unknown, and so near. 
 With earnest pleading, and tender tone. 
 While sorrow is reaping wdiat sin has sown. 
 He says to the heart with agony full, 
 "Though as scarlet now, it shall be as wool. 
 Long, so long ere this sorrowful day 
 I sought, and in scorn you turned away ; 
 But now, my sadly erring son. 
 Despite the wrong you have madly done, 
 I love, and w^ould save you from your sin ; 
 Let me into vour heart. Oh, let me in I " 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 131 
 
 One long, fierce struggle with self and pride, — 
 The spell is broken, — the will is bowed. 
 
 And the tender arms of the Crucified 
 
 Clasp that strong penitent, weeping aloud. 
 
 The mother's eyes brimmed with a holy joy ; 
 
 Her torn heart throbbed with a blissful pain 
 As she lifted her thous^ht in thanks as^ain, 
 
 For that angel of mercy, — her dear dead boy. 
 
 The hours had sped, and midnight morn, 
 
 From the hours of Christmas eve had come ; 
 
 And lo ! again was Jesus born. 
 
 In one more heart in a humble home. 
 
 From the blessed glow of that heavenly light 
 The disciple went forth to a storm-torn night ; 
 Swiftly aslant through the silent street 
 The cold wind blew the stinging sleet ; 
 But he heeded it not, for there by his side 
 Was the silent step of the Crucified. 
 And the calm delight in the Master's eyes 
 Filled his soul with glad surprise. 
 
 "Thy sorrow, thy joy, thou knowest-now ; 
 With this first star I crown thy brow." 
 
132 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 ON AN INVITATION TO WEITE. 
 
 The fire that burns and brightens 
 
 May not be kindled at will, 
 It burneth hot, unasked, unsought, 
 
 When the tongue is mute and still. 
 From sights and sounds we stumble on, 
 
 From thorns that tear the heart ; — 
 We smite when the iron is white with heat ; 
 This is the poet's art. 
 
 It can't be run off by the yard, man, 
 
 We don't run it off by the yard ; 
 He who can has no claim of poet. 
 He is only a calico bard. 
 
 He who says we feel not our fancies, — 
 That fancy which paints the page, — 
 Is cool, and stirs not, nor trembles 
 
 With thino^s of which we rao^e ; 
 Knows not of the thorns that tear us, 
 
 Naught of our hours of pain, 
 Nor of the lauo^liter which shakes us 
 When satire's page we stain. 
 
 It can't be run off by the yard, man, 
 
 W^e 'don't run it off by the yard ; 
 He who can has no claim of poet. 
 He is only a calico bard. 
 
 When fire unseen is kindled 
 
 Our own hearts throl) aud bleed ; 
 Or satire grim point to the hymn 
 
 W^e sing from our own heart's need. 
 We sing on, though no one listens, 
 
 W^e sins: thou«:h no one cares : 
 Glad when the reader's eye glistens, 
 
 Or a smile some sad face wears. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 133 
 
 It can't be run off by the yard, man. 
 We don't run it off by the yard ; 
 
 He who can has no claim of poet, 
 He is only a calico bard. 
 
 So, ask of me not a measure, 
 
 Set me no stilted task ; 
 You know not the way of our fancies, 
 
 You know not what you ask. 
 True songs are not made to order, 
 
 They're born, they are not made ; 
 They run not in grooves of traffic ; — 
 Poetry isn't a trade. 
 
 It can't be run off by the yard, man, 
 
 We don't run it off by the yard ; 
 He who can has no claim of poet, 
 He is only a calico bard. 
 
 The poet must be a creator, 
 
 Or paint such scenes as he sees ; 
 Or pierce wdth rhythmic satire, — 
 
 He writes not alone to please. 
 But when, with tears or laughter. 
 You greet what we send to you. 
 You know we drink of waters 
 
 Whose source you may not view. 
 It can't be run off b}^ the yard, man, 
 
 We don't run it off by the yard ; 
 He who can has no claim of poet, 
 He is only a calico bard. 
 
134 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 MEMOEIAL HYMX. 
 
 We wait now with weeping, 
 
 Where heroes brave are sleeping, 
 
 Who live in song and story, 
 
 And deeds of fadeless gloiy. 
 
 Though dead they live, to memory dear, 
 The nation's dead are resting here. 
 
 A wreath for brows immoi-tal, 
 
 We twine around death's portal, 
 
 And leave it here above them. 
 
 To show that still we love them ; 
 
 Though dead they live, to memory dear, 
 The nation's dead are resting here. 
 
 The past comes up before us, — 
 
 Our battle flag is o'er us ; 
 
 The battle call is sounding, 
 
 And men to death are bounding ; 
 
 Though dead they live, to memory dear, 
 The nation's dead are restino- here. 
 
 In peace sublime above us. 
 
 Unseen they wait and dove us ; 
 
 And there we hope to meet them ; 
 
 In heaven's peace to greet them ; 
 
 Though dead they hve, to memory dear, 
 The nation's dead are restino- here. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 135 
 
 THE BURNING VILLAGE. 
 
 [Wi-itten on the Farmington fire, Feb., 1875. Printed for citizens, and read at 
 dedication of new Congregational Church.] 
 
 Startled from sleep, you woke to dream 
 What seems to you yet a frightful dream ; 
 The clang of the hell 
 
 Came down through the night, 
 In terror to tell 
 Its tale of affright, 
 By the startling glare and gleam 
 Of billows of leaping light. 
 
 And there alone the sentinel spire 
 
 Flashed forth to view from a sea of fire ; 
 And the tone of the bell, 
 
 Like a human tone. 
 Had its tale to tell, 
 
 With a shriek and groan. 
 Like an impotent fierce desire 
 Pulsed forth from a heart of stone. 
 
 The startled multitude stood appalled, 
 
 With hands and hearts iu fear enthralled ; 
 And the gilded vane, 
 
 In wild alarm. 
 Trembled with pain. 
 From fear of harm, 
 AYhile the bell still clamored and called 
 For help from a powerless arm. 
 
 Higher and higher the tongues of fire^ 
 Leapt up and crept up roof and spire, 
 Till the stars of heaven, 
 And the red fire stars. 
 
136 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Seemed mingled and driven ; 
 And fiery bars 
 Were hurled by the wind's fierce ire, 
 Till they floated, far up, like stars. 
 
 In an hour the blistering breath passed by, 
 And under a midnight arctic sky. 
 In place of your temple 
 
 Was left alone 
 But ashes trampled 
 And crumbling stone. 
 And tears you might well be blinded by, 
 And the homeless w^orshippers' moan. 
 
 A year has fled since that night of fear, 
 And temple and turret are builded here ; 
 Temple and tower 
 
 And roof and wall ; 
 A bell tells the hour 
 From turret tall ; 
 It stands complete the toil of a year, 
 To sound forth the Master's call. 
 
 And now, as you gather here to-day. 
 
 To hallow the altar where men shall pray. 
 Bring only your pure gold. 
 
 Purged as by fire ; 
 Let no heart here hold 
 An unhallowed desire ; 
 Bring self to the altar, and slay; 
 Then call for the heavenly fire. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 137 
 
 WINGS OF FLAME. 
 
 [Delivered at dedication of the Congregational Church, Pittsfield, N.H., Feb. 
 12, 1877, on the site of one burned one 3'ear before in a fearful storm.] 
 
 Under the scowl of a winter sk}^, 
 A wild snow-tempest roaring by, 
 A faint flame creeps, 
 
 With smothered sign. 
 While the village sleeps, 
 With dan2:er nio'h ; 
 Slowly at midnight the menace creeps 
 While the village, unconscious of danger, sleeps. 
 
 Steady and slow, with flickering glow, 
 Striking a key-note sure and low. 
 The fire-fiend sings 
 
 While beatino: slow 
 His mottled wings, 
 That none may know 
 The terrible tone of the glee he sings, 
 Nor the fearful sweep of his ghastly wings. 
 
 But he breaks his chains and up, away ! 
 No longer imprisoned will tamely stay. 
 With open beak 
 Upon his prey 
 W^ill fall and shriek 
 As up and away 
 Witli gleaming talon and bloody beak 
 To circle and soar with maddening shriek. 
 
 And now on the air the dire of bells, 
 Whose startled tone the danger tells. 
 With clano- and roar 
 
 The summons swells, 
 Pealing out o'er 
 
 The snow-clad dells. 
 
