HESPERIDES 
 
 POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 3fc 
 
 GEORGE <POMROY 
 
 Printed by 
 
 News Printing Company 
 
 Danville, Illinois 
 

 ss[ 
 ! 
 
 LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two CoDies Received 
 
 iiti 2( 1003 
 
 Copycat Entry 
 CLASS A, AXc, No, 
 
 Copyright 1909 
 By George Pomroy. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 A Flag of Truce 81 
 
 A Mother's Pride 66 
 
 All the Summer 73 
 
 Balm from Gilead 74 
 
 Benny's Repentance 94 
 
 Be Sampson Like 58 
 
 Bird of Jove 16 
 
 Bitter Waters 50 
 
 Border Song 20 
 
 Bronze and Marble 9 
 
 Celeste 64 
 
 Columbia's Flag 36 
 
 Come Back Wild Bird 65 
 
 Come, Come, Come 18 
 
 Down to the Sea 70 
 
 Dying So Young 42 
 
 Fame 10 
 
 Flowers for the Dead 87 
 
 For Fatherland 12 
 
 Heaven's Roll Call 41 
 
 Hesperides 7 
 
 How Often, O How Often 59 
 
INDEX. — Continued. 
 Long Ago _ 86 
 
 Manassas 26 
 
 Memorial Hymn 80 
 
 Miss Helen Gray 89 
 
 Morning Hymn 34 
 
 Mothers Will Weep 49 
 
 Mustered Out 67 
 
 Native Land 13 
 
 On the Skirmish Line 48 
 
 Our Banner 24 
 
 Outward Bound 93 
 
 Passion 40 
 
 Past and Present 11 
 
 Peace and War 61 
 
 Reveille 22 
 
 Sing Bird 46 
 
 Somebody's Boy Must Go 28 
 
 Sons of Veterans 88 
 
 The Balls That Missed 72 
 
 The Battle Field 43 
 
 The Court's Decree 17 
 
INDEX. — Continued. 
 
 The Drummer Boy 45 
 
 The Exile 47 
 
 The Field of White Clover 37 
 
 The Last March 77 
 
 The Last Parade 76 
 
 The Last Tattoo 85 
 
 The Lily 23 
 
 The New Recruit 68 
 
 The Outcast 30 
 
 The Shelter Tent 75 
 
 The Veterans 78 
 
 Tocsin of War 27 
 
 Vicksburg 51 
 
 Wardship of the Union 35 
 
 Weep, Maidens Weep 63 
 
 When the Battle's Over 60 
 
 Why Sing of War 63 
 
HESPERIDES. 
 
 Fair garden of Hesperides ! 
 We bless the far old centuries 
 For keeping thee, the earth's delight, 
 Long hidden in the dreamy night 
 Of legend as enchanted realm, 
 Till ship had pilot at the helm. 
 
 The ancient race of men were wise 
 As wisdom seems to children's eyes ; 
 Their golden age was fruitful theme 
 For sage and seer's romantic dream, 
 And round their dim forgotten past 
 A rainbow-colored halo cast. 
 
 Beyond their own familiar strand, 
 The world was all a wonder land 
 Of realms with fabled groves and streams 
 As pictured to their waking dreams 
 And fairest, and most famed of these, 
 Was garden of Hesperides. 
 
 Great nature's work their minds so awed, 
 They made each hidden power a god, 
 Till mountain, grove, fair isle and sea, 
 Have each their patron deity; 
 All these divinities had mates, 
 And all were subject to the fates. 
 
 W T hile wandering from place to place, 
 The roving clans left little trace 
 Of path or foot-print on the way, 
 Still less of monument or sway. 
 Umtil from home in cave and tent 
 Rose empires of the orient. 
 
Then by the blue Aegean's tide, 
 And where the Tiber's waters glide, 
 Wise oracles from sacred shrine 
 Came sanctified by lips divine ; 
 Then shouts of victory resound 
 For war's triumphant victor crowned. 
 
 The builders of the nation's toil 
 
 For rude barbarian to spoil ; 
 
 The night of empires with its gloom 
 
 Makes dark the buried kingdom's tomb; 
 
 While on and on the ages roll 
 
 As knell of centuries they toll. 
 
 The morning dawns, the weary earth 
 Beholds a new renaissance's birth ; 
 Bold mariners have now begun 
 Far voyage toward setting sun, 
 And soon will reach long fabled realm, 
 For ship has pilot at the helm. 
 
 Columbia, thou wert the clime 
 Dreamed of by those of olden time ; 
 Thy hill, and vales, bright crystal streams 
 Reveal the secret of their dreams ; 
 The veil is lifted, we behold 
 The scroll of mystries unrolled. 
 
BRONZE AND MARBLE. 
 
 Bronze and marble retain awhile 
 Cast of features, or frown, or smile ; 
 But the ages with sharp tooth gnaw 
 Here a blemish and there a flaw ; 
 While the centuries still prolong 
 Measure and chorus of martial song. 
 
 Cold are the lips of brass and stone, 
 
 Passionless their mute monotone, 
 
 And the burden of their appeal 
 
 Waking emotions they do not feel ; 
 
 While the dwellers in every clime 
 
 Are thrilled by the strains of heroic rhyme. 
 
 Few the lessons dumb statues teach, 
 Narrow range has their silent speech, 
 Armless gods with a stump of limb, 
 Sightless eyes with their vision dim 
 Tell the story of pagan art, 
 But pagan bard still thrills the heart. 
 
FAME. 
 
 Life has its brightest star 
 
 In high ascendant, 
 When Fame's triumphal car 
 
 Rolls on resplendent. 
 
 Glory is brightest wreath 
 
 In honor's cluster, 
 All others pale beneath 
 
 Its brilliant luster. 
 
 Clarion's wildest note 
 
 Morning and even, 
 Paeans and praises float 
 
 Upward to heaven. 
 
 Build high a marble fane, 
 
 Over its portal 
 Grave, "treasure all are vain, 
 
 Fame is immortal." 
 
 10 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 While fame and glory's trophies cast 
 A mellow luster o'er the past ; 
 The present age, for loving care 
 Of this rich luster, claims a share. 
 
 The red fires kindled long ago, 
 Would now be quenched or smolder low, 
 Did not fond memory delight 
 To keep these sacred fires bright. 
 
 It is the grateful hearts that bring 
 With holy zeal their offering; 
 While fervid lips in song and lay 
 Their softly cadenced tribute pay. 
 
 The living, not the dead, revere 
 The monuments and shrines they rear ; 
 While trophied arch and dome above, 
 Are emblems of a nation's love. 
 
 ji 
 
FOR FATHERLAND. 
 
 For father'land our sires once rose 
 In majesty of thought and deed, 
 Against oppressions cruel creed 
 
 Against the host of freedom's foes ; 
 For father-land they braved war's tide, 
 For sake of father-land they died. 
 
 Shall we their sons be now less leal, 
 
 Our arm less strong, our hearts less bold? 
 O ! no, more sacredly we hold 
 
 Above our lives, our country's weal ; 
 For father-land shall be our cry, 
 For sake of father-land we'll die. 
 
 O ! skies above, O ! mother earth ! 
 
 More dearly now when dangers come, 
 
 And threaten heritage and home, 
 We love the land that gave us birth, 
 
 Come freeman all join heart and hand 
 
 For liberty and father-land. 
 
 12 
 
NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Love burns in every bosom 
 
 With faint or warmer glow, 
 Its flames reach up to heaven 
 
 From fires lit here below ; 
 Love has its shrines and altars 
 
 On every isle and strand, 
 But holiest, sweet incense 
 
 Goes up from native land. 
 
 Dear native land we sing thy praise 
 
 At rosy morn and even, 
 And may the music of our lays 
 From home and hall and lone by-ways 
 
 Be wafted up to heaven. 
 
 No clime however sunny, 
 
 Or in whatever zone, 
 Has glebe so dearly cherished 
 
 As fields our hands have sown ; 
 No groves, no grassy meadows 
 
 Have such a cheerful band, 
 As songsters whose glad chorus 
 
 Goes up from native land. 
 
 Let children read the story 
 
 Of deeds their sires have done, 
 
 And learn from song and anthem 
 How freedom's cause was won ; 
 
 So they will feel the rapture, 
 
 And ever know how grand 
 
 A heritage, and precious, 
 Is home and native land. 
 
 Dear native land we sing thy praise 
 
 At rosy morn and even, 
 And may the music of our lays 
 From home and hall and lone by-ways 
 
 Be wafted up to heaven. 
 
 13 
 
WHY SING OF WAR? 
 
 Why sing of battle fields and war, 
 
 Loud tramp of marching feet, 
 Of glory's flaming, red, red star, 
 
 Of triumph and retreat? 
 While themes of more endearing song 
 
 If tuned by minstrel's art, 
 Would wake a far diviner throng 
 
 Of feeling in the heart. 
 
 Were life a dear, delightful trance, 
 
 A sweet romantic dream 
 Of fond angelic dalliance 
 
 By love-enchanted stream ; 
 And were the fiercer passions chained 
 
 To kind affection's car, 
 The fields would all be left unstained, 
 
 Nor feel the tread of war. 
 
 But roused by jealousy or dread 
 
 Of bold usurper's claim, 
 Or for dominion blindly led 
 
 By greedy lust of fame ; 
 The furiest of the heart, deep hate, 
 
 Revenge and rage set free, 
 Rush on like beasts of prey to sate 
 
 Their wanton cruelty. 
 
 Then earth all stained with blood and crime 
 
 Of kinsman and of clan, 
 Would need no minstrelsy to rhyme 
 
 The brotherhood of man; 
 But love, and pity dewy-eyed, 
 
 And mercy, sisters three, 
 Turn wrath and enmity aside 
 
 With branch from olive tree. 
 
 14 
 
In fullness of great sorrow lies 
 
 Sublimity of woe, 
 And sweetest tears from saddest eyes 
 
 Down pallid cheeks will flow, 
 
 When their bereavements is for sires 
 
 And sons they freely gave 
 To battle's sacrificial fires, 
 
 The country's life to save. 
 
 Now peaceful years on shining wing 
 
 For hearts forlorn and sad, 
 On each returning journey bring 
 
 Sweet balm from Gilead ; 
 And blood -anointed battle-field 
 
 With monument and mound, 
 Becomes, when war's red wounds are healed, 
 
 Dear, consecrated ground. 
 
 15 
 
BIRD OF JOVE. 
 
 Alone and far above, 
 Where none his joy or sorrow ever know 
 With loathing scorn of all that crawl below 
 
 Sits Bird of Jove. 
 
 The rock with ages hoar, 
 And nearest to the sky is his abode, 
 The lightning plays along the trackless road 
 
 Up to its door. 
 
 There is majestic gloom 
 Around the craggy turrets of his home ; 
 Celestial fires that blaze in heaven's blue dome 
 Its halls illume. 
 
 No gates with forged locks bar, 
 For never foe can there rude entrance press, 
 And never guest or friend comes near, unless 
 
 A falling star. 
 
 No sound save his wild cry 
 Is ever heard to break the silence deep, 
 Unless the thunder wakens from its sleep, 
 
 To make reply. 
 
 Small pity and less love 
 For those who sigh and quake with childish fear 
 And battle danger with a falling tear 
 
 Has bird of Jove. 
 