138 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Smiting the red flames' gathering roar, 
 Somiding loud summons o'er and o'er. 
 
 'No longer the peaceful village sleeps, 
 No longer the flame of the burning creeps, 
 But swift lights flash, 
 The red light leaps, 
 While timbers crash 
 And weakness weeps ; 
 And into the storm with roar and crash, 
 Red wings circle and soar and flash. 
 
 So, into the night an inverted hell 
 Kindled its lurid burnings well ; 
 Red gleams arose 
 
 As thick clouds fell 
 To mingle and close 
 In the mimic hell. 
 The gloom of these disclosed by those. 
 As the steady gleam of the burning rose. 
 
 Steadily beating the mad bell rings ; 
 The tall toAver trembles, sways and swings : 
 Above, the snow 
 
 Now melts and clings, 
 While mad below 
 
 The hoarse shout sings ; 
 Thick in the heavens the clouds of snow. 
 Reflecting the horror that rolls below. 
 
 There are billows of flame, they rush and roar 
 And crackle and Jeap till the heavens o'er 
 Flash grimly back 
 The horrid glow. 
 The ruin and rack 
 That glare below. 
 The swift storm squadrons dense and black 
 Reflecting the blood-red gleaming back. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 The clindno; lips of the furious fire ^ 
 With passiomte, fierce, and fell desire 
 Are sated soon ; 
 
 The passion dire 
 Is bated soon ; 
 A bridal pyre ! 
 And the ravished village is left alone 
 To sigh and weep with piteous moan. 
 
 Temple and mart and dwelling gone, 
 Blackened cinders on snow-white lawn ; 
 And night shuts down 
 
 Till the coming dawn 
 Reveals the town 
 
 To the morrow's morn, 
 The o-loom victorious settles down 
 Over^a blackened and ra\dshed town. 
 
 But the days of a year fly on their round 
 With sign of builders on the ground ; 
 The structure gTOWS, 
 
 Mid hammers' sound. 
 To rival those 
 
 The red flames found. 
 More statelv and grander far than those 
 Which fell in the burning fearful throes. 
 
 Turret and spire and roof and wall, 
 Chancel and organ, chapel, all 
 Await to-day 
 
 The Master's call ; 
 We bow and pray 
 As low we fall. 
 Accept Thou what we build to-day ; 
 Take, and take never Thy grace away. 
 
 139 
 
EARLY POEMS. 
 
 REPLY OF NIGHT. 
 
 What, O Night ! canst thou discover, 
 
 111 thy wide extended reign ? 
 What that would delight thee ever ; — 
 
 What that thou wouldst not uncover, 
 Seest thou 'neath thy sweeping train? 
 
 I see, the voice of Night replies. 
 
 The smiling lands of sanuy skies ; 
 
 The frigid North with icy seas. 
 
 Where chill of death floats on the breeze ; 
 
 I see broad mountains, hill, and vale. 
 
 From whence floats up the trusting tale. 
 
 That riseth e'er from the whispering pine, 
 
 And the low, sweet tone of the clinging vine ; 
 
 The musical, murmuring waterflxU, 
 
 The tremulous notes of the night birds' call ; 
 
 Scenes and sounds that speak like these, 
 
 Breathe of a spirit that can but please. 
 
 There is much, however, inquiring bard. 
 In the beauty of night that man hath marred ; 
 There is much that is sad and wildly strange 
 Ever within my vision's range, — 
 
 Come float with me o'er the busy street. 
 Where echoes still the tramp of feet; — 
 There are footfalls Arm upon that pave, 
 And those whose tottering speaks of the grave ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 141 
 
 There are eyes that sparkle undimmed by tears, 
 And hearts that ache with the load of years ; 
 Virtue unstained in its fountain clear, 
 And vice in its sickening loathsome leer. 
 Thoughts like a canker that eat the heart, 
 From which with a shudder of fear you start ; 
 Mortal, I would that that hunying crowd 
 Just for a moment would think aloud, 
 That you for a moment might see and know 
 That unseen current's under-flow ; 
 Alas ! it is not for mortal ear, 
 The pulsing, throbbings of thought to hear. 
 
 Oh, where are the houses to wdiich this throng, 
 These lives, these thinking souls belong? 
 What joy, and, too, what nameless care, 
 As guests are with the inmates there I 
 This scene is but one of those wonders vast 
 O'er which the folds of my robe are cast ; 
 They lie unuumbered all over your land, — 
 On mountain side, by ocean's strand; 
 And mingled murmur borue on the breeze 
 Is floating forever up from these. 
 
 There are sounds of wailing that strike the ear ; 
 The stifled groan, the shriek of fear ; 
 Sounds that float out o'er the air. 
 Speaking of sin and deep despair ; 
 And mingled with these are sounds of mirth, 
 A medley strange comes up from earth. 
 List ! there's a low and tremulous voice — 
 Angels in heaven wdll now rejoice ! 
 'Tis a young mother's faith that in that tone 
 Presses her first-born up to the throne. 
 Another low voice I it cometh from where 
 A child is breathing its evening prayer ; 
 Sweetly solemn, touchingly mild, 
 Eiseth the prayer of the trusting child. 
 
142 OLD COEPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Speaking of childish wants and fears, 
 With a faith that shameth riper years. 
 Angels are chanting in heavenly lays, 
 "Hope for earth, for childhood prays !" 
 
 A tableau strange this earth appears, 
 Mingling mirth, and woe, and prayers. 
 Mortal, I cannot describe it to you. 
 The whole a finite may never view ! 
 
 3j«ejoo- 
 
 MOENING IN SPKING-TIME. 
 
 In the east the coming sunlight, 
 Struo'oiino' with the shades receding 
 By the pale light's quiet coming. 
 By the songster's timid w^arbling, 
 We may know that shade and darkness 
 By the morn are being vanquished. 
 Slowly, though, the night departeth, 
 Owning that its reign is routed. 
 Hiding from the coming twilight 
 To the westward of the mountains. 
 And amid the thick-bouo-hed forests. 
 
 Now the mornino; brio^htness stretcheth 
 Far away unto the westward ; 
 And the shades which slowly left us 
 Lie along the far horizon. 
 Fading, sinking, slowly melting, 
 Blending with the conquering twilight. 
 
 All the stars have sought their couches, 
 Save the few that twinkle faintly 
 Through the dim dissolving shadows. 
 In the east the rays shoot upward, 
 Giving l)y their sparry splendor. 
 To the scene a massive glory. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. US 
 
 Where is now the unseen centre 
 
 From which such a flood proceedeth ? 
 
 What great power from out that centre 
 
 Forces all that blazing brightness, 
 
 So that all the stars attendant 
 
 Whirl forever on their courses, 
 
 Bathed in this surrounding grandeur, 
 
 Smiling back their joyous praises 
 
 To that never-failing fountain 
 
 Which has clothed their forms with beauty. 
 
 Which has life and light imparted ? 
 
 Wliile we thus have questioned, musing, 
 Lo ! the moon has been advancing, 
 Look along the bright horizon ; 
 That round hill with wood-crowned summit ! 
 Look ye now around the branches, 
 Where the moon's last shadow perished — 
 How those strong trees seem to tremble ! 
 How those branchlets seem dissolvins; ! 
 There the dazzling arching surface 
 Rising slowly, grandly o'er them, 
 Leaving all unharmed the forest. 
 And unmelted the round mountain ! 
 Close your eyes, — you still behold it 
 With a round screen o'er its surface. 
 Keeping back the burning brightness, 
 Save around the o-listenino: edo:es ; 
 Yes, you see it ; still you see it ; 
 With its trembling pendant curtain, 
 Kising, rising, slowly rising ! 
 
 There behold the fiery centre. 
 Out from which such power proceedeth ! — 
 Fierce it falls on winter's workings. 
 And undoes its frost formations : 
 First it bids the cold snow vanish. 
 Then unchains the flowing river ; 
 Next the singing streams and brooklets ; 
 
144 OLD CORrORAL TO EMS. 
 
 Then the long-imprisoned waters 
 Of the lake beside the mountain. 
 Soon all things of growing nature, 
 Too, shall feel these potent forces ; 
 And the sleeping powers of nature 
 Clothe the earth with growing beauty. 
 And all living moving creatures, 
 Too, shall feel his mystic presence. 
 While they joy in life and vigor. 
 
 Whence, O Sun ! hast thou thy power? 
 Whence the beauty of this morning ? — 
 None but God could e'er have given 
 Us this morning's beauteous vision. 
 Or these rapturous thoughts of ours. 
 With the feelings whicli they gave us. 
 O my God ! I thank thee for it, — 
 For this vision of the morning, 
 On my soul it is engraven ; 
 It is mine, — 'tis mine forever ! 
 
 -oo>««4c 
 
 THE BAPTISM OF BLOOD. 
 
 It was poured upon Antietam 
 
 Until nature gave a blush, 
 Where her features, bathed in battle's tide, 
 
 Reposed in evening's hush. 
 
 It was poured on red Shiloh, 
 
 In terror's crimson flow. 
 As if nature caught the parting ray 
 
 Of sunset's crimson glow ; 
 
 By the Rai)pahannock's winding shore, 
 W^here the burning city's smoke 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 145 
 
 Hung o'er the field, as if to shield 
 With battle's cloudy cloak ; 
 
 Till darkness came with tempest clouds, 
 
 As a pall for thousands dead ; 
 As if the skies with tears would fain 
 
 Wash out the battle's red. 
 
 And its rill adown the ramparts ran, 
 On Vicksburg's blood-bought forts ; 
 
 And still the tide of horror pours 
 From James' open courts. 
 
 For lo ! again, on Northern soil, 
 
 The purple tide hath ran ; 
 A graveyard fitting ^dtar was 
 
 For the sacrifice of man. 
 
 Even pallid demons pause for joy, 
 
 In their imprisoned realms, 
 To see the tide of wrath disgorged, 
 
 Of mortals whom it whelms. 
 
 O God ! how long must this carnage come ? 
 
 How long this crimson flood ? 
 How long must the noblest dare and die ? — 
 
 Let tears do the work of blood ! 
 
 Look on the thousand bleeding hearts, 
 
 Which in sorrow now are calmed. 
 That wait unmurmuring at thy throne, 
 
 With faith in tears embalmed I 
 
 Look on the widow left to weep, 
 
 And on the sireless child, 
 Remembering promises to such, 
 
 Which in thv word have smiled ! 
 
146 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Look on thy Churcli which drifteth 
 To a sin-cursed, ruined home ! 
 
 Look, and for thine own, name's sake 
 Avert this awful doom ! 
 
 Lord, suffer us to plead with thee ; 
 
 We will bow before thy throne ; 
 And while we pray, and plead, we say, 
 
 O God, thy will be done ! 
 
 /.4»>t>< 
 
 OUR COUNTERS CALL. 
 
 Our nation had slumbered, forgetful of fears, 
 As she felt the strong pulsing of peace-prospered years ; 
 But warmed in our bosom, and groWn by our side, 
 A foe has been nourished with brotherly pride. 
 
 But the mask is now dropped — his visage is bare, 
 And phoenix-like Tyranny faces us there ; 
 The blow lie has struck, — first, cold-blooded blow, 
 And Freedom confront eth her eternal foe. 
 
 The message : '* To Arms ! " by heroes is heard ; 
 The patriot l)lood of the country is stirred — 
 Then rise, sons of freemen, and grapple your cause, 
 Show tyrants the vigor of Liberty's laws I 
 
 Bring forth to the light our forefathers' arms. 
 
 Bring, bring to the fight, brothers, but bring them as 
 
 charms ! 
 The hands that have used them in death are laid low, 
 But the blood that inspired them continues to flow. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 147 
 
 'Tis the life of our kindred ; it flushes our homes ; 
 Against this the dark current of Tyranny comes ! 
 On their own brave defenders their swords have been 
 
 turned, 
 And our peace-proffered prayers they have scornfully 
 
 spurned. 
 
 Then, forth, brothers, forth I Speed swift to the fray ! 
 Think not they are brothers when freemen they slay ! 
 Can Freedom and Tyranny side by side stand? 
 Can darkness and light dwell at once in one land? 
 
 The truth flashes o'er us, our hearts ache with pain, 
 As we read, upon facing facts, " Slay or be slain ! " 
 God pity our foes, they have wrought to their harm. 
 The tempest is swinging " the pine against the palm I " 
 
 D^SI^C 
 
 CAERY CHRIST TO THE HOME BY THE SEA. 
 
 The year had waned, and autumn come, 
 The strife of the season had ceased to hum ; 
 The pomp of summer had passed from view. 
 And earth was adorned by a mellower hue ; 
 The grand old aisles of the wood by the sea 
 Taught daily their lessons of earth to me ; 
 The sea, with its ever restless tide. 
 Ebbed and flowed in solemn pride ; 
 And, as on through watery ways it trod, 
 Spake of the unseen hand of God. 
 
 And the sigh of the sad waves' ceaseless roll 
 Found answering echo in my soul ; 
 The sigh of the sea in my soul was a sob, 
 A heavenward yearning tidal throb ; 
 
148 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 It felt the attracting power of Heaven, 
 
 And oflacl the unseen chain would have riven ; 
 
 Would have risen above the binding bar, 
 
 The fiat found in the words " Thus far ! " 
 
 Ah ! why did that soul wave sobbing arise? 
 
 Why sad was the sea ? Why sad were the skies ? 
 
 And what was the burden borne ujd by that prayer? 
 
 What spake that sigh on the autumn air? 
 
 I felt, like a fetter, the silken chain. 
 
 Bind into my heart that old, old pain ! 
 
 A soul as pure as nature's may be. 
 
 Waited and loved in a home by the sea ; 
 
 Christ was a stranger, a dear friend, I, 
 
 So my soul sobbed responsive to ocean's sigh. 
 
 Thus sad was the sea and sad were the skies. 
 
 Thus did the tidal prayer arise. 
 
 How my soul would have seized, were profi'eredthe power 
 
 To brino: waters of life to that sea-side flower ! 
 
 How it chafed like the restless sea on the shore. 
 
 It struggled and leapt, to fall back as before ; 
 
 To feel and know that God alone. 
 
 Through Christ, for our sins, though the least can atone ; 
 
 But like as the sea when the storm has ceased. 
 
 My soul from surging was soon released ; 
 
 A calm came, reflecting a light from above. 
 
 That whispered, consolingly, "God is Love-" 
 
 Though the tumult were stayed, the tide throbbed there, 
 
 Keflectingl}^ rising in silent prayer. 
 
 An answer came : " A message to tliee^ 
 
 Carry Christ to thy friend in the home by the sea." 
 
 I gladly read this message of love. 
 
 And mingled my mandate with that from above. 
 
 There was red on her lip, " love-light in her eye ; " 
 
 Her heart unstirred by the seeker's sigh, 
 
 As pure as any unsaved can be. 
 
 Made laugh and step ever joyous and free ; 
 
• OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 149 
 
 Bat that red lip trembled, a swift swelling tear 
 Spake the indwelling presence of j)enitent fear. 
 
 The charms of salvation were coming to be 
 'Twined 'round that heart in the home by the sea ; 
 And to nature's abundance there then was given 
 The charm that fitteth the soul for heaven. 
 I stand on the shore, she stands by my side, 
 On the shore that is washed by Eternity's tide ; 
 List ! there's the low roar of Eternity's wave, 
 Let us go forth together the sinner to save ; 
 What nobler or holier aim could there be 
 Than carrying Christ to all homes by the sea ? 
 
 ■H>-oJ«4c 
 
 CHANGE THE FIGUEES. 
 
 Again we are through another decade. 
 
 Which is gone, yet we scarcely know how ; 
 The figures in 'fifty all are made, 
 Printed and folded, away they are laid, 
 And we must mark 'sixty now ; 
 Time says, " Change the figures." 
 
 What have the figures in 'fifty seen ? 
 
 What the tales they have heard ? 
 Pausing not once to notice the din 
 
 Lachesis and Clotho have stirred — 
 Atropos claims the figures. 
 
 Records impartial these figures have kept. 
 
 And he Avho wishes may read them ; 
 Many, in passing through 'fifty, have slept. 
 Dreamed they were creeping as on they swept 
 
150 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Let us bid them awake and heed them, * 
 
 The ever-chano^ins: fio^ures. 
 
 o o o 
 
 Awakening they'll doubtingly rub their eyes, 
 
 And ask where the records are placed ? 
 roro:ettino: that ere in the visible skies 
 The first coming rays of light can arise. 
 The invisible arc must be traced, 
 Foro^ettino: the arc of fionires. 
 