 Well may proud nations bear 
 His image on their standards far and wide, 
 He is fit emblem of their hate and pride 
 
 In peace and war. 
 
 16 
 
THE COURT'S DECREE. 
 
 At the judgment seat in old Charlestown, 
 
 In the felon's dock stands old John Brown, 
 
 The angels above are looking down ; 
 
 A sacred page in our history 
 
 Is that quaint record the court's decree. 
 
 Hanged by the neck, so the sentence read, 
 His unshrived sins upon his head, 
 Hanged by the neck till he's dead, dead, dead, 
 And may God have mercy upon his soul. 
 
 Dead is the body of old John Brown, 
 Dead and the hangman cut him down, 
 But dying he won a martyr's crown, 
 And brought in the year of Jubilee 
 Hastened along by the court's Decree. 
 
 Hanged by the neck for the red blood shed, 
 His unshrived sins upon his head, 
 Hanged by the neck till he's dead, dead, dead, 
 And may God have mercy upon his soul. 
 
 All this was changed in the old war times, 
 Men rang it out with their battle chimes, 
 They rang it out of the code of crimes ; 
 Now man may set his brother man free 
 And not fear death by the court's decree. 
 
 Hanged by the neck for the red blood shed, 
 His unshrived sins upon his head, 
 Hanged by the neck till he's dead, dead, dead, 
 And may God have mercy upon his soul. 
 
 17 
 
COME, COME, COME. 
 
 From the morning's early dawn till the evening 
 
 shadows fall, 
 Comes the warning sound of loud alarming drum ; 
 Every beat a message tells, every note repeats the 
 
 call 
 Saying come and save the country, freeman come. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Come, come, come the drums are beating, 
 
 Harken freeman to the call, 
 For the country is betrayed, 
 
 And unless you haste to aid, 
 Even liberty may perish in its fall. 
 
 All the sacred memories clinging round the nation's 
 
 birth, 
 Lend their whisper to the music of the drum : 
 All these years with glory crowned shedding luster 
 
 on the earth, 
 With their unseen lips now shout the chorus, come. 
 
 All the hopes of men enthralled and of bondmen 
 
 everywhere 
 Rise to gladness at the echo of the drum ; 
 Stormy winds and gentle breeze from the far-off 
 
 dwellers bear 
 Joyful answer to the invocation, come. 
 
 Gentle mercy pleads for peace, but her prayers are 
 
 all in vain, 
 For the swelling notes of loud alarming drum, 
 Beating up the march and charge, answers back 
 
 with wilder strain, 
 Saying come a mighty host for triumph, come. 
 
 18 
 
Now the dwellers by the sea, and on sunny glebe 
 
 and plain, 
 All have heard the sound of loud alarming drum, 
 And their mighty tramp is heard, and their song 
 
 with its refrain, 
 For our country and our banner now we come. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Come, come, come the drums are beating, 
 
 Harken freemen to the call, 
 For the country is betrayed 
 
 And unless you haste to aid, 
 Even liberty may perish in its fall. 
 
 19 
 
BORDER SONG. 
 
 Led by the star of empire 
 
 From many a distant home, 
 To live and dwell in Kansas 
 
 These pioneers have come, 
 Their cabins and sod houses 
 
 Seem palaces to them, 
 Each claim a little kingdom, 
 
 And hope their diadem. 
 
 Just like the pilgrim fathers 
 
 Their banners once unfurled 
 Upon the cold and barren, 
 
 Bleak coast of the new world ; 
 So these their sturdy children 
 
 Have come with hopeful dream, 
 To make the desert blossom 
 
 And with abundance teem. 
 
 Not led by wild ambition, 
 
 But peacefully they come 
 To seek man's highest blessing, 
 
 A hearth-stone and a home ; 
 Like these the wild sunflower 
 
 Its mission once begun, 
 At morn bows to Aurora, 
 
 At eve to setting sun. 
 
 But clouds begin to lower, 
 
 Black thunder-clouds of war, 
 Their gloom has veiled the friendly 
 
 Light of the morning star ; 
 And there is cautious whisper 
 
 When friends and neighbors meet, 
 While rumors wild go flitting 
 
 Along the village street. 
 
 The powder-horn and shot-pouch 
 Hang up against the wall 
 
 With greasy bullet-patches 
 Cut ready for the ball. 
 
 20 
 
And in the chimney corner 
 Above the corn-meal sack, 
 
 The tried and trusty rifle 
 Hangs in its wooden rack. 
 
 But now the clans are rising 
 
 From every squatter's home, 
 To drive back the invaders 
 
 The sons of freedom come ; 
 For all along the border 
 
 By dark Missouri's flood 
 Is smoke of burning cabin, 
 
 And verdure stained with blood. 
 
 The plow stands in the furrow, 
 
 The fields unplanted lie 
 Around the squatter's cabin 
 
 The weeds are rank and high ; 
 The prairie-hen sits brooding 
 
 Beneath the wild rose tree, 
 No children's merry voices 
 
 Disturb her with their glee. 
 
 The conflict long in coming 
 
 Is here, and now begun, 
 These frontier's men for freedom 
 
 Have fired the signal gun ; 
 And its far sound will echo 
 
 From mountain back to sea, 
 Until its mighty thunder 
 
 Brings in the jubilee. 
 
 It is the same old story 
 
 Rung down with lengthened chime, 
 These squatters hear its music, 
 
 And answer with their rhyme ; 
 "Ours shall be land of freedom, 
 
 Nor shall the galling chain 
 Of slavery go clanking 
 
 Upon the Kansas plain." 
 
 21 
 
REVEILLE. 
 
 Now the drummer boy is beating 
 While the morning yet is dim, 
 Notes the shrill fife is repeating 
 Of the soldier's matin hymn. 
 Reveille, Reveille ; 
 While the sergeant stands repeating 
 To the cadence of the hymn, 
 Reveille, Reveille. 
 
 Not like summons to the battle, 
 
 Nor for combats quick array 
 Is the measure and the rattle 
 Of the lively matin lay, 
 Reveille, Reveille; 
 Wake from dreaming says the rattle 
 Of the soldier's matin lay. 
 Reveille, Reveille. 
 
 But the battle leaves the number 
 Of the comrades less each time, 
 Who are wakened from their slumbers 
 By the music of the rhyme, 
 Reveille, Reveille ; 
 For the dead wake not from slumber 
 At the music of the rhyme, 
 Reveille, Reveille. 
 
 22 
 
THE LILY. 
 
 The lily, what a royal gem 
 To deck the summer bowers, 
 
 The fairest, richest diadem 
 Of all among the flowers. 
 
 Its classic mold and symmetry 
 Excel arts best endeavors, 
 The beauty of its bloom will be 
 A joy fulness forever. 
 
 The poets wreathe it in their hymn 
 When they divinely warble; 
 
 Around the goblets carved rim 
 It blooms in sculptured marble. 
 
 The lily's legendary fame 
 Came down along the ages, 
 
 Until the luster of its name 
 Flashed from historic pages. 
 
 It is an emblem, chosen well, 
 Of loveliness and glory, 
 
 But lends the magic of its spell 
 To sacred song and story. 
 
 23 
 
OUR BANNER. 
 
 Every nation has its standard though they differ 
 
 much in hue, 
 But the banner of our country is most beautiful to 
 
 view; 
 Stripes of red, and white the purest, then a field of 
 
 azure blue, 
 Where stars shine night and day. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Brightly, brightly on our banner, 
 Brightly, brightly on our banner, 
 Brightly, brightly on our banner, 
 The stars shine night and day. 
 
 It is liberty's glad emblem to all people in distiess, 
 And the glory of its mission is to comfort and to 
 
 bless; 
 Never shall its folds be tarnished, never will be 
 
 lusterless, 
 Where stars shine night and day. 
 
 Tyranny and hoary thralldom from their thrones 
 
 were quickly hurled, 
 Then a shout went up to heaven for the freedom of 
 
 the world, 
 And the nations hailed its coming when our banner 
 
 was unfurled 
 Where stars shine night and day. 
 
 Toilers weary of oppression in their homes beyond 
 
 the seas, 
 Patriots in their devotion, holy men upon their 
 
 knees, 
 Crave a blessing on our banner as it floats upon 
 
 the breeze, 
 Where stars shine night and day. 
 
 24 
 
Let the coming years forever with their sunshine 
 
 and their dew 
 Falling on our waving banner add new luster to 
 
 each hue, 
 And make holier the colors of its red, its white 
 
 and blue 
 Where stars shine night and day. 
 
 Palsied be the hand uplifted in the dust its folds 
 
 would drag! 
 Palsied by the limb to rescue in its fleetness e'er 
 
 would lag! 
 Palsied be the tongue that utters word of treason 
 
 'gainst the flag! 
 Where stars shine night and day. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Brightly, brightly on our banner, 
 Brightly, brightly on our banner, 
 Brightly, brightly on our banner, 
 The stars shine night and day. 
 
 25 
 
MANASSAS. 
 
 Now they come 
 
 While the drum 
 Beats for solemn masses 
 
 There's defeat 
 
 And retreat 
 And sad rout at Manassas. 
 
 All the years 
 
 With their tears 
 Wives and loving lasses, 
 
 Near and far 
 
 Will mourn for 
 The dead killed at Manassas. 
 
 Now the flood 
 
 Of red blood 
 Darkens as it passes, 
 
 In its tide 
 
 Deep and wide 
 From Sumpter to Manassas. 
 
 Men in blue 
 
 Have marched through 
 Swamp and dark morasses, 
 
 To regain 
 
 Without stain 
 The flag lost at Manassas. 
 
 Let all come 
 
 While the drum 
 Beats for solemn masses, 
 
 And forget 
 
 To regret 
 The day lost at Manassas. 
 
 26 
 
TOCSIN OF WAR. 
 
 Let the brazen trumpets warning blast 
 
 Be borne afar, 
 Flaming on red wings and flying fast 
 
 As falling star, 
 So each hamlet, town, and city passed 
 
 May arm for war. 
 
 Hear its voice y>= dwellers by the sea 
 
 On either side, 
 Ye who dwell upon the sunny lea 
 
 Of prairie wide, 
 Or where'er your habitations be 
 
 Or ye abide. 
 
 Arm ye for war's mighty tempest hath 
 
 Its wings out-spread, 
 And is moving with its pent up wrath 
 
 Just overhead, 
 But will soon descend and make its path 
 
 With courage red. 
 
 Liberty's fair heritage has need 
 
 Of heart and hand 
 Steadfast in this- hour of shaken reed 
 
 on quaking strand ; 
 Loyal too in sentiment and deed 
 
 For native land. 
 
 27 
 
SOMEBODY'S BOYS MUST GO. 
 
 Opening the book the father, 
 
 Just before he read 
 Chapters for the morning lesson, 
 
 To his household said: 
 If the war goes on why somebody's 
 
 Boys will have to go 
 To defend the flag and union 
 
 Threatened by the foe. 
 
 If the war goes on why soembody's 
 
 Boys will have to go 
 To defend the flag and union 
 
 Threatened by the foe. 
 
 When the country is in danger 
 
 Duty bids all come, 
 Then must love and fond affections 
 
 Lips be mute and dumb ; 
 If the war goes on I reckon 
 
 Boys you'll have to go, 
 I can manage with the farming 
 
 Working kind of slow. 
 
 If the war goes on why somebody's 
 
 Boys will have to go; 
 Friends will cheer them on when parting 
 
 Though hot tears will flow. 
 