 When the light of the Northern aurora they view, 
 
 They think it Aurora the morn ; 
 But flickering auroras grow faint and few, 
 Then knowing not whence cometh light that's true, 
 
 They even look South for the morn, — 
 'Tis wisdom to watch the figures. 
 
 The records of 'sixty are just begun, 
 
 But the world is forgetting it fast ; 
 A moment they gaze where Clotho has spun, 
 Then turn away as though it were done. 
 
 And mingle it with the Past, 
 
 Leaving Wisdom to watch the figures. 
 
 It is well for us these figures in life, 
 That these same figures must change ; 
 
 For were it not thus, mid the flurry and strife 
 
 With which our living ever is rife, 
 
 To forget of advancing weren't strange. 
 'Tis well there's change of " figiu'es." 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 TO THE AUTHOE OF "JIM BLUDSOE." 
 
 BY PLAIN PILGRIM. 
 
 I've jist read your story of " Banty Tim ; " 
 I'm a plain, rough man, but my eyes got dim, 
 And I never can thank you lialf-hearty enough, 
 Though Tilmon's words was a leetle too rough. 
 But you writ another Bludsoe Jini, 
 I want more special to speak of him, 
 In praisin' a life so remarkable loose, 
 Aint you a-givin' the devil a truce ? 
 
 I reckon ther' want no such feller ez Jim 
 That you was paintin', an' made up him, 
 And to my way of seein', the picter aint true ; 
 But mebby I take a one-sided view. 
 Couldn't yer said yer say, an' jest as well, 
 Without winkin' at things not fit ter tell? 
 Won't cheap, dirty fellers consider it nice. 
 An' conclude ther' aint enny such thing ez vice ? 
 
 Banty Tim won me, and so I write. 
 
 Admiration and praise are yours by right ; 
 
 But in me they're mixt with suthen of pain. 
 
 The reason hereby I hope to explain. 
 
 Here's why I shudder at Bludsoe Jim ; 
 
 My little boy sees a hero in him, 
 
 And Ifear the model you held in view, 
 
 And some way, Dear Col., you brag on Mm, too. 
 
 In all your fancies couldn't ye foun' 
 
 Some lone Doc Simmons, goin' down 
 
 With his train, peering into the darkness grim, 
 
 Where death sat motionless watchin' for him? 
 
 There's one to sing of, no shadder behind, 
 
 And only one wife for directors to find. 
 
 151 
 
152 OLD CORPOKAL POEMS. 
 
 Your myth has a meaning that facts won't uphold, 
 When the real Doc goes down 'tis more truthfully told. 
 
 I can't say fluent jest all that I mean, 
 
 But do make your hero jest decently clean, 
 
 Don't drag dirt from the slums into sight, 
 
 To give it the halo and mantle of right. 
 
 You've a right to some license in making a song, 
 
 But he swindles his genius w^ho licenses wrong ; 
 
 Don't lift up the evil, to cry it to fame. 
 
 For the sake of our children, don't glorify shame. 
 
 -oo>a<c 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL. 
 
 [This poem was the last ever written by Mr. Coan. It was finished and sent to 
 the " Independent Statesman," Concord, N.H., about a week before his death, and 
 was published just as his spirit bade farewell to earth, and went to join the Grand 
 Anny in heaven.] E. J. C. 
 
 Once more in my arms would I hold you ; 
 
 Once more feel the thrill of your breath ; 
 Once more moved to love would behold you, 
 
 Though I knew the next moment were death. 
 Come ! welcome with red lips inviting, 
 
 Welcome with twining arms ; 
 Hold close, that your dear touch inciting 
 
 May deepen the power of your charms. 
 
 Let fear move you not to hinder 
 
 The close touch of clinging kiss ; 
 Let each spark of lire touch tinder 
 
 When we kindle a flame such as this. 
 All fear and forebodins^ banish 
 
 With abandon well worthy of bliss. 
 Pause not to sigh " It Avill vanish," 
 
 But deepen with smothering kiss. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 153 
 
 Aye, thus, and thus, will I love thee ! 
 
 Drive not the delight from your eyes ! 
 Look up thou, for bending above thee, 
 
 My own to your yearning replies. 
 Our tempest was slow in its coming, 
 
 Swiftly sweet is its rainbow close ; 
 The thrill of its joys benumbing. 
 
 Sits the grief which our parting knows. 
 
 Let us float to the drifting of dreams, 
 
 While the rainbow of love bends o'er us 
 As the calm light royally gleams 
 
 On the glory retreating before us. 
 How sweet to dream after tasting 
 
 The touch of loves moistening dew. 
 While the bright glow of love's implanting 
 
 On bosom and face burns through ! 
 
 Let us turn for a moment, — forgetful 
 
 Of all but joy's tropical skies. 
 With no thought of clouds, gray and fretful, 
 
 To scorn the bright dreams that arise. 
 Under arches of forests olden, 
 
 Soothed ever by tropical balms. 
 When day has sunset golden 
 
 Unstirred bv wars alarms. 
 
 And the low lisping murmur of waters 
 
 Kissing ever the silvery sand, 
 While naiads, the fay's sea-daughters, 
 
 Disport in our dream on the strand. 
 But 'waken ! once more behold me ! 
 
 Your eyes are in dreamy eclipse ; .., 
 See, close in my arms I hold thee, 
 
 And plead the reply of your lips ! 
 
 Once more prove thy title well given, 
 '^ Queen Lover," and ever to thee, 
 
154 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 When the bolt of battle hath riven 
 Our lives, my thoughts shall flee. 
 
 Entwine with arms that cling ever ; 
 Let thy red lips part for my kiss ; 
 
 Thou hast thrilled me before, but never 
 As this agony tinging our bliss. 
 
 But the summons " To arms I " is sounding, 
 
 From love, perchance life, I must part ; 
 Soon again will my pulse be bounding. 
 
 Not as now from the warmth of my heart ; 
 But clear through the danger of battle 
 
 Shall come the sweet sound of your sigh ; 
 Through the sound of the musketry's rattle 
 
 I'll hear it if fate bids me die. 
 
 From life and the joy of loving, 
 
 From all that men hold dear. 
 They went out their lo3^alty proving, 
 
 Unhindered by joy or fear. 
 They sleep well, who went to return not ; 
 
 And those who in peace returned. 
 Met the welcome that waited, to turn not 
 
 From the brave who that welcome had earned. 
 
PART III 
 
AHMAIDEE, 
 
 BY 
 
 Rev. Leander S. Coan. 
 
 Author of "Better in the Mornin'," "England in the Orient," 
 "Old Corporal Ballads," etc. • 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The effort of American women to provide the privileges of 
 higher education to the women of ancient Haiasdani,i known as 
 Armenia to us, has in it the elements of Romance that find fit- 
 ting field for development in that region of the origin of the 
 human race, and of its most tragical and touching histories. I 
 have striven to weave legend and history largely into my stor}^ 
 of that ancient, once martial, always beautiful race, whence the 
 p]uropean families of nations had their origin. The scene of the 
 poem proper is laid in Haiasdani in the year 1604. The legend 
 is supposed to be related hy a Caucasian girl in the College for 
 Women at Harpoot, to a 3'oung ladj^ companion, a daughter of 
 her instructress. She is called Ahmaidee, for the heroine of the 
 legend, from whom she is descended. I have not the hardihood 
 to suppose I have written a great lyric. But if the blending of 
 the sober and tragical elements of historj^ and tradition with this 
 light fancy I have woven shall tend to awaken an interest in 
 Ahmaidee's race, and in the endeavor to provide them with the 
 privileges of a higher education, some good may be accom- 
 plished. 
 
 Go forth, fond dream of that people 
 
 Whence our own life-blood flows ; 
 Go, sing to the thoughtful and waken 
 
 To thoughts of these lyric dreams ; 
 Go forth with purpose as pure 
 
 As the air o'er Caucasus snows, — 
 Singing to those o'er whom once more 
 
 The Star of the Morning gleams. 
 
 L. S. C. 
 
AHMAIDEE. 
 
 PREL UDE. 
 
 Ahmaidee, a maid uf Caucasus, 
 
 Sits, at the twilight hour, 
 By the side of a child of the missions, 
 
 111 Haiasdanian bower. 
 The toils of the day are over ; 
 
 In an Eden evening sun 
 They dream their dreams together. 
 