 Providence has ways of scourging 
 
 Nations for their wrong, 
 With foul pestilence and famine 
 
 And with bloody thong; 
 Fathers sometimes leave behind them 
 
 Debts their sons must pay, 
 Looks some this rising tempest 
 
 Has come round that way. 
 
 28 
 
If the war goes on why somebody's 
 
 Boys will have to go, 
 So no shout of song can herald 
 
 Triumph of the foe. 
 
 Thou great Ruler of the nations 
 
 We will trust in thee, 
 As our leader in the conflict 
 
 And for victory ; — 
 Soon as they begin enlisting 
 
 Boys you both must go, 
 One at home, and one 'way fighting 
 
 Wouldn't do you know. 
 
 If the war goes on why somebody's 
 
 Boys will have to go, 
 Some will come back, others never 
 
 Will come back you know. 
 
 29 
 
THE OUTCAST. 
 
 He was an outcast in the land 
 
 Where he had dwelt so long, 
 Though he had never raised his hand 
 
 To do his fellow wrong ; 
 But ever strove by word and deed, 
 To rend away the cruel creed 
 
 Of bloody lash and thong. 
 
 Oppression, tyranny, and thrall 
 
 Of limb, or heart, or mind, 
 Were grievious to his eyes, and all 
 
 These seemed with guilt entwined; 
 And on their foreheads bore the mark 
 Of evil nurtured in the dark 
 
 Old ages far behind. 
 
 His wrath was kindled when he heard 
 
 The holy priest explain 
 The meaning of the sacred word, 
 
 Then piously maintain, 
 The current of the scripture ran, 
 That one may buy and sell a man, 
 
 Or bind him with a chain. 
 
 Why throng her shrine, he said, and crown 
 
 The goddess, Liberty, 
 Then in our statute-books write down 
 
 The infamous decree, 
 That in whatever kingdom found 
 The darker brother shall be bound, 
 
 The fairer shall be free. 
 
 Is this the precept, this the law 
 
 Of Christ, the Nazarene, 
 Say, did he in his teaching draw 
 
 A line of grace between 
 The man possessed of large estate, 
 And beggar at the rich man's gate 
 
 Covered with sores unclean. 
 
 30 
 
O no, it is the cruel creed 
 
 Of wickedness and sin, 
 Begotten by unholy greed 
 
 And passion's foulest kin, 
 It dooms the slave to blindly grope 
 In darkness without ray of hope, 
 
 And dwarfs the soul within. 
 
 Hot words which smote as does the blade 
 
 Of a two-edged sword, 
 Nor were their burning accents stayed 
 
 Till errors leprous horde 
 Lay shorn of strength and dipt of wing, 
 A truth scorched, limp and blighted thing 
 
 As Jonah's withered gourd. 
 
 Then did the angry multitude 
 
 This earnest man deride, 
 And buffet till they had imbued 
 
 Their hands with blood, then cried 
 Let him who speaks such blasphemy, 
 And so defames the law's decree 
 
 Be scourged, be crucified. 
 
 In every age how it has been 
 
 Accounted as a crime, 
 And heresy if one was seen 
 
 Unsuited to the clime 
 In which he dwelt, or strove to be 
 From thrall of superstitition free, 
 
 Or wise beyond his time. 
 
 In city mart within the sound 
 
 Of the cathedral bell, 
 An eager crowd would gather round, 
 
 And men would buy and sell 
 Their fellow man for yellow gold, 
 Although the solemn church-bell tolled. 
 
 A mournful dirge or knell. 
 
 31 
 
And while the fates at hide-and-seek 
 
 With jest and jeer do play, 
 Lo ! dusky mother's kiss the cheek 
 
 Of dusky babes, and pray 
 The hand with unsheathed sword can smite, 
 The blast with pestilence can blight 
 
 May not too long delay. 
 
 And there were warnings, seers foretold 
 
 Of rivers red with blood, 
 Whose waves would bury as they rolled 
 
 Armed hosts beneath their flood ; 
 And prophets dreamed of war's wild rage, 
 Of funerals and orphanage, 
 
 And lonely widow-hood. 
 
 One early morn the sleeper woke 
 From dream's delightful charm, 
 
 To hear a voice which loudly spoke, 
 Quick arm ye, neighbor arm, 
 
 That sound like thunder from the south 
 
 Comps from the cannon's brazen mouth, 
 It is war's dread alarm. 
 
 Then came a sea of fire that swept 
 O'er plain and mountain high, 
 
 Its flaming wave and billow lept 
 From earth up to the sky ; 
 
 And loud above the din and roar 
 
 Which echoed far from shore to shore 
 Was heard the battle cry. 
 
 The dead, the dead lie everywhere 
 
 In dismal swamp and fen, 
 On field and hill their cold eyes stare, 
 
 They glut the prison pen ; 
 But hark, there's beat of distant drum 
 And rising shout, we come, we come 
 
 Five hundred thousand men. 
 
 32 
 
Look how these legions overthrow, 
 Look how they trample down 
 
 False creed, false idols of the foe 
 Whatever their renown ; 
 
 And Liberty's fair Goddess now 
 
 Wears on her calm majestic brow 
 A bright untarnished crown. 
 
 And when the outcast saw the land 
 
 He loved so purified 
 From all uncleanness, then with hand 
 
 And eyes upraised he cried, 
 Bless God the year of Jubilee 
 Is come and all the bond are free, 
 
 Bless God, he said, and died. 
 
 33 
 
MORNING HYMN. 
 
 The portals of heaven 
 Have soft-tinted hue, 
 
 And darkness is changing 
 To azure and blue. 
 
 The curtains are parting, 
 And each lustrous fold 
 
 Of light cloud is gleaming 
 With purple and gold. 
 
 Lo, yonder the mountain, 
 
 Its uplifted spires 
 Ablaze with the glory 
 
 Of heaven-lit fires. 
 
 Soon green-mantled valley, 
 Bright hill-top and wood, 
 
 And city and hamlet 
 Will bathe in its flood. 
 
 The soft light is breaking 
 Across the blue lake, 
 
 And wild bird is calling 
 Awake, love awake. 
 
 My angel is sleeping 
 
 And dreams by my side, 
 And fair as the morning 
 
 I made her my bride. 
 
 Awake, ye who slumber, 
 
 Arise, O arise, 
 On earth joy and gladness 
 
 Sent down from the skies. 
 
 Now up on the mountain, 
 And down by the sea, 
 
 All kindred are singing 
 Bright morning to thee. 
 
 34 
 
WARDSHIP OF THE UNION. 
 
 Sacred is the Union, and its weal 
 To our wardship has been given ; 
 
 Shall we fail to guard with loyal zeal 
 Heritage bequeathed of heaven? 
 
 Centuries of wrong have cursed the earth 
 And its fairest regions blighted, 
 
 Shall men falter when they see the worth 
 Of bright beacon fires lighted ! 
 
 Shall the temple which our fathers reared, 
 
 And to freedom consecrated, 
 By their sons be less revered 
 
 Or by foemen desecrated? 
 
 Not till every hamlet mourns its dead, 
 And till plain and field be gory, 
 
 Shall it of the country's fame be said, 
 Lo! behold its faded glory! 
 
 35 
 
COLUMBIA'S FLAG. 
 
 The white upon our banner, the luster of its blue, 
 All stained with blood till like its red they will be 
 
 crimson too ; 
 Before our martial slogan will cease to echo far, 
 March on till Columbia's flag wins back each falling 
 
 star. 
 
 Chorus: 
 March on, march on to victory, march on, 
 March on till Columbia's flag 
 
 Wins back each falling star. 
 
 For country and for union we throng the tented 
 
 field, 
 And have for emblem liberty emblazoned on our 
 
 shield, 
 For never shall foul treason the nation's glory mar ; 
 Never from Columbia's flag shall fall a single star. 
 
 We come not as invaders to pillage and destroy, 
 Only our heritage to save our valor we'll employ; 
 But with our blood will ever make red the tide 
 
 of war, 
 Until fair Columbia's flag wins back each falling 
 
 star. 
 
 Our minstrelsy's wild music has tender strains of 
 
 grief, 
 Among our wreaths of laural spray we twine the 
 
 olive leaf; 
 But destiny can never our march of triumph bar, 
 But on, till Columbia's flag wins back each falling 
 
 star. 
 
 Chorus : 
 March on, march on to victory, march on, 
 March on till Columbia's flag wins back each 
 falling star. 
 
 36 
 
THE FIELD OF WHITE CLOVER. 
 
 The theme of my song is the familiar story 
 Of love's biding faith and war's redder glory; 
 It was long time ago, but still the dim shadow 
 Remains in my mind of the elms in the meadow, 
 And wood you went through before you crossed over 
 The brook running by the field of white clover. 
 
 Though summer is bright the autumn will follow, 
 And heap the dead leaves of the wood in the hollow 
 To rot and decay, while time as it passes 
 Makes old men and women of young lads and lasses, 
 Who look back across the years and think over 
 The day they made love in the field of white clover. 
 
 The springtime had come, and with it the thrushes 
 Came back to build nests on the trees red with 
 
 blushes 
 Of blossom that hung like a jewel delighting 
 The heart for the hand that does nature's fair writ- 
 ing; 
 And with its bright fingers bespangles over 
 The copse on the hill side and field of white clover. 
 
 Adown by the brook when the soft air was laden 
 With fragrance of spring walked a youth and a 
 
 maiden, 
 They talked of the flowers and sad willows weeping, 
 And then of the birds building nests for house- 
 keeping ; 
 With hope leading onward this lass and her lover 
 Then wandered away through the field of white- 
 clover. 
 
 Beyond in the distance love's mansion delights them, 
 Its portals fly open, its high hall invites them 
 To enter and dwell there where grief is a stranger, 
 And sorrow comes not with hot tears to endanger 
 The joy of fond lovers whose cup runneth over 
 With happiness there on the field of white clover. 
 
 37 
 
The next year brought strike, and sound of the 
 
 battle 
 Re-echoing far 'bove the drum's fainter rattle; 
 The fields went untilled for the carnage was needing 
 Its victims to redden the country's heart bleeding; 
 And there in the front marched the soldier and 
 
 lover, 
 Now charging the foe on the field of white clover. 
 
 All day the hot breath of the cannon was breathing 
 Red flame which encompassed the hosts with its 
 
 wreathing, 
 Until it had crowned half each cohorts whole 
 
 number, 
 As victims all shrouded for death's silent slumber; 
 Then a pale lurid cloud arose and hung over 
 The meadow, and wood, and field of white clover. 
 
 Sad mothers and maidens with hearts wildly beating 
 Heard all the loud thunder its echo repeating, 
 And prayed the kind angel of mercy would cover 
 With protecting wing son, husband and lover, 
 Till darkness would let fall its black mantle over 
 Death's carnival there on the field of white clover. 
 
 The sun has gone down and the night wind is 
 
 sighing 
 A requiem over the dead and the dying; 
 No campfires smolder, no sentinel keeping 
 His night-watch around the silent dead sleeping, 
 And there on his bed lies the soldier and lover, 
 Killed in the charge 'cross the field of white clover. 
 
 Borne far through the land on the wings of the 
 
 morrow 
 Are tidings and sad lamentations of sorrow ; 
 The hands of the fallen have sent back no token 
 Of love, and their cold lips no farewells have 
 
 spoken ; 
 And now there is mourning and sad wailing over 
 
 38 
 
The loved ones there dead on the field of white 
 clover. 
 