 When the day's toils all are done. 
 Ahmaidee, a maid of the mountains, 
 
 Bearing in form and face 
 Those lines of matchless beauty 
 
 Which still adorn her race, — 
 A race whose dim traditions 
 
 Trace through chaotic years 
 To Patriarch Togarmah,^ — 
 
 As the child at knee still hears, — 
 Whose honored grandsire, Japhet, 
 
 On a mount in Haiasdani stood 
 When he, with his father's household, 
 
 Alone escaped from the flood. 
 
 And there in the land of Eden, 
 
 In Harpoot's^ college walks. 
 The maid of Caucasus muses. 
 
 And with sweet simplicity talks 
 Of the legends and loves of her people. 
 
 In return for the classic lore 
 Which devout and earnest woman 
 
 Has brought to Armenia's shore. 
 
1(32 OLD COKPORAL POEMS. 
 
 In that land, the dream of the poet, 
 
 Haiasdani, Eden clime, 
 To a people crushed, submissive, 
 
 The truth returns at last; 
 And they sit, in reverent wonder 
 
 That the refluent wave sublime 
 Returns where its living* waters 
 
 First laved the storied past. 
 
 And I will tell you the legend 
 
 That our modern Ahmaidee told, 
 Her eyes, so wistful, pleading. 
 
 With the look of a startled fawn ; 
 And her wealth of woman's glory, 
 
 Just touched with a tinge of gold. 
 Which the rays of an amber sunset 
 
 Changed not, though they fell upon. 
 
 Nor w^onder that sultan and caliph 
 
 Seraglio and palace adorn 
 With these blooms of Caucasian beauty ; 
 
 Nor that in marts they are sold 
 By those robber Koords, their captors ; 
 
 Nor that they, dejected, forlorn. 
 Hear the sound of money-changers. 
 
 And look with diso:ust on the oold. 
 
 •o 
 
 For to-day the shah and the sultan. 
 
 In lives of most brutal lust. 
 With the sanction of Islam's prophet. 
 
 And the law of a tyrant's w^ill, 
 Crush these flowers of the mountains, 
 
 Trample them into the dust ; 
 And woman's holiest mission 
 
 They lose the right to fulfil. 
 
 To be lover, wife, and mother, 
 
 These splendid daughters of earth 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 163 
 
 May not hope for ; but lustful caresses ; 
 
 The toy of a revelling hour. 
 They whom this foul fate seizes 
 
 May never know the worth 
 Of home, the best joy of woman, 
 
 Nor pure love's blessed dower. 
 
 To our Ahmaidee is dawning 
 
 The light of a better day 
 Thau ever arose to her vision 
 
 In the brightest of her dreams 
 By the side of the river Kura, 
 
 Of Stamboul or Cathay, — 
 The light of homes which the gospel 
 
 Gilds with its blessed beams. 
 
 " Whence was her name, Ahmaidee?" 
 
 The maiden from over the seas 
 Had asked, and waited the answer. 
 
 The toils of the day were done, 
 And they strolled in the early evening. 
 
 Fanned by sweet-scented breeze. 
 For a rest from the Sage of Korene,^ 
 
 In the rays of the setting sun. 
 
 And there, in an arbor resting, 
 
 O'erlooking the nestled town, 
 By the side of that ancient river 
 
 Which has its source and flows 
 On through the region of Eden, 
 
 From a mount of a world's renown, 
 There, as limpid and crystal, 
 
 From Ararat's melting snows. 
 
 Not in her broken English, 
 
 Touched by Arminian tongue. 
 As its musical flow and accent 
 
 In its cadence rose and fell, 
 
164 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Which Haiasdinian poets 
 Of olcl'so sweetly sung ; 
 
 I catch but occasional cadence, 
 When it siiiteth my ballad well, 
 
 I. 
 
 " When the first Grand Caliph Ahmed, ^ 
 
 And the great ^hah Abbus^ fought, 
 To the proud old chief Togarmah,"^ 
 
 Of Haiasdinian clan. 
 The great shah's signal trinmph 
 
 The fate of a captive brought ; 
 And he with forty thousand 
 
 Was carried to Ispahan. 
 
 " His only child, Ahmaidee, 
 
 The joy of his life and pride. 
 Was also torn from his castle 
 With maid and serving-man, 
 • From vineyards and flocks encircling 
 The grand old mountain side, 
 Toward Indus, past Kura and Arras, ^ 
 And the domes of Lenkoran.^ 
 
 "Leontius,^^ bard and lover. 
 
 With the captives proudly trod, 
 With look of scornful sadness 
 
 On his noble yet youthful face. 
 And a lingering glance at the mountains, 
 
 A reverent step on the sod ; 
 With composure and grace befitting 
 
 A noble though conquered race. 
 
 " Sadly the caravan journeyed 
 Many and weary days, 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 165 
 
 Despoiled their homes and humbled 
 
 Their nation's name and pride. 
 Persia's luxurious gardens 
 
 Tempt in vain their gaze, 
 And they wept at sight of the vineyards 
 
 On Elburz's^^ sunward side. 
 
 " Southward, past Koom and Teheran, ^^ 
 
 Where the victor his pageant displays 
 To loyal lords and ladies 
 
 And princes of royal line ; 
 And then the tumult and insult 
 
 Of the rabble's vulafar ofaze, 
 Made wild by the great shah's triumph, 
 
 Inflamed by lust and wine. 
 
 " Togarmah, with jewels secreted 
 
 In a hollow sandal string. 
 Gems whose lustre had glistened 
 
 And gleamed for centuries past ; 
 From the hands of his fathers descended, 
 
 A ransom fit for a kino; I 
 Of that line of mountain princes, 
 
 Alas ! he was the last.^^ 
 
 " And durinp* the revel attendins: 
 
 The great Shah's proud return. 
 The soul of the old Caucasian, 
 
 Too proud to bear his fate, 
 Yielded its earthly dwelling. 
 
 And went to his rest to learn 
 What was a patriot's welcome 
 
 At Paradise's golden gate. 
 
 " His blessing to Alimaidee 
 
 And lover he gravely gave ; 
 And giving the precious sandals 
 Bade them be brave and strong ; 
 
166 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Bade them give him HMikan burial 
 In a hidden mountain grave, 
 
 And bade them escape Avith tlieir jewels 
 Ere they had journeyed long. 
 
 " As they journeyed from Teheran 
 
 On tov^^ard Ispahan, 
 The scattered guarding columns 
 
 Grew riotous in the rear, 
 Eelaxing their martial rigor ; — 
 
 A trade 1 from Seistan,^^ 
 For baiter with the captives, 
 
 With two fine steeds drew near. 
 
 '^ Their necks like softest satin, ' 
 
 Their nostrils like pearly shells, 
 Limbs so slender, and rounding 
 
 Gracefully, strong, and full, 
 Where the tremulous muscle fibre 
 
 Into haunch and shoulder swells, 
 And eyes full of fire, yet tender ; 
 
 W^ith a rein you need not pull. 
 
 '^ Those noble steeds the Afghan 
 
 Trader cautiously brought 
 To the columns of the captives. 
 
 With seeming only to gaze 
 With an eye of curious wonder ; 
 
 With craft a purchaser sought. 
 While he left the docile creatures 
 
 To quietly quaff and graze. 
 
 "Two suits of Persian texture. 
 Such MS worn by noble youth, 
 
 Leontius had secreted, 
 
 Waiting such time and chance 
 
 As fate might bring the watchful; 
 Believing the sacred truth 
 
OLD CORPOKAL POEMS. 167 
 
 That ever on those that trust him 
 Rests Allah's protecting glance. 
 
 " For Islam's faith had invaded 
 
 From the east, the south, and west, 
 Displacing Nazaretli's prophet. 
 
 Though our people still worshipped him, 
 On the Koran's crude traditions 
 
 Unconscious his thoughts would rest. 
 Allah was God ; but his knowledge 
 
 And worship were ever sadly dim. 
 
 " Bela and Dasti , the Afghan 
 
 Named two of his fairest steeds. 
 Imported from Djebel Akhdar,^^ 
 
 By ship over Oman sea ; 
 They are all that brave Leontius, 
 
 Chafing with waiting, needs, 
 With lover and two attendants, 
 
 To the west by night to flee. 
 
 "With cunnino^ craft and foresiofht 
 
 The Afofhan thouo'ht in that throne^ 
 Might chafe some haughty (captive, 
 
 Restive, and rich, and bold, 
 Who would gladly give price of ransom. 
 