 The ravens are perched on the elms in the meadow, 
 And dark as a cloud falls the wood's gloomy shadow, 
 Like wine in its flow is the brook's ruddy water 
 All tinged by the rain-drops that fell from the 
 
 slaughter, 
 While the blood of the slain lies crimson all over 
 Now staining to red the field of white clover. 
 
 39 
 
PASSION. 
 
 See passion with disheveled hair, 
 Red robed and beautiful as one 
 Sent down from heaven above to bear 
 Rewards for deeds of mercy done. 
 
 Her voice, O what enchanting sound ! 
 Her words they seem divinely sweet! 
 The tangles of her web go round, 
 And we spell-bound lie at her feet. 
 
 The poison of her cup will rise 
 To meet the lips of those who drink ; 
 The soft light of her lustrous eyes 
 Are fires that forge the binding link. 
 
 With softest phrase she would beguile 
 While luring onward to her thrall ; 
 Beneath the sweetness of her smile 
 Lie depth of bitterness and gall. 
 
 40 
 
HEAVEN'S ROLL CALL. 
 
 C comrade, your brother dropped out of the ranks, 
 Back there where the foe pressed us hard on both 
 
 flanks, 
 And just as we rallied with hurrah and shout, 
 A shell that was passing then mustered him out 
 Of the army below with its carnage and din, 
 In heaven's bright legion then mustered him in. 
 
 I've heard them say, comrade, that each new recruit 
 For the army above puts on a bright suit 
 Of raiment and wings, so as ready to soar 
 Aloft with his troop in the angelic corps ; 
 O may be the dying and dead we see fall 
 Will answer tomorrow at heaven roll-call. 
 
 When the battle today and of life has been won, 
 The marching and camping and toiling all done, 
 While bidding dear friends and our comrades adieu, 
 We'll hear the last trump sound the .final tattoo; 
 Then after we're mustered-out here may we all 
 Be found touching elbows at Heaven's roll-call. 
 
 41 
 
DYING SO YOUNG. 
 
 The soldier was young, just a stripling boy, 
 
 Cheek like a blushing girl's, 
 A mother's hand was wont to toy 
 
 With these blood-matted curls. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Breathing out his life in the dark cypress wood, 
 
 Dying from a mortal wound ; 
 Breathing out his life while his dear, precious blood 
 
 Makes crimson red the ground ; 
 Dying so young, dying so young, 
 
 Dying on the battle field". 
 
 Today in the battle a blazing shell 
 
 Came through the cypress wood, 
 Right down to the ground, and bursting fell 
 
 Near where this soldier stood. 
 
 The dead lying here, and the dying there, 
 
 Mangled and torn of limb, 
 Make lips not use to breathe a prayer, 
 
 And brave men's eyes grow dim, 
 
 But still on the altar of sacrifice 
 
 Offerings must be laid ; 
 How long, O, Lord, till the full price 
 
 Of our atonements paid ! 
 
 But mother your boy, while the gloom of death 
 
 Is crowding life's feeble flame, 
 His pale lips move, with his last breath 
 
 He murmurs thy dear name. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Breathing out his life in the dark cypress wood, 
 
 Dying from a mortal wound, 
 Breathing out his life while his dear, precious blood 
 
 Makes crimson red the ground ; 
 Dying so young, dying so young, 
 
 Dying on the battle field. 
 
 42 
 
THE BATTLE FIELD. 
 
 In slumber deep the mailed and weary sleepers 
 
 Breathe heavily and slow, 
 While wary sentinels, those watchful keepers 
 
 Of camp walk to and fro, 
 Guarding tonight death's trained and ready reapers 
 
 Whose harvest is the foe. 
 
 Among the drifting clouds the late November's 
 
 Moon wanders on its way, 
 While fading light of smold'ring camp fires embers 
 
 Reflect their feeble ray; 
 In visions bright the soldier now remembers 
 
 His wild and boyish play. 
 
 He dreams of home, and of the childish prattle 
 
 Of babes upon his knee, 
 Then wakes to hear the too familiar rattle 
 
 And clang of musketry, 
 Then hurries forth to join the rising battle 
 
 Dark surging like the sea. 
 
 Now there is tramp and rush of friend and foeman, 
 
 Nor dangers dread nor harm ; 
 How changed in mood is yesterday's meek yeoman, 
 
 At home upon his farm 
 He hears the sound, and reads aright the omen 
 
 Of war's solemn alarm. 
 
 Today he treads the crimson path of glory, 
 
 And red highway of fame, 
 Dimming the fair page of the old world's story 
 
 Of battle's din and flame, 
 And writing plain on tablet wet and gory 
 His own undying name. 
 
 43 
 
There's lightning's glare and roll of vollied thunder 
 
 As charging squadrons meet, 
 Strewing the ground with dead now trampled under 
 
 The war steed's iron feet; 
 The ranks are thinned and lines are rent asunder, 
 
 There's onset and retreat. 
 
 The earth is dark with raindrops of the slaughter, 
 
 As if the friendly sky- 
 Had lack of dew and downfall of glad water 
 
 For thirsty fields and dry ; 
 And soon will come sad plaint of orphan daughter, 
 And lonely widow's sigh. 
 
 Spectral and white the smoke of the last sally 
 
 Moves slow and leisurely, 
 And rests like a pale cloud above the valley 
 
 In sad sublimity, 
 As if awhile its gloominess would dally 
 
 As fittest canopy. 
 
 The storm is o'er, red wave and flaming billow 
 
 No longer lash and leap, ( 
 
 The mangled dead on ghastly bed and pillow 
 Lie silently asleep ; 
 
 Above their graves let shaft and drooping willow 
 Sacred their valor keep. 
 
 In other years the unborn generations 
 
 Of sires who slumber here, 
 Will come from far and offer their oblations 
 
 With sigh and falling tear; 
 Let martial song, and fame in her orations 
 
 Preserve their memory dear. 
 
 44 
 
THE DRUMMER BOY. 
 
 The drummer boy to the war has come 
 Not to carry a gun on his shoulder, 
 
 But march in the ranks and rattle his drum 
 For tramp of the men who are older ; 
 
 For there is need when foemen meet 
 In war's tumultuous labor, 
 
 Of bugle's blast and drum's loud beat 
 
 As well as of gun and saber. 
 
 Chorus: 
 O drummer boy when the comrades hear 
 
 The sound of your drum's loud rattle, 
 Its notes will cheer, as they fall on the ear, 
 
 And help win the doubltful battle. 
 
 And whether you march in the front or rear, 
 
 The sound of your drum will ever 
 Have notes so grand, their cadence will cheer 
 
 On the men in their endeavor. 
 For music's strain has a thrilling charm, 
 
 The hearts of brave men will inspire, 
 Can clear the eye, and steady the arm 
 
 At command of "battallion fire." 
 
 So young — we may not accuse or blame 
 
 The mother whose heart would falter, 
 And almost fail, as with tears she came 
 
 With her offering to the altar; 
 Her lip is wet with the honey dew 
 
 Of his last warm kisses given; 
 Her prayer to God, may her boy be true 
 
 To his country and to heaven. 
 
 Chorus : 
 O drummer boy when the comrades hear 
 
 The sound of your drum's loud rattle, 
 Its notes will cheer, as they fall on the ear, 
 
 And help to win the doubtful battle. 
 
 45 
 
SING BIRD. 
 
 Sing bird, but sing as sad a song 
 
 As thy full heart can trill, 
 For now like autumn leaves along 
 The stream beyond the hill, 
 The dead lie there 
 Without the care 
 Of priest to breathe a hymn or prayer. 
 
 The evening breeze now soft and low 
 
 Lisps in a minor key, 
 And for the dead both friend and foe 
 Has saddest minstrelsy ; 
 So let thy strain 
 Above the slain 
 Like moaning wind have sad refrain. 
 
 Sing bird as if a loved mate dead 
 
 Inspired the melody, 
 The waters of the brook are red 
 So let thy anthem be 
 A requiem 
 A dirge for them 
 Crowned with a soldier's diadem. 
 
 46 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 The hills around my father's halls 
 
 Sink down into the sea, 
 And waves rise up in watery walls 
 
 Betwixt my home and me. 
 
 The land is red with precious blood 
 
 Of valiant sire and son ; 
 Still dark and deep the crimson flood 
 
 With rising tide flows on. 
 
 The tyrant wears a haughty frown, 
 
 His iron hand is strong 
 To strike all right and justice down, 
 
 And to uphold the wrong. 
 
 The night is lurid with the glare 
 Of torch and midnight flame. 
 
 While ruins black lie everywhere 
 As monuments of shame. 
 
 Above, the blue vault of the sky, 
 Below, the white sea-foam, 
 
 That soon in snowy leagues will lie 
 Between me and my home. 
 
 'Tis not from craven fear I go, 
 
 Or flee from war's alarm, 
 But I would meet the cruel foe 
 
 Again with stronger arm. 
 
 Heroic sons of noble sires 
 Will rise at freedom's call, 
 
 And kindle all her sacred fires, 
 Or at her altars fall. 
 
 My native land, my native land ! 
 
 I swear thou shalt be free, 
 For I will come with chosen band 
 
 And thine avenger be. 
 
 47 
 
ON THE SKIRMISH LINE. 
 
 One summer day the sun with hot fires blazing 
 
 With scorching rays did shine, 
 Our company was slowly pressing forward 
 
 'Mong undergrowth of pine, 
 And with the wary enemy contending 
 
 Upon the skirmish line. 
 
 At length we reached an opening in the forest, 
 
 Where we had plainer view 
 Of their grey uniforms, and they could better 
 
 Behold our brighter blue; 
 The firing quickened, and the bullets whizzing 
 
 Then fast and faster flew. 
 
 Just then the bugle sounded and we halted 
 
 Near by a rising mound, 
 And then a soldier boy, one of the youngest, 
 
 Stepped on this higher ground, 
 And raising up his musket aimed and fired, 
 
 Then fell with mortal wound. 
 
 The father of the boy was there, and seeing 
 
 His son borne from the field, 
 Followed a little way then stopped, and turning, 
 
 Came back with tears concealed, 
 And to a comrade said, the father's duty 
 
 Must to the soldier's yield. 
 
 48 
 
MOTHERS WILL WEEP. 
 
 Heralded by the battle's din, 
 Clouded and dark the day comes in, 
 Trampled the ground will be, and wet 
 With red blood e'er its sun has set. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Mothers will weep when the tidings come 
 
 Back from the battle that's lost or won ; 
 Drape the banner and muffle the drum, 
 
 Beat the dead march for the sire and son. 
 
 Mother's guarded love's downy nest, 
 Nurtured with milk at their white breast 
 Children affection never weaned, 
 All on death's harvest field now gleaned. 
 
 Homes will be darkened, fond hopes take wing, 
 When tomorrow's messengers bring 
 News of the battle, whoever may 
 Triumph or fail on the field today. 
 
 Forward the bugle's note rings out, 
 Forward the marshalled hosts with shout. 
 Rush to the conflict, where soon will glow 
 Flaming billows round friend and foe. 
 
 When the cover of later snow 
 Melts away, the flowers will grow 
 Over their graves, but who will keep 
 Glad the mothers who wail and weep? 
 