 Nor stand to parley long 
 Before he would gladly, in silence. 
 
 For the steeds give jewels or gold. 
 
 " And he had reckoned wisely ; 
 
 And he clutched with eager hand 
 The jewel they gave in purchase ; 
 
 Nor more eagerly took than they 
 The reins on their loving treasures ; 
 
 Nor valued the crystal sand 
 A moment beside the faithful 
 
 Creatures that sped them away. 
 
168 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 THE FLIGHT. 
 
 " Away, away, from Ispahan, 
 
 Leaving the range of Astrabad ; 
 Past the vales of Teheran, 
 
 Under the towering Demevad ; 
 Sighting receding Farsistan ;^^ 
 
 Sighting the hills towards Bagdad. 
 And the gleam of the sentinel of the Van, 
 
 Away, away, the captives fled, 
 Petting their panting and foaming steeds 
 
 With as fond caresses 
 As ever lover with gentle deeds 
 
 The hand of a lover presses. 
 Wooing and urging the brave and fair. 
 
 The brave, proud steeds who bore them. 
 Breathing to Allah and God a prayer 
 
 Into the heavens o'er them. 
 From the life of a slave 
 
 The brave flees ; 
 From worse than a s^rave 
 
 The maid who sees 
 The caliph's grand seraglio. 
 
 With its eunuch grim 
 Waiting to groom for his master, 
 
 As the groom of his patient steeds, 
 With caparisons and odors 
 
 And housings for neck and limb. 
 And then the brute, to his service. 
 
 Dumb and unmurmuring leads. 
 
 " And just this fate to thousands 
 Of Ahmaidee's race had come ; 
 
 And just this fate with horror 
 Her whole soul loathed upon ; 
 
 While of its fearful terror 
 Her maiden lips were dumb, 
 
OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 169 
 
 As she with her valiant lover 
 To the west was speeding on. 
 
 " On the Eastern slope of mountains 
 
 O'erlooking Persia's vales, 
 They rest them on their journey 
 
 Under the mellow stars ; 
 Rehearsing martial legends, 
 
 Romance of olden tales. 
 Like a true troubadour, Leontius 
 
 Sang to unwritten bars, 
 
 "And there in the gathering shadows 
 
 Unfolded the classic lore 
 Of Haiasdanian sao'es, 
 
 Poets and holy men, 
 To wondering Ahmaidee, 
 
 Who listened enthralled to his store 
 Of history and legend. 
 
 On the slope of SulimanJ^ 
 
 " And one of the tales he told her, 
 
 More thrilling than all the rest. 
 Was the fate of Artavasdes^^ 
 
 Sixteen centuries gone ; 
 That he was conquered and captive 
 
 Gave the tale peculiar zest, 
 And pity for valiant hero 
 
 Dying in Egypt alone. 
 
 " While love speeds the hour with swifter wings, 
 Ahmaidee listens while her lover sings. 
 
 ARTAVASDES. 
 
 When the eagles of Rome to Syria came 
 With Antony, warrior of glorious fame, 
 
170 OLD COKPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Artavasdes, then Haiasdani's lord, 
 
 Disputed his proaress with banner and sword. 
 
 "'He was Syria's master, and fought to retain 
 The land the Seleucids had fought for in vain, — 
 This gem in Tigranis's royal croAvn ! 
 He fought for his kingdom, and not for renown. 
 
 "'But the eagles of Rome had iron beaks. 
 The Haikan tiger vainly seeks 
 To stay their banners and engines of war, 
 And Antony's eagles hold Syria. 
 
 "'It was thus the last prince of Arsabid's line 
 Aided a Syrian laurel to twine 
 For that Eoman's brow, who at Egypt's feet 
 Lay laurel and sword and armor complete. 
 
 "'The king, now a captive, with the captor's proud train. 
 Through Damascus, along the Dead Sea plain, 
 Haughtily, sadly, unmurmuring moves 
 To the scenes of Mark Antony's revels and loves. 
 
 " ' Alexandria yet was the queen of the sea, 
 Though broken the Ptolemic dynasty ; 
 For the conquered queen had conquered her lord. 
 By lances more potent than Roman sword. 
 
 " ' Her kin2:dom was man ; her love a Nile 
 
 • • • 1 
 
 Overflowing its banks with passionate wile ; 
 
 Callins: for love's most voluptuous fruit. 
 
 Panting, she paused for censure's cold bruit. 
 
 "'Then Rome laid his eagles and heart at her feet, 
 And though she surrenders is victor complete ; 
 And now of his loyalty well to convince 
 He leads to her throne Haiasdani's prince. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 171 
 
 " ■ Proud Egypt ne'er brooks an nnmelting glance ; 
 Grand creature of impulse, caprice, and of chance ; 
 As the haughty prince pleaded not that moment's caprice, 
 All useless are ransom or hope of release. 
 
 "'Into pyramid dungeon, the Haikan lord, 
 
 With no need of slave to keep watch aiid ward ; — 
 He will furnish no legions, no alliance form, 
 Thouo-h Antony rage, and his queen lover storm. 
 
 " ' The axe in the hand of a Nubian slave 
 
 Is poised, suspended ; to yield now will save 
 His life, his throne, and the semblance of power. 
 And proud Egypt pleads with the prince for an hour. 
 
 "^He yields not nor wavers, though melting her glance ; 
 Her spell has no power his heart to entrance ; 
 Aloud then to the slave she angrily calls, 
 And the axe in his hands unerringly falls. 
 
 " 'Back to the revelling, back to the dance, 
 
 To billiards 'mid flourish of trumpet and lance ; 
 And a headless body is floating the while, 
 Eesimied to that monster, the god ^^ of the Nile. 
 
 " ' And now in her royal and gold-gilded barge, 
 Canopied, panoplied, floats down the marge 
 Of the Nile ; and Rome, with fond dalliance led. 
 Gives never a thought to his captive, dead. 
 
 "'A captive himself, to love and her queen, 
 He prizes no longer his banner's fair sheen ; 
 And the queen scorns all conquest, solace, or home. 
 But the arms and the heart of her lover from Rome.' 
 
 "Ahmaidee, the while these numbers 
 The young bard dreamily sings. 
 
172 OLD COKPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Clasps the hand of the maiden 
 Who served and with them fled. 
 
 "Back over sixteen centuries 
 Her native devotion clino^s 
 With pride to the patriot hero, 
 Haiasdani's royally loyal dead." 
 
 INTERL UDE. 
 
 Lift thy fair face, Caucasus, 
 
 The sun shall follow the star, — 
 The star of the morning which shineth 
 
 With healin,g: in his beams ; 
 The might of His will is stronger 
 
 Than chains of Sultan or Czar ; 
 And over the heights of thy mountains 
 
 The light of His coming gleams. 
 
 II. 
 
 "Through the pass in the Caspian mountains 
 
 The captives dare not flee. 
 But laid their brave course southwaixl. 
 
 Through the vales of the silvery Van ; 
 Braving rather the wilder journey 
 
 South from the central sea, 
 Thousrh it led alone: the border 
 
 Of the Koords of Koordistan ; 
 
 "The wolves in their native mountain 
 More fierce than savage beasts. 
 Who had ravaged the vales of Caucasus, 
 Taking captive the tender maid ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 173 
 
 As the wolf, their savage namesake, 
 
 On the sheepfold greedily feasts, 
 Di-iviiiof with Sultan's serao^lio 
 
 A thriving and barbarous trade. 
 
 "To Stamboul's tyrant master 
 
 For centuries have been sold 
 Those suiting his lustful fancy, 
 
 Either bought or captives in war ; 
 And the captives' grace and beauty 
 
 Measure tlieir price in gold, 
 And the wish of the helpless victim 
 
 Cares he, nor questions for. 
 
 "For days while they had journeyed 
 
 The mounted scouts of the Koord, — 
 While they by wondrons beauty 
 
 Of valley and mountain glen, 
 Enthralled by the spell, had loitered, 
 
 By these and love allured — 
 Were followed, watched in their progress, 
 
 By those wolves in the form of men. 
 
 "And just as they sighted the valley 
 
 Of the lovely lakelet Van ; 
 Just as their hearts were beating 
 
 For what the day would bring, 
 They hear fierce cry, — a rushing 
 
 From a gorge in the Koordistan ; 
 Startled from blissful reverie 
 
 As the cries of the robbers ring. 
 