 Chorus: 
 Mothers will weep when the tidings come 
 
 Back from the battle that's lost or won ; 
 Drape the banner and muffle the drum, 
 
 Beat the dead march for sire and son. 
 
 49 
 
BITTER WATERS. 
 
 The bayou's bitter waters 
 
 Which teemed with crawling thing 
 Upon the marsh was fountain, 
 
 And was a living spring; 
 Parched lips quaffed from its bounty, 
 
 Then cursed the offering. 
 
 The rifle-pits were safer, 
 
 The foe was not unseen, 
 And should death's cup be proffered 
 
 The beverage was clean ; 
 While poison rank lay hidden 
 
 Within these waters green 
 
 All night with horrid croaking 
 The rebel frogs would cry, 
 
 "Those thirsty yankee soldiers 
 Will drink our bayous dry, 
 
 Nor care, so they can triumph, 
 If we poor frogs all die." 
 
 The battlefield has heralds, 
 
 Whose mission is to bear 
 Red carnage through the tempest, 
 
 And through the lightning's glare, 
 Nor heed the cry of mercy, 
 
 Or listen to her prayer. 
 
 But not these martial reapers 
 
 Alone the sickle keen. 
 Was foe that reaped the harvest 
 
 So crows the fields might glean, 
 For death kept royal banquet 
 
 With wine of sickly sheen. 
 
 50 
 
VICKSBURG. 
 
 Upon her hills fair Vicksburg stood, 
 A city queenly to behold, 
 Down at her feet and laving rolled 
 The Mississippi's flood. 
 
 Dark waved and deep the river wide 
 Swept onward to the far south seas, 
 And bore her laded argosies 
 Upon its restless tide. 
 
 And she had rarest gift of clime, 
 Of balmy air, and softest blue 
 Of skies which deepened in their hue 
 Through her long summer time. 
 
 Nor was there need of farther quest 
 For happiness and joy of home ; 
 Here weary man might cease to roam, 
 And on life's journey rest. 
 
 But now was seen the faintest blot 
 Of cloud to rise that one could spy, 
 And say the scarcely tarnished sky 
 Was flecked with cloud or not. 
 
 Such meagerness of blur, a span 
 Would compass it from side to side ; 
 So small a raven's wing would hide, 
 Or an unfolded fan. 
 
 Could this be omen of alarm, 
 Or harbinger of coming storm 
 Which bore not spectral hue nor form, 
 Nor mightiness of arm. 
 
 About the time of lenten days 
 
 This speck of cloud began to spread 
 
 51 
 
Its gloom and darkness overhead, 
 And veil the sun's bright rays. 
 
 Borne on the north wind's darkened wing 
 Are rumors wild of coming strife ; 
 Not a rich dower to the wife 
 Do these forebodings bring. 
 
 But nightly dreaming of the dead, 
 And dying on the battle-field, 
 Their unkissed lips forever sealed 
 With clammy signet red. 
 
 And on her cheek there is a stain, 
 As if a tear's unbidden flow 
 From the full depths of grief below 
 Was token of her pain. 
 
 Now all is changed, fair nature's face 
 Is marred to build a parapet, 
 As if some scheme was lacking yet 
 Of evil for our race. 
 
 The verdant robe and leafy crown 
 Of bluff and hill are gone, and now 
 Along their seamed and sullen brow 
 The brazen cannon frown. 
 
 Young children ask the reason why 
 Their fathers wear these suits of grey. 
 And when they come in from their play, 
 Ask why their mother's cry. 
 
 Now there is beat of midnight drum, 
 And challenge of the passerby, 
 Say, who goes there? the quick reply, 
 A friend to thee I come. 
 
 52 
 
Men answer to the bugle's call, 
 While on the breeze strange banners float 
 In wavy folds above the moat, 
 Above the rampart wall. 
 
 Swift messengers ride to and fro 
 And fleet as bird upon the wing, 
 Look, now in eager haste they bring 
 Late tidings of the foe. 
 
 May be there's news of danger nigh, 
 Of danger! no, it cannot be, 
 Its glory, glory, victory, 
 Hear the glad people cry ! 
 
 Ring loud the bells in belfry towers, 
 Let their be pean song and shout 
 The borders round and land throughout, 
 For Sumpter's fort is ours. 
 
 Thou blood-stained goddess, Victory ! 
 How men and nations in their rage 
 For fame have reddened every page 
 Of history for thee. 
 
 But soon will come a sadder strain 
 Of music when the battle-field 
 
 Sends home its crimson crop and yield, 
 Red harvest of the slain. 
 
 War has a fearful mien and mood, 
 And dusky hue of smoke and flame 
 Grief, orphanage, and want the name 
 Of its ill-favored brood. 
 
 When the third summer came the flood 
 Of war's full tide was rolling near, 
 And swifter than it flowed last year, 
 And redder far with blood. 
 
 53 
 
Was yon quick flash a falling star. 
 Or the red lightning on its track? 
 That fearful sound its answer back, 
 Or thunder-clap of war? 
 
 Not heaven sent that sudden stroke, 
 From a far nearer hand it came, 
 The storm-cloud's forge has fitful flame, 
 But not such wreaths of smoke. 
 
 Will it prove enemy or friend 
 The dark broad river at thy feet? 
 Lo ! from the north a hostile fleet 
 Comes slowly round the bend. 
 
 O city panoplied for war! 
 The foe is yonder, now array 
 Thy trained batallions for the fray, 
 And further triumph bar. 
 
 Of robe and crown and tinsel bared 
 The proud, defiant city stands 
 With sword and linstock in her hands, 
 For combat dire prepared. 
 
 The fragrant breeze now holds its breath, 
 No note, nor wing of bird is heard, 
 So calm, so still, no leaf is stirred, 
 But stillness as of death. 
 
 Then like a dread volcano waked 
 The hills belch forth red fires, the shock 
 Makes tenement and rampart rock, 
 As though the earth had quaked. 
 
 Fair city all thy hopes are vain, 
 In vain the high resolve and deed, 
 You will have for reward and meed 
 Blood of thy children slain. 
 
 54 
 
Yon mighty host has little dread 
 Of battle's glare and thunder now, 
 For it has scarred and battered brow, 
 And hand with slaughter red. 
 
 The chieftan of yon host has come 
 The nation's mandate to fulfill, 
 Nor will he sheathe the sword until 
 Rebellion's lips are dumb. 
 
 From every northern home went up 
 For peace the people's earnest prayer, 
 O God, our land from carange spare, 
 Let pass this bitter cup ! 
 
 They quaffed the gall, the goblet broke, 
 Then came the vintage of red wine, 
 And now they kneel at war's black shrine, 
 And its dread God invoke. 
 
 We hear their cry, make red the wave 
 Of battle's torrent in thy path, 
 And want and famine to its wrath, 
 Only the Union save. 
 
 We give, O beating heart be still ! 
 We give, O weeping eyes be clear, 
 We give our sons and brothers dear 
 The broken ranks to fill ! 
 
 Inspired by truest loyalty, 
 Thy enemy cannot be stayed 
 By mortal hand till it has made 
 A prison house of thee. 
 
 Now lives are counted not as gems, 
 And jewels fairest upon earth, 
 But wasted as of little worth 
 In war's dark strategems. 
 
 55 
 
But now the valor of the foe 
 Has made a fortress of each hill, 
 And battleships dark-visaged fill 
 The river down below. 
 
 Such armament might well appall 
 When hope seemed scarcely to befriend; 
 But still the drama does not end, 
 Nor does the curtain fall. 
 
 For weary weeks the cannon's breath 
 Makes air and sky above to glow, 
 While day and night strive friend and foe, 
 Trained champions of death. 
 
 Some days the tempest grew less loud, 
 The storm would lull, the thunder cease, 
 As if a ray of hope and peace 
 Shone out from war's black cloud. 
 
 The living gathered up the dead 
 And dying from the field, as men 
 Do gather sheaves at harvest, when 
 The evening sun is red. 
 
 And then a signal gun would break 
 The silence, and this message sent, 
 Redoubt and fort and battlement 
 Would all at once awake. 
 
 The grim gun-boats down on the river 
 Would then take up the awful note, 
 And thunder from each brazen throat 
 Until the earth did quiver. 
 
 As if roused nature's fury hath 
 Such lack of evils to bestow, 
 That man must make his torments glow 
 With hot consuming wrath. 
 
 56 
 
O God, and there was need of pity 
 For wives and children in that town, 
 When fire and iron hail rained down 
 On that beleaguered city! 
 
 The fierce war demons all were loose, 
 And red with human slaughter, when 
 The word rang out, "cease firing men," 
 There comes a flag of truce. 
 
 Bright emblem, messenger of peace, 
 Thou comest — but no word hast breathed, 
 The chieftains parley- — swords are sheathed, 
 And strife and carnage cease. 
 
 With joy the victors fill the cup, 
 For lo ! 'bove Vicksburg's battered town 
 The stars and bars come trailing down, 
 The stripes and stars go up. 
 
 57 
 
BE SAMPSON LIKE. 
 
 Woe, woe the man with galling load 
 Of guilt upon his heart to goad 
 Him on, and onward down the road 
 
 That leadeth where, 
 No bright winged hope, no longing sigh, 
 No prayer ascendeth to the sky, 
 But one long wail and bitter cry 
 
 Of sad despair. 
 
 Stop, e'er into the pit you sink, 
 
 And harken how your forged chains clink ; 
 
 Yea, even on hell's burning brink 
 
 Be Sampson like ; 
 And of your life take quick control 
 Look backward to the brighter goal, 
 And from your heart and prisoned soul 
 
 Sin's fetters strike. 
 
 58 
 
HOW OFTEN, O HOW OFTEN. 
 
 How often, O how often ! 
 
 We long for joy to come! 
 And bide with us forever, 
 
 And make our heart its home ! 
 So when we ask forgiveness, 
 
 And crave for holy fare, 
 Joy may be daily blessing 
 
 And answer to our prayer. 
 
 We hope may be the morrow 
 
 Will have the fairest dawn, 
 And skies of softest luster 
 
 We ever gazed upon. 
 Then from its midday splendor 
 
 Will shine such cheerful ray, 
 From our life's darkened heaven 
 
 Will drive the clouds away. 
 
 But O, how oft and often ! 
 
 When hope seems raising up 
 To our parched lips joys brimming, 
 
 Sweet overflowing cup ; 
 Some unseen hand uplifted 
 
 The goblet dashes down, 
 And ready for its kingdom 
 
 The heart robs of its crown. 
 
 59 
 
WHEN THE BATTLE'S OVER. 
 
 Fainter and fainter grows the thunder 
 
 Of the battle, and its breath 
 Cooler now and nearly wasted 
 
 Blasts no more the ranks with death ; 
 Lying near a trodden pathway 
 
 Where the ground with blood was red 
 Was a young and wounded soldier 
 
 Who with painful effort said : 
 
 Comrade, when the battle's over, 
 And the vanquished foe has fled, 
 
 Here you'll find my lifeless body • 
 When you gather up the dead. 
 
 Life is sweet, and I have only 
 
 Seen its morning's pleasing ray, 
 Now before its noon-time cometh 
 
 Comes to me life's closing day; 
 But my country when in danger 
 
 Called to arms and I obeyed, 
 And I grieve not, on its altar 
 
 My young life is freely laid. 
 
 Comrade, here's a blood-stained picture 
 
 Given with her promise true, 
 Take it, for death's falling shadows 
 
 Hides her image from my view ; 
 Send it with my dying blessing, 
 
 Send it to the one I love, 
 Say I've gone to join the army 
 
 Of the angels up above. 
 
 Comrade when the battle's over, 
 And the vanquished foe has fled, 
 
 Here you'll find my lifeless body 
 When you gather up the dead. 
 
 60 
 
PEACE AND WAR. 
 
 We love, O peace, thy paths to tread 
 
 O'erhung with dewy herbs at morn, 
 They wind among the clover red, 
 
 And 'long the rows of tasseled corn ; 
 They lead us through green pastures wide 
 
 Where cattle graze and lambkins play, 
 Across the brook whose limpid tide 
 
 Sings joyfully its simple lay. 
 
 The harpers of sweet music fill 
 
 Our bosoms with a calm delight, 
 The lark at morn, the whipporwill 
 
 And lisping katydid at night ; 
 We love the scent of new-made hay, 
 
 And golden sheen of harvest sheaf, 
 We linger in a quiet way 
 
 And watch the fall of autumn leaf. 
 
 The by-ways we so often tread, 
 
 The ancient trees along the lane, 
 And spring with arching elms o'erhead, 
 
 Are each a link in loving chain 
 Which round our hearts from year to year 
 
 With sweet endearing coils has wound; 
 They bind us to these scenes so dear, 
 
 And to the old familiar ground. 
 
 The joys of home, the dear- delight 
 
 Of love's romance beside the hearth 
 Make morning, noon, and make the night 
 
 A paradise of bliss on earth. 
 And other joys supreme as these 
 
 O Peace, from thy kind bountj fall ! 
 Among the high divinities 
 
 Thou art best Goddess of them all. 
 
 61 
 
But wrong grows bold, red crested war 
 
 Stalks forth with brazen armor on, 
 The bugle sounds its blast afar, 
 
 And from their scabbards swords are drawn, 
 Then men rush in through smoke and flame, 
 
 As if their lives were given them 
 To hazzard on the battle's game 
 
 For sake of martial requiem. 
 
 Of God ! why do thy children rage 
 
 With foamy lips and flaming breath, 
 Why not disease and hoary age 
 
 Alone contend and strive with death? 
 For though he may awhile befriend 
 
 The one who smites his brother down, 
 Death will prove victor in the end, 
 
 And claim at last the victor's crown. 
 
 62 
 
WEEP, MAIDENS WEEP. 
 
 Weep, maidens weep with eyes as sad 
 As mourning's deepest gloom, 
 
 Your hopes of yesterday go clad 
 And shroud them for the tomb ; 
 
 The battlefield with blood is red, 
 Your lovers lie among the dead. 
 
 Weep, maidens weep, war has filled up 
 
 Almost to overflow 
 The chalice full, life's bitter cup 
 
 Of agony and woe ; 
 Drain ye the goblet, and then sigh 
 Your lives away as years go by. 
 
 Weep, maidens weep, your tears will bring 
 
 Your burdened hearts relief. 
 And be to love an offering, 
 
 A solace for your grief; 
 The heart bereaved has clouded skies 
 And needs sweet rain from weeping eyes. 
 
 63 
 
CELESTE. 
 
 Bride and bridegroom both were drest 
 In their comeliest array; 
 Thronged the hall with wedding guest, 
 Kinsmen young, and kinsmen gray 
 Who with merry word and jest 
 Said they envied me that day, 
 Envied me my bride Celeste. 
 
 As the sun sank in the west, 
 Chiming bells the tiding bore 
 Holy priest hath joined and blessed 
 Hearts true love had joined before. 
 Then I pondered — was it best 
 Mortal on this earthly shore 
 Should have bride fair as Celeste. 
 
 Her's was warmest, truest breast 
 Ever heart beat in — or bled, 
 Softest bosom e'er was prest, 
 Ever pillowed weary head 
 In its nightly dream and rest ; 
 Cold, now cold that saintly bed, 
 Bosom of my loved Celeste. 
 
 64 
 
COME BACK WILD BIRD. 
 
 wild wood bird of tuneful throat, 
 And Singer of far sweetest note 
 
 Was ever heard, 
 Come back and sing thy songs once more 
 Trilling the wild notes as before ; 
 
 Come back wild bird, 
 
 Come back once more. 
 
 Amid the grove each passing spring 
 
 1 often look to see the wing, 
 
 And light leaf stirred ; 
 Come back some bright mid-summer day 
 And softly warble thy sweet lay, 
 
 Come back wild bird, 
 
 Come back some day. 
 
 Seems it would cheer and comfort me 
 If strain of thy sweet melody 
 
 Once more I heard ; 
 Come back and fill my heart again 
 With gladness of thy joyful strain, 
 
 Come back wild bird, 
 
 Come back again. 
 
 65 
 
A MOTHER'S PRIDE 
 
 Our eyes are blind, we do not see 
 The hand that shapes our destiny ; 
 The strange hand-writing on the wall 
 Is dark until great sorrows fall 
 And make the meaning understood. 
 May be it was for hidden good 
 To humble low a mother's pride, 
 My boy fell sick in camp and died. 
 
 I was so proud of him, my heart 
 Had not a joy or hope apart 
 From which he could not claim a share, 
 His happiness was all my care; 
 And now the thought, the memory 
 Of all he was and is to me 
 Make dear and holier' my pride, 
 Since he fell sick in camp and died. 
 
 Yes, I was very proud of him, 
 
 For love a mother's eyes can dim 
 
 To youth's light flow of passing dross, 
 
 And only see its brighter gloss. 
 
 Be merciful, forgive O God ! 
 
 I might have blessed, yea kissed the rod, 
 
 Could I have gone and knelt beside 
 
 His cot and prayed before he died. 
 
 66 
 
MUSTERED OUT. 
 
 I'm dying, O comrade, but hasten, 
 Our thinned ranks are yielding I fear 
 
 What sound is that yonder? O listen — 
 The enemy's cannor are near. 
 
 But hark! now our guns are replying, 
 Their thunder grows louder each shot; 
 
 Say comrade, its just as well dying 
 Out here as on hospital cot. 
 
 Hasten forward, O comrade, but tarry 
 A moment, I've something to say, 
 
 A message, I hope you will carry, 
 Tell them of the battle today. 
 
 My faint heart is scarcely beating 
 But listen, they shout, they shout ; 
 
 Thank God, it's the foe that's retreating 
 Let me now be mustered out. 
 
 67 
 
THE NEW RECRUIT. 
 
 Father I am old enough to help fill up the ranks 
 Weakened by assaults upon the rebel front and 
 
 flanks; 
 All the boys will welcome me with chorus of thanks 
 Coming to help save the union. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Hurrah, hurrah, here comes a new recruit, 
 Hurrah, hurrah, he looks so resolute, 
 Drest in regimentals blue as any yankee's suit, 
 Coming to help save the union. 
 
 Many of my school-mates now are learning how to 
 
 play 
 War's red game, so they'll know how to fight and 
 
 win the day; 
 Father now I want to go and join them in the fray, 
 Willing to help save the union. 
 
 When the charge is sounded by the bugle's wildest 
 
 note, 
 Forward to the battlement, across yon deadly moat, 
 I will mount the rampart or my young life will 
 devote 
 Trying to help save the union. 
 
 Go, my son, it is your duty, go, the country's weal, 
 And the nation's honor to our loyalty appeal, 
 Fathers should thank God for sons whose young 
 hearts are so leal, 
 Wanting to help save the union. 
 
 68 
 
Write your name, his mother said, within your tes- 
 tament. 
 Letter of your company, and of which regiment 
 Heart of soldier boys have ned of grace for shelter 
 tent 
 While they are saving the Union. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Hurrah, hurah, here comes a new recruit, 
 Hurrah, hurrah, he looks so resolute, 
 Drest in regimentals blue as any yankee suit, 
 Coming to help save the Union. 
 
 69 
 
DOWN TO THE SEA. 
 
 The rebels, the old and decrepit, 
 
 Too feeble to carry a gun, 
 Would say to us boys, make-believing, 
 
 They said so just sort of in fun : 
 Why Sherman must surely be crazy, 
 
 Or else on a mighty big spree. 
 To think of such madness, and folly, 
 
 As marching right down to the sea. 
 
 We told them by thunder, he'd do it, 
 
 Or else learn some good reason why, 
 That Sherman was sane, nor go tipsy 
 
 By drinking too much of old rye ; 
 But so all may know it hereafter, 
 
 We'll blaze each wild juniper tree. 
 Put guide-boards with plain Yankee reading, 
 
 "Here Sherman marched down to the sea." 
 
 They asked about Lincoln, remarking. 
 
 He might do for ruler up north, 
 But wasn't a watch for Jeff Davis 
 
 In planning campaigns and so forth ; 
 Then shaking their wise heads they reckoned, 
 
 That doomsday would most likely be 
 Well on toward noon at Savannah 
 
 When Sherman got down to the sea. 
 
 We told them great Lincoln was truly 
 
 A giant in wisdom and deed, 
 And hated rebellion's false banner 
 
 Emblazoned with secession's creed ; 
 And you fellows will know when the darkeys 
 
 Sing songs of the new jubilee, 
 That Sherman has marched from Atlanta 
 
 Through Georgia right down to the sea. 
 
 70 
 
Now go tell your brother confederates 
 
 What we so good humoredly say, 
 So they can go 'long, sort of keeping 
 
 A safe distance out of the way ; 
 And tell them so they will not miss us 
 
 To track-up the wild honey-bee 
 For getting a taste of our victuals 
 
 It follows us down to the sea. 
 
 And then for a lesson in morals, 
 
 And precepts of loyalty too, 
 We pointed aloft to our banner 
 
 So fair with its red, white, and blue ; 
 We told them to show to their children, 
 
 And keep for their posterity 
 Land-marks of .this highway — and reason, 
 
 Why Sherman marched down to the sea. 
 
 71 
 
THE BALLS THAT MISSED 
 
 The wife was reading his letter, 
 
 It told in a soldier's way 
 About the scenes of the battle 
 
 Was fought just the other day. 
 
 He told of the dead and wounded, 
 A thousand or more, and now 
 
 Of himself, and the many dangers 
 Escaped, God only knows how. 
 
 The name at the bottom she pressed it 
 Close to her lips, till a tear 
 Fell down on the paper and blessed it, 
 To love consecrated and dear. 
 
 Again it all is read over, 
 
 How foolishly, she said, to weep, 
 
 He's safe, and our cherub, baby, 
 Lies smiling there in its sleep, 
 
 Then going toward the bureau, 
 The letter again she kissed, 
 
 And said, as she open the drawer, 
 Thank God for the balls that missed. 
 
 72 
 
ALL THE SUMMER. 
 
 The continent with war was rent, 
 
 And there was constant rattle 
 Of shot and shell that rain like fell 
 
 And thunder of the battle. 
 
 While mothers prayed the war-horse neighed, 
 
 And fretfully kept prancing; 
 The land was red, still there was tread 
 
 Of marshalled hosts advancing. 
 
 'Bove friend and foe the carrion crow 
 
 Now back and forth kept flying, 
 To feed and fare alighted where 
 
 The mangled dead were lying. 
 