 " The jewel they sought was beauty, 
 
 Knowing not the precious store 
 Of wealth in sandal secreted ; 
 
 They seize, and quickly bind 
 The maidens, nor pause to capture, 
 
 Nor slay, nor conquer more ; 
 
174 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Then sped through mountain passes 
 They knew so well to find. 
 
 "But Bela and Dasti, the faithful, 
 
 To Leontius yet remain ; 
 Through the gorge where Tigres' waters 
 
 Pass through that mountain range, 
 The captors, flushed and exulting, 
 
 Seek the way of southern plain, 
 To the sea by Alexandretta, 
 
 Whence they to ship will change, 
 
 "Knowing this the bold Leontius 
 
 Speeds swift to a higher pass 
 Where the waters of Euphrates 
 
 With dalliance seaward flow. 
 Which through the same range, higher. 
 
 To southward likewise pass, 
 Enrichino^ the vales of Bao^dad; 
 
 E'en when swollen, sluggish and slow. 
 
 " For he trusts by swifter riding 
 
 To be first on Aleppo's plain, 
 Believing that love and daring. 
 
 With the aid he will secure. 
 Will wrest the captured princess 
 
 From the agony of the pain, 
 The bitter, terrible anguish. 
 
 Her pure heart must endure. 
 
 "And as he, speeding, rises and fiills. 
 
 The heart of the rider lover calls : — 
 ' On, brave Bela and Dasti ! 
 
 On, at your mastei's will ; 
 On, for your fair young mistress 
 
 A* captive languishes ; 
 On, with your swiftest paces. 
 
 Steady and strong, until 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 175 
 
 The fear from her heart and terror 
 With deliverance vanishes. 
 
 "' On, through the vanishing valley, 
 
 Past the receding Yan, 
 To Karput where Euphrates 
 
 Southward quietly flows. 
 On, down that gorge the river 
 
 Cuts through the Koordistan, 
 Where Arabia's sun first kisses 
 
 The chill from Ararat's snows. 
 
 "' On, brave steeds, bring your master. 
 
 Though foam fleck steaming flanks ; 
 On, though nostrils distended 
 
 Tell of the fearful strain ; 
 On, till your rescued mistress 
 
 Shall kiss and caress her thanks 
 For bringing her faithful lover 
 
 To stand by her side again. 
 
 "'On, and shoes of silver 
 
 Shall <zrace your feet before ; 
 And gold on those which follow, 
 
 Shall gleam as you spurn the soil ; 
 On, and bring me safely 
 
 To Ahmaidee's side once more. 
 And I will bless and caress you 
 
 For faitliful and splendid toil.' 
 
 "Thus, as he sped, Leontius 
 
 His unspoken fancy sang ; 
 And now down the bank of Euphrates 
 
 They turn their panting steeds. 
 While the feet of their flying coursers 
 
 Out on the night air rang. 
 Though no lash touch their shoulders. 
 
 Nor flank from sharp spur bleeds. 
 
17(i OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 "And lo ! on the plain of Aleppo, 
 
 Reinforced by horse and man, 
 They wait the slower movement. 
 
 By which they snrely know 
 Would soon come mo vino- westward 
 
 The robbers' caiavan, 
 With never a thought of rescue, 
 
 Moving unguarded and slow. 
 
 " Nor wait they in vain their coming. 
 
 Though the lagging hours seem days ; 
 Our bard, in the guise of a merchant, 
 
 The heart of hempen weed, 
 Nargileh, and scented spices. 
 
 Temptingly there displays ; 
 Nor passes a single horseman 
 
 Without his closest heed. 
 
 "At length his search is rewarded : 
 
 The captive with sui'prise 
 Beholds her faithful Dasti, 
 
 And knows her deliverer near; 
 She waves white hand as he passes. 
 
 And he to the sign replies. 
 Though the only speech they utter 
 
 Is that which the heart may hear. 
 
 " One drug the merchant carries 
 
 More potent than iron chains. 
 Than- even Arabia's hashish, — 
 
 The demon of Cathay, 
 Whose curse unrelenting clingeth 
 
 Where the white blood of poppy stains, 
 And over its slaves holds ever 
 
 Demoniac and deepening sway. 
 
 " And stronger than greed or caution 
 Their love for the baneful thing. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 177 
 
 They welcome without suspicion 
 Or thouirht of clano^er near, 
 
 ~ CD ■' 
 
 Because to sensual revels 
 
 The stores of the trader bring. 
 
 Appetite's po^ver disarms them 
 And lulls all warninof fear. 
 
 'O 
 
 " While the robbers disarmed for revel, 
 
 Bound by the magic spell, 
 Dream their enticing visions 
 
 So near the shores of the sea, 
 Leontius watches their progress, 
 
 Marking the sleepers well ; 
 That asfain with fair Ahmaidee 
 
 Bela and Dasti may flee. 
 
 " The pale moon crescent lingers 
 
 On the eve of Arabian night, 
 O^er hill and valley shedding 
 
 Its mellow, silvery beams ; 
 No livins: thins^ is movino^ 
 
 In the watcher's wary sight; 
 And deeper the breath of the sleepers 
 
 And deeper the trance of dreams. 
 
 " Saddled the steeds and waiting 
 
 For the master's cautious sign ; 
 Ahmaidee, wakeful and watching. 
 
 The signal agreed upon ; 
 When over the mosque in Aleppo 
 
 The moon's rays fall in line. 
 And from that place of w^orship 
 
 Straight o'er the sleepers shone, 
 
 "With cautious, muffled footsteps, 
 Past sleepers in the tent. 
 The captive maidens swiftly 
 
 Pass curtain and sleeping guard, 
 
178 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 Believing that ere the flying 
 Hours of the night are spent, 
 
 She will rest again, protected 
 By the blade of her lover bard. 
 
 "On again, Bela and Dasti, 
 
 On to Euphrates' tide ; 
 On, while master and maiden 
 
 Fleetly in silence speed ; 
 On, for maid and master. 
 
 For life and lilierty and ride ; 
 Yea, for a maiden's honor. 
 
 From a grave of the living dead. 
 
 " Twelve days had the captives journeyed 
 
 Ere they sighted Aleppo's domes : 
 In ten the brave Leontius 
 
 In swift impatience and dread ; 
 In ten, for succor and rescue 
 
 From Van by Euphrates comes. 
 Now the captive rides Dasti northward, 
 
 Alive, from worse than dead. 
 
 "Then northward, for freedom fi3dng, 
 
 They pass up Euphrates' vales ; 
 For freedom from Koordish robber, 
 
 For freedom from Sultan's will ; 
 Though their nation's life is broken, 
 
 And fenr of the Russ assails, 
 They will on to Northern Caucasus, 
 
 Where their children pay tribute still. 
 
 " Then, from the mouths of the Volga 
 To the north of Crimean sea, 
 Caucasian chiefs and people 
 
 Dwelt on native soil, 
 Until then, like native mountains 
 Lifting head to heaven, free ; 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 179 
 
 But henceforth doomed to oppression, 
 To vassalage and toil. 
 
 "And there, on the slopes of Caucasus, 
 
 Behind their barrier walls, 
 As defence from Koordish robber, 
 
 Until seized by the Sclavic race ; 
 Driven from right and title 
 
 To her ancestral halls, 
 Where she had ruled from childhood, 
 
 With native and royal grace, 
 
 "Ahmaidee, whose wondrous beauty 
 
 Legend hath handed down ; 
 W^ho brouofht to her lover her jewels. 
 
 Her maiden love, and all 
 The wealth of regal nature 
 
 Worthy of kingdom and crown, — 
 Nor once, in coming years, 
 
 Desired her gifts to recall. 
 
 "Leontius, crossing the Kura 
 
 At Tiflis, returning sings 
 The fame of Bela and Dasti, 
 
 And the beauty of his bride ; 
 And time flies swift and ])lissful. 
 
 On joyous, exulting wings, 
 As along Caucasus passes 
 
 The bard and the princess ride. 
 
 CAUCASIAN MOUNTAIN SONG. 
 
 Each mountain glen, each towering peak. 
 Each lovely lake and quiet glade, 
 
 With patriot pride and love 1 speak, — - 
 Their fame no tyrant can degrade. 
 