 Now three long years of hopes and fear, 
 
 And still the strife not ended, 
 For evenly as scale could be. 
 
 The battle hung suspended. 
 
 At last the spell of sad death knell 
 
 Any agony is broken, 
 The nation heard the fateful word 
 
 An oracle has spoken. 
 
 But o'er the land rang Grant's command, 
 "Beat up the charge there, drummer, 
 
 I'll fight it out, the foe will rout, 
 If it takes all the summer." 
 
 73 
 
BALM FROM GILEAD. 
 
 If there's balm still sweet and healing 
 
 In the ancient Gilead, 
 Can make whole the broken hearted, 
 
 Make the troubled spirit glad ; 
 Load your wings with healing balsam 
 
 O ye winds of Orient ! 
 And speed hither like plumed arrow 
 
 On its swiftest mission sent. 
 
 Mourners with sad eyes are weeping, 
 
 Cheeks with burning tears are wet, 
 And on lips once softly breathing 
 
 Agony its seal hath set ; 
 O the ancient days how blessed 
 
 When earth's weary children had 
 For their aching hearts and bosoms 
 
 Healing balm from Gilead. 
 
 Do not tarry at Damascus, 
 
 Ye swift coursers of the air, 
 We will wait, wait for your coming 
 
 And the goodly gifts you bear; 
 Then no bosom need have sorrow. 
 
 Never heart again be sad, 
 When these messengers come bearing 
 
 Healing balm from Gilead. 
 
 74 
 
THE SHELTER TENT. 
 
 Faintly the camp-fire's embers glow, 
 
 While rudely the breezes of autumn blow 
 
 Over the weary sleeper's bed, 
 
 Which nature's own hand Has kindly spread; 
 
 Sleep, soldier sleep, and be content 
 
 With dreamland beneath your shelter tent. 
 
 Sleep, soldier, sleep, and be content 
 
 With visions so bright 
 
 Which charm and delight 
 In dreamland beneath your shelter tent. 
 
 Visions of home and memories 
 
 Of meadow and field with their clumps of trees 
 
 Borne on the wings of dear delight, 
 
 Come gladden the slumberer's heart tonight; 
 
 Rest, soldier rest, bright dreams are sent 
 
 The soldier beneath his shelter-tent 
 
 Rest, soldier rest, bright dreams are sent. 
 
 As visions to cheer 
 
 With memories dear 
 The soldier beneath his shelter-tent. 
 
 Should you be spared to bo back home, 
 When shadows of night veil the sky's high dome, 
 Far from the scenes of war and strife 
 Asleep by the side of your dear wife, 
 Dream, comrade dream of nights you spent 
 With only the sky for a shelter-tent. 
 
 Dream, comrade dream, of night you spent 
 
 And pillowed your head 
 
 On nature's own bed, 
 With only the sky for a shelter-tent. 
 
 75 
 
THE LAST PARADE. 
 
 It seems long time since we began 
 Our first our forward march 
 
 War's crimson tide with peace to span, 
 And with unbroken arch. 
 
 With freedom's temple now complete 
 
 From pedestal to dome, 
 Our country's thankfulness will greet. 
 
 And welcome us back home. 
 
 The union's saved, our work is done, 
 
 No longer war alarms, 
 With victory and triumph won 
 
 We're ready to stack arms. 
 
 Tonight there'll be no countersign, 
 No grand rounds will be made; 
 
 March proudly to the color line 
 This is our last parade. 
 
 When the redeemed in heaven begin 
 
 Their songs of glory, men, 
 May we be there and all fall in, 
 
 And not break ranks again. 
 
 76 
 
THE LAST MARCH. 
 
 Now our last march is over, 
 
 And our last parade 
 With the brave old battalion 
 
 Today has been made ; 
 No camp-fires will smoulder 
 
 With glimmering light, 
 Nor sentinel guarding 
 
 Will challenge to-night. 
 
 We have tented together, 
 
 And our parched lips have been 
 Often moistened with water 
 
 From the same canteen ; 
 When the musketry rattled 
 
 And the grim cannon pealed, 
 We have dared death together 
 
 On the red battle-field. 
 
 Now the day of our parting 
 
 Dear comrades has come, 
 And the loved ones are waiting 
 
 To welcome us home, 
 Where brown, sunburnt faces 
 
 Will banish the fears, 
 That have filled aching bosoms 
 
 All these long dreadful years. 
 
 Weary marches behind us 
 
 And sound of the drum ; 
 Brighter journeys before us 
 
 Inviting to come, 
 Where the song of the wild-bird 
 
 In meadow and grove, 
 Will be sweet tender anthem 
 
 Of peace and of love. 
 
 77 
 
THE VETERANS. 
 
 Now their limbs are feeble, 
 
 And their step is slow, 
 But they marched with steady- 
 Tramp toward the foe, 
 When the cannon thundered 
 
 And the musketry- 
 Joined its mighty chorus 
 To the battle's glee. 
 
 Up from earth to heaven 
 Rose the tempest's wail, 
 
 Flashed the battle's lightning 
 Rained the iron hail ; 
 
 Death above triumphant 
 Rode upon the gale, 
 
 Gloating o'er the bloody 
 
 Foot-prints on the trail. 
 But they never faltered, 
 
 Never wavered when 
 The command was given, 
 
 Forward, forward men. 
 Charge the front line yonder, 
 
 Charge — then bayonet 
 Gleamed as it was lowered, 
 
 Then with blood was wet. 
 
 From the storm of battle, 
 
 Through the leaden rain 
 They brought back the banner 
 
 Saved, and without stain ; 
 And with brighter luster 
 
 Than it ever wore. 
 Sacred, and far dearer 
 
 Than it was before. 
 
 78 
 
Now the rear-guard only 
 
 Is left on this side 
 Of death's silent river, 
 
 And it waveless tide ; 
 Vanguard of the column 
 
 Has gone on before, 
 Camping over yonder 
 
 On the other shore. 
 
 79 
 
MEMORIAL HYMN. 
 
 In the grave calmly sleep heroes all, 
 
 Till the sound of the trumpet shall call 
 
 The assembly of hosts in the sky, 
 
 Where the banners of peace ever fly 
 
 On the battlements round the white throne 
 
 Let a song now be sung while we stand 
 Round the graves of that patriot band 
 Who have gone in advance on before, 
 As vanguard to the rest of the corps 
 Marching on with quick step in the rear. 
 
 Let a prayer now be said while we kneel 
 So the balm of its blessing may heal 
 Wounded hearts of their sorrow and pain ; 
 For the clanking of love's broken chain 
 Is still heard everywhere in the land. 
 
 When you come with your wreaths softly tread 
 Round their graves, sacred graves of the dead ; 
 Come as mourners who weep for the dear 
 Honored sons of the land sleeping here, 
 Where no sentinel's challenge is heard. 
 
 Bring your gifts of sweet flowers and lay 
 On each grave a bright garland today, 
 In remembrance and love of them all 
 Who have gone at the mandate and call 
 Of the mighty arch-angel of God. 
 
 May the service so solemn today 
 Be a lesson remembered alway, 
 And become of such lasting renown 
 As to be year by year handed down 
 To the far generations unborn. 
 
 80 
 
A FLAG OF TRUCE. 
 
 Bright June day, and windy too ; 
 
 From her head quick as could be 
 Nancy Jane's sun-bonnet flew, 
 
 Lodged high up in a thorn tree. 
 
 Girl bare-headed, passing fair, 
 
 Looking up toward the sky 
 Sees her bonnet, in despair, 
 
 What else could she do, but cry. 
 
 John while plowing corn near by 
 
 Couldn't help the scene to view, 
 Bachelor he was, and shy 
 
 Of the pesky women crew. 
 
 Haw, there, gee, well dang it whoa 
 
 News 'ill fly right up to town 
 If I don't just stop, and go, 
 
 Get that girl's old bonnet down. 
 
 Mornin', Miss, right windy day, 
 
 Sort of accident I see ; 
 Couldn't think of more to say, 
 So John scrambles up the tree. 
 
 Here's your bonnet, thanky sir, 
 
 Taking it, said Nancy Jane ; 
 John just nods his head to her, 
 
 Then starts off to work again. 
 
 Why, look how you've scratched your hands 
 On them thorns, the ugly things! 
 
 Wait, I'll tie them up with bands 
 Made out of my bonnet strings. 
 
 81 
 
So she did, and when he felt 
 Touch of her soft fingers, law! 
 
 John's heart just began to melt 
 Like ice does of sudden thaw. 
 
 What might follow, seems so plain, 
 Doesn't need remarks at all ; 
 
 That is, John and Nancy Jane, 
 They got married in the fall. 
 
 Joy stays round awhile and sings 
 
 Nicest kind of little tunes, 
 All 'bout thorns and bonnet-strings, 
 
 Wedding bells, and honey-moons. 
 
 Didn't last long, came this way, 
 
 John said, wasn't any use 
 Wasting whole of winter day, 
 
 Just to roast a Christmas goose. 
 
 Nancy Jane, said, you blind owl! 
 
 Ought to know, you stupid men ; 
 Can't cook done a swimmin' fowl 
 
 Soon as you can bake a hen ! 
 
 After this they fuss and jaw 
 
 Almost every day, and my 
 With gall bilin' in each craw, 
 
 How they both can argufy. 
 
 They have fracasas and fights, 
 
 And a score of family -ails; 
 He said, how she scratched him nights 
 
 With her blasted long toe-nails. 
 
 Nancy Jane said, you low clown ! 
 
 Why, your nasty, whiskey breath, 
 Nights when you come home from town, 
 
 Nearly pizens me to death. 
 
 82 
 
Just like when war had begun, 
 Both sides game up to the eyes, 
 
 Not a bit would ary one 
 
 Give an inch, or compromise. 
 
 While their love was needing rain 
 In these times of parching drouth, 
 
 Words are bandied twixt these twain 
 Hot enough to burn the mouth. 
 
 Wedlock's craft has stormy sea, 
 
 Looked sometimes like nothing could 
 
 Save the union, lest 'twould be 
 Battle-cry of baby-hood. 
 
 Whether it was to condemn, 
 Or blot out their many sins, 
 
 Anyway, to live with them 
 
 Came a pair of bloomin' twins. 
 
 Hope shines out in wedlock's sky, 
 Love's pent waters all break loose, 
 
 For these blessed babies' cry 
 
 Says, "We bring a flag of truce." 
 
 John said, Nancy Jane, look here, 
 I'll not drink another drop, 
 
 Bet you too, I'll raise next year 
 Best and biggest kind of crop. 
 
 Women folks when they begin 
 
 Sacrificing business can 
 More redeeming battles win, 
 
 Than their fellow soldier, man. 
 
 I'll cut off them long toe-nails, 
 And if nothing else will do. 
 
 Nancy Jane said, if that fails 
 I'll cut off my big toes too. 
 
 83 
 
Joy comes now on golden wings 
 Every morning at sunrise 
 
 Sings of baby bonnet strings, 
 Trills the sweetest lullabys. 
 
 Now with covers well tucked in, 
 These two fond and happy sprites, 
 
 Each one hugging close a twin, 
 Sweetly sleep, and snore of nights 
 
 84 
 
THE LAST TATTOO. 
 
 Gone the sunlight of the morning, 
 
 Hushed the sound of reveille, 
 Autumn years are swiftly passing. 
 