180 OLD CORPOEAL POEMS. 
 
 Haiasdani ! Haiasclani ! 
 Thy hills and dales are dear to me. 
 Though tyrant rule, we will not flee ; 
 They cannot crush our love for thee. 
 
 "^I hie me now to mountain «len, 
 
 Where I will rear my love's abode, 
 Far from the strifes of warring men, 
 
 Whence we with faithful steeds have rode. 
 Haiasdani ! Haiasdani ! 
 Thy hills and dales are dear to me. 
 Though tyrant rule, we will not flee ; 
 They cannot crush our love for thee. 
 
 "'A home as sweet as poet's dream 
 
 We'll found among Caucasus' hills. 
 Where heaven's pure air, and sun's clear beam, 
 The heart with life's sweet rapture thrills. 
 Haiasdani ! Haiasdani ! 
 Thy hills and vales are dear to me. 
 Though tyrant rule, we will not flee ; 
 They cannot crush our love for thee. 
 
 "'My Arab steeds, my mountain bride. 
 The chief Togarmah's choicest gem ; 
 I wait, whate'er may betide, 
 
 My fate in native hills with them. 
 Haiasdani ! Haiasdani ! 
 Thy hills and vales are dear to me. 
 Though tyrant rule, we will not flee ; 
 They cannot crush our love for thee. 
 
 " ' And dow^n through time's swift coming years 
 Will teach descendants to recall . 
 Ahmaidee's beauty, peril, fears ; 
 
 And Arab steeds, who saved us all. 
 Haiasdani ! Haiasdani ! 
 Thy hills and vales are dear to me. 
 
OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 181 
 
 Though tyrant rule, we will not flee ; 
 They cannot crush our love for thee.' 
 
 "Then on to old age together, 
 
 Founclins: a home and a name ; 
 Kearing a noble household 
 
 or pure Caucasian youth. 
 Well known in the mountain for prowess, 
 
 For lives of unsullied fame ; 
 Known well to mountain peasant 
 
 For chivalry and truth. 
 
 " Two centuries now are numbered 
 
 Since to their final rest 
 Loyal descendants bore them. 
 
 While tears their faces lave. 
 Obeying with faithful following 
 
 Each dying wish or behest ; 
 Then plant their native acassia 
 
 Above their mountain srave. 
 
 o 
 
 "Years before, with martial honors, 
 
 They had buried their Arab steeds. 
 With shoes both silvern and golden 
 
 From the old chief's precious store ; 
 Leontius having recounted, 
 
 In noble verse, their deeds. 
 And shod them with gold and silver. 
 
 As by the Euphrates he swore. 
 
 O lady fair ! from western land, 
 
 Where never tyrant's will is known, 
 
 Where humblest with the proudest stand, 
 Nor king nor prince imperial won ! 
 
 When I remember my poor race, 
 
 Whence Europe's haughty hosts have come, 
 
182 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 For proudest prince to us must trace, 
 Proud Latins, and imperial Rome ! — 
 
 "My heart for my people aches and bleeds. 
 
 Their wrongs I burn to redress ; 
 And pray for valorous days and deeds, 
 
 When czar can no longer oppress, 
 Nor shah nor sultan with iron heel 
 
 Grind Haiasdani into the dust ; 
 While our brothers crush the hate they feel 
 
 In silence, because they must." 
 
 SU ELUDE. 
 
 Ahmaidee in silence is weeping 
 
 Both sad and joyful tears. 
 Her glorious eyes preserving 
 
 The beauty of her race. 
 Her words revealing a spirit 
 
 Born of heroic years, — 
 A spirit as purely transparent 
 
 As the light of her luminous face. 
 
NOTES, 
 
 NOTES TO AHMAIDEE. 
 
 ^ Haiasclani, pronounced Hay-az-da-ni, is the native name of Annenia, and of 
 old it included Caucasus, Armenia in Turkey, and Eastern Armenia, now under 
 the Shah of Persia. 
 
 2 It is an Armenian tradition that they are descended from Haik, a son of 
 Togarmah, who was a grandson of Japhet. The name is thus a national one, 
 and is given in the tale to the father of the heroine of this legend. 
 
 ^ Harpoot, or Karput, a town on the Euphrates, west of Lake Van, the site of a 
 classical college of the American Board for educating natives, having a depart- 
 ment for women. 
 
 * Moses of Korene, the best known and most reliable native historian. 
 
 B Ahmed, a foe of Persia in 1604. 
 
 6 IShah Abhus. The Shah who conquered Ahmed in 1604, ravaged and laid 
 Armenia waste, cariying 40,000 captives to Ispahan. 
 
 T Togarmah, a character supposed to be among the captives, named for 
 patriarchal ancestor. 
 
 ^ Kura and Arras, two rivers flowing eastward into the Caspian sea, in the 
 vaUey south of the Caucasus mountains. 
 
 9 Leukoran, a city on the western shore of the Caspian sea. 
 
 10 Leontius, a national name, and the name of one of their national authors. 
 
 11 J/zJ. FAhurz, a lofty peak in the chain south of the Caspian. 
 
 "^-Koom and Teheran, two cities between the Caspian and Ispahan, a city in 
 central Persia. 
 
 13 Haiasdani's political existence ceased with this invasion, in 1604, since which 
 time they have been subject to the Czar, the Sultan, and the Shah. See Dulaurier 
 and Prince Dadian, Revue des Mondes, in 1854 and 1867. 
 
 14 A lake and its region between Afghanistan and Persia. 
 
 12 Djehel ATchdar, a region in Oman, in Southern Arabia, near the sea of Oman. 
 '^^ Farsistan, a mountain range south-west of Ispahan. 
 
 ^■^ Suliman-yah, a mountain on the western border of Persia. 
 
 ^» Artavasdes, King of Haiasdani (who had ^vi-ested Syria from the Seleucids), 
 who, in defending Syria in the year 55 B.C., was captured by Mark Antony, and 
 carried to Cleopatra, and was aftenvard put to death by Egypt's queen. 
 (Armenian History.) 
 
 J'-* God of the Nile. The crocodile, which was sacred to the Egyptians. 
 
184 OLD CORPORAL POEMS. 
 
 NOTE TO SIMON GAREW. 
 
 The illustration which accompanies the legend of Simon Garew is from a photo- 
 graph taken by the author. It is a view in Gulf Glen, Maine, which is situated in 
 Bowdoin College grant, on the Ebemee or Pleasant river. The glen is four miles 
 long, and the river has a fall of eight hundred feet in passing through it. The 
 walls of the glen are from seventy to three hundred feet high, and are abrupt on 
 both sides, perpendicular much of the way, and in some cases overhanging. 
 Along the west bank the bluffs are bold and continuous. The best means of 
 approach is through Brownville and Katahdin Iron Works. It is an entirel}^ wild 
 region, and about thirty miles into the veritable Maine woods. 
 
 A good road from R.R. station at Milo nearly to the glen. 
 
 Hagus. The name the Indians gave the glen. 
 
 Gulf. The name the lumbermen gave it. 
 
 This view was published in 1873 in the '* New York Graphic," accompanying this 
 legend in prose, by the author of this work. The view is midway of the glen, 
 looking north-west. — L. S. C. 
 
 In the autumn of 1876, Mr. Coan, accompanied by his brother, Dr. E. S. Coan, 
 of Garland, Maine, and his only son, Leander K. Coan, again visited the gulf with 
 rifle and fishing-rod, aaticipatiug a pleasant time for recreation and I'est from 
 mental labor. It was 
 
 The moon when the leaves were red, 
 
 and the view upon the neighboring mountain sides was grandly beautiful, for they 
 are covered nearly to their summit with forest, and the variegated tinges of scarlet, 
 red, yellow, and green painted the scenery as no artist's pen can do. 
 But, like Garew's last visit, 
 
 That time the face of the full moon 
 Shone not on the face in the rock ; 
 For a storm hung black in the heavens. 
 ********** 
 
 Singularly enough, Mr. C. and his party had eontemiilated visiting the spot 
 where Garew made his offering to the Great Spirit, " at the very same hour of the 
 night." This they were nnable to accomplish for 
 
 That night the storm was black. 
 
 !Mr. C. and his brother made an appointment to visit the place again in three 
 
 years at 
 
 The moon when the leaves were red; ' 
 
 but at the very time appoiuted the Great Spirit summoned the author to the happ}' 
 "hunting grounds in the beautiful beyond." — E. S. C. 
 
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