 Faded leaves hang on the tree. 
 Of the nation's mighty legions 
 
 To its banner ever true, 
 Just a remnant left, and waiting, 
 
 Waiting for the last tattoo. 
 
 Let the sword within the scabbard 
 Stay and rust with mouldy dew, 
 
 And the bayonet's bright gleaming, 
 Let its blade have tarnished hue, 
 
 For the great arch'-angel's trumpet 
 Soon will sound the last tattoo. 
 
 Fall the shadows of the twilight 
 
 On the valley and the hill ; 
 From the grove comes vesper anthem 
 
 Of the lonely whippoorwill. 
 Ranks are broken, slow and halting 
 
 Is the step of weary feet. 
 While the far off drums and bugle 
 
 Sound the sunset call, retreat. 
 
 Through the gloom of night and darkness 
 
 Comes the sound of curfew bell, 
 But no word of hasty challenge 
 
 Comes from guard or sentinel. 
 Of the nation's mighty legions 
 
 To its banner ever true, 
 Just a remnant left, and waiting, 
 
 Waiting for the last tattoo. 
 
 Let the sword within the scabbard 
 Stay and rust with mouldy dew, 
 
 And the bayonet's bright gleaming, 
 Let its blade have tarnished hue; 
 
 For the great archangel's trumpet 
 Soon will sound the last tattoo. 
 85 
 
LONG AGO. 
 
 As brothers now they meet 
 
 Who once with hurried feet 
 Rushed forward to the charge as friend and foe : 
 
 Where 'mid the battle's smoke 
 
 Fell shot and saber stroke. 
 Till wet and crimson was the ground below. 
 
 But that was long ago. 
 
 Hushed is the bugle's note, 
 
 While 'long the deadly moat 
 The wild rose-bush and dandelions grow, 
 
 Whose leaves of living green, 
 
 And blossoms' brighter sheen, 
 Have paler luster and still softer glow 
 
 Than fires of long ago. 
 
 As passing years go by 
 
 The heart-ache and the sigh 
 Are healed and hushed, sad hearts forget their woe, 
 
 And thrill again with love 
 
 Of summer skies above, 
 And from soft eyes hot tears no longer flow 
 
 For grief of long ago. 
 
 86 
 
FLOWERS FOR THE DEAD. 
 
 The royal robed and balmy spring 
 Comes back again with garnished wing; 
 It brings the living full delight 
 Of all that's fairest to the sight, 
 With skies of azure overhead ; 
 But flowers only for the dead. 
 
 Through all the wide range of the wood, 
 Beside the streamlet's crystal flood. 
 And by the pathway at your feet, 
 Are flowers fair and flowers sweet; 
 Step softly now nor rudely tread, 
 These flowers here are for the dead. 
 
 With banners draped, a mournful train, 
 We march to music's solemn strain, 
 And bring these garlands here to lay 
 Them on these honored graves today; 
 The grief, the sigh, the warm tears shed, 
 And flowers sweet are for the dead. 
 
 87 
 
SONS OF VETERANS. 
 
 Sons of scarred veterans 
 
 Your duty ever 
 To guard from hostile clans 
 
 The country's banner; 
 Yours is the high birth-right 
 To keep it red and white, 
 And blue with luster bright, 
 
 Stainless forever. 
 
 Emblem of Liberty, 
 
 Boys keep it ever 
 Waving on hill and lea, 
 
 By lake and river; 
 Let no accursed bar 
 Sinister soil and mar 
 Its folds, but let each star 
 
 Shine on forever. 
 
 In the far future should 
 
 Traitors endeavor 
 States from their sister-hood 
 
 Try to disever; 
 Shout and sing with high glee 
 Songs of the jubilee, 
 And let your war cry be 
 
 "Union Forever." 
 
 88 
 
MISS HELEN GRAY. 
 
 In Clifton town Miss Helen Gray, 
 
 An only daughter and the pride 
 
 Of doting parents did abide, 
 
 And in Love's court held rule and sway. 
 
 Her beauty was of rarest cast, 
 Fair as the flowers of early spring, 
 A bright, fantastic airy thing, 
 Yet far too frail of mold to last. 
 
 So skilled and cultured in the arts 
 Of kindling love's consuming flame, 
 She well deserved the royal name, 
 And homage too of queen of hearts. 
 
 Of suitors who so thronged the hall 
 Of this fair goddess so divine, 
 To kneel and worship at her shrine 
 I was devoutest saint of all. 
 
 Her sire low-born, now held high rank, 
 And was a sort of mandarin 
 Among the lucky ones that win. 
 For he had stock in Clifton bank. 
 
 That should be naught to me or her, 
 My sires were equal, they had pride, 
 And spirit hot as molten tide, 
 And haughty mien as Lucifer. 
 
 She was my senior by two years, 
 But in love's craft and mystic lore 
 She would out-number me a score, 
 And leave me still far in arrears. 
 
 89 
 
Miss Helen Gray now undertook 
 My schooling, and sought to impart 
 Such learning as improves the heart 
 My own an unthumbed primer book. 
 
 I conned the precious lessons given, 
 And in my dreams would oft repeat 
 The phrases, words, and language sweet, 
 While I seemed mounting up to heaven. 
 
 Sometimes she let me kiss — the tips 
 Of her soft fingers, and by Jove, 
 I would have given a whole drove 
 Of donkeys to have kissed her lips. 
 
 Each day I thought her more divine, 
 And grew into the fond belief 
 She wanted to, and would as lief 
 As not, and rather too, be mine. 
 
 One evening when the twilight lent 
 
 A tinge of sadness to the heart, 
 
 She asked, why should dear friends e'er part, 
 
 This parting then so long lament. 
 
 She spoke with tremor and a sigh 
 About the hopes of coming years 
 The joys foreshadowed, and the fears 
 That pass like ugly phantoms by. 
 
 My long delay I then did chide 
 In keeping such a loving heart, 
 So long and far from mine apart, 
 And moved up closer by her side. 
 
 O what a world of rapture lies 
 
 In love's first dream ! O could we keep 
 
 The fond illusion till the peep 
 
 Of judgment dawns in the skies. 
 
 90 
 
I said dear Helen it is wrong, 
 
 The fairest flowers that bloom to cull. 
 
 Then let the fragrant odors lull 
 
 The heart to sleep and doubts prolong. 
 
 How dearer far to me than life 
 I told her she had daily grown, 
 And asked her, would she be my own, 
 Beloved, and ever loving wife. 
 
 She gazed, and stared, and looked as queer, 
 
 As saint or demon petrified, 
 
 Then hitched a little from my side, 
 
 And said with sort of devil's sneer: 
 
 Why ! O dear me what have I done ! 
 That you your love should now unfold 
 To me whose heart is icy cold, 
 Indeed ! I only was in fun. 
 
 Don't let the tears put out your eyes, 
 This hope, and trust, and love are toys, 
 For silly girls and foolish boys 
 To get, and lose e'er they grow wise. 
 
 My head was in a dizzy whirl 
 As I walked home and thought how soon 
 Some other youth would come and croon 
 His love-song to that Clifton girl. 
 
 That night I had unquiet sleep, 
 Unearthly dreams did me appall ! 
 Next day the news of Sumpter's fall 
 Made other eyes grow sad and weep. 
 
 All day above the busy hum 
 Of trade and traffic in the street, 
 Was heard the tramp of marching feet, 
 And roll and rattle of the drum. 
 
 91 
 
We boys smooth face and ruddy then, 
 
 When we came back in sixty-five, 
 
 I mean the few who were alive, 
 
 Were full-grown, bronzed and bearded men. 
 
 Somehow, and with a modest grace 
 The dear, true-hearted, lovely girls 
 Would brush aside their sunny curls, 
 And smile upon each sun-burnt face. 
 
 One of the fairest ,and to me 
 The best is now my own dear wife ; 
 Her love and trust have made my life 
 Happy as life on earth can be. 
 
 We have a darling girl and boy 
 To romp and frolic by our side, 
 And these are all a mother's pride, 
 Alike they are a father's joy. 
 
 Last Sunday afternoon as we 
 Walked home from church, and chatted on 
 The sermon preached from good St. John, 
 My wife turned round and said to me: 
 
 Who was that sat by Irene Smith? 
 Looked like a forlorn, castaway 
 Old sweetheart of a former day, 
 Whom some bad man has trifled with. 
 
 You mean the one on which decay 
 Is feeding fast with greedy tooth, 
 The one with faded bloom and youth, 
 Why dear that was Miss Helen Gray. 
 
 92 
 
OUTWARD BOUND. 
 
 The ship sails out of the harbor's mouth, 
 
 Sails out on the wide blue sea, 
 The wind, a soft breath from the balmy south 
 
 Is gentle, as breeze can be ; 
 Afloat on the wave like a fair white swan 
 The ship outward-bound on its course sails on. 
 
 A beautiful thing, yet how frail of wing 
 
 To span with its onward sweep 
 Across the dark gulf of the rioting 
 
 Wild waves of the stormy deep ; 
 And bear the glad tidings of joy afar 
 From lands of the morning and evening star. 
 
 The city sinks down till its domes and spires 
 
 Seems resting low on the shore ; 
 Now fainter and fainter their sun-lit fires 
 
 Just gleam and are seen no more ; 
 The blue sky above, and the sea below 
 Whose dark troubled waters forever flow. 
 
 One day and afar, on the billows' crest, 
 
 A lonely thing seems to lie, 
 Like wave-washed plumage of sea-bird's breast, 
 
 Cloud-spot on the low down sky; 
 Now measured and nearer — a ship's white sail, 
 Have fair winds sped you, O good ship hail! 
 
 A stranger or friend ; how the lonely deep 
 Makes kindred of hearts that brave 
 
 The dangers scarce lulled to unquiet sleep 
 On bosom of faithless wave : 
 
 Ships meet on the sea as we meet on land 
 
 They part and pass onward to distant strand. 
 
 Our life is a sea, we are outward bound, 
 
 Our haven the land of rest ; 
 O may our far voyage with joy be crowned, 
 
 Our hearts with glad welcome blest, 
 Then laden with goodness and cleansed from sin, 
 May Pilot be waiting to lead us in. 
 
 93 
 
BENNY'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 His mother's one joy was her dear darling boy, 
 
 Her Benny, a lad nearly grown ; 
 But early in May this dear boy ran away, 
 
 And left his poor mother alone. 
 
 He found work to do with a boat-loading crew, 
 
 Somewhere in a small river town ; 
 The white fog would stay half the long summer day 
 
 Then liking the place settle down. 
 
 Along in the fall time the hairy-worms crawl, 
 
 Poor Benny alas came to grief, 
 With cold ague-chill he was taken so ill, 
 
 He shook like a wind-beaten leaf. 
 
 Alone on his cot, he bemoans his sad lot, 
 
 And wishes he never had seen 
 This queer river town where the fog settles down, 
 
 And water in summer turns green. 
 
 'Twixt fever and chill after taking a pill, 
 His thoughts back to mother would roam, 
 
 So best way he could as a poor fellow would, 
 He traveled on slow journey home 
 
 One late autumn day as he shivering lay, 
 
 And pale as a ghost on his bed, 
 After breathing a sigh with a tear in his eye, 
 
 And quivering lips Benny said : 
 
 O mother dear pray for your Benny and say 
 
 He never had ague before, 
 And if he don't die, but gets well by and by, 
 
 He won't runaway any more. 
 
 94