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 PRICE 30 CENTS. 
 
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 IZABETH 
 
 
 WAR SONG 
 
 FOR SALE BY 
 
 ^ DE WITT OWEN. PUB. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 -a. '^J^TJh^ZEl S03SrC3-. 
 
 "THE PATRIOT." 
 
 ^APRie 
 
 POET BYRON, ILL.: 
 
 Port Byron " Globe " Print. 
 1886. 
 
^ty 
 
 Copyright applied for, March 8. 1886. 
 
 6', l^\ d^UL 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 fO this work of leisure moments, the wri- 
 ter of the following lines craves the 
 approTal of the brave, the attention of the 
 fair, and the lenient criticism of the wise. 
 In the best work ever written faults may 
 be found; there may be many such in this 
 work; but we hope that it may fulfil its 
 mission of calling attention to the deeds 
 of the brave women who cared for the 
 soldier, of the soldier who cared for his 
 country, and of those who, though they 
 did not shoulder the musket, yet helped 
 and served at home their loved country. 
 
 Hoping that this work may afford pleas- 
 ure and profit to all, we iffive it to the public. 
 
 "THE PATRIOT." 
 POBT Btron. III., March 15th, 1886. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 A WAR SONG. 
 
 PRELUDE- 
 
 6)>Ce)IJL'D are the thouo^tits that are floating 
 
 ^<S to-ni^ht, 
 
 Through tne dark world with its sorrow 
 
 and rare; 
 Solemn the soul deprived of its miii^ht, 
 Wandering and seekini? alone for the li^jht, 
 Through the dun war-clouds that obscure 
 
 the day. 
 Day of loved peace and of freedom so 
 
 fair 
 
 All is a medley. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 fHEKE, in the midst of our Country, 
 ^ By the smooth Mississippi's flood. 
 In a quiet little village, 
 Dwelt the fair Elizabeth. 
 Beautiful in form and feature, 
 Dark her eyes, and many ringlets 
 Crowned a noble, penciled forehead. 
 But not these her only beauty, — 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 These indeed are worthless tiifles. 
 When not joined witli better graces — 
 Sweet that soul from her eyes beaming; 
 Gentle, beautiful her actions; 
 All her speech seemed sweetest music; 
 All her life seemed a perfection. 
 
 Bj^ the quiet waters, rolling 
 On forever in their channels, 
 Lay the little village, dream-like, 
 As if placed there by a fairy. 
 Woods primeval lay around it, 
 Deep and dark, tlie home of wild birds, 
 Wherein hoary trees were raising 
 High their heads toward the heaven, 
 And the squirrel, playful, skipping. 
 Found a home, safe from intruders. 
 Green, beneath the trees, the grasses 
 Grew and flourished for the cattle 
 Seeking shade beneath the branches. 
 But, deep in the wooded valleys. 
 Scarce a sound disturbed the silence; 
 Only sunbeams and tne flowers 
 Were there to refresh the wand'rer 
 Seeking rest from earthly turmoil. 
 There, once, in his warlike freedom. 
 Roamed the Indian, now departed; 
 There, once, in her graceful beauty, 
 Roamed the wild deer, also vanished: 
 These, departing, left behind them 
 But the memory of ages, 
 Wliich are gone and gone forever. 
 
 On the riyer's shore a mansion 
 Raised its walls of massive thickness; 
 On the hill above the village 
 
A WAR SONG. 
 
 Stood a weather-beaten cottage, 
 'Neath the branches of the wild oaks, 
 Interhicing with each other. 
 Whispering in the gentle breezes. 
 Shrieking in the howling tempest. 
 Sobbing in the driving rainstorm, 
 Sheltering the feathered songsters, 
 Which among the branches reveled; 
 While the pigeons, softly cooing 
 On the roof-tree of the cottage, 
 Talked of love with shining pinions, 
 Like their own, so soft and downy, 
 Which, though smooth and all unruffled, 
 May at times be torn and broken. 
 In this cottage lived a couple. 
 Old and gray; their tottering footsteps 
 Slowly marching to the grave; 
 Leaning on the arm of William, 
 He, their son, so strong, so noble, 
 Thev were waiting, hopeful Christians. 
 Waiting for the welcome summons 
 Which should call them from their labor- 
 In the cottage Uved a poor man. 
 In the mansion lived one wealthy; 
 In the cottage, noble William, 
 In the mansion lived his loved one, 
 Lived Elizabetli, his loved one. 
 
 Also lived there by the village, 
 In a huge, old oaken farm-house. 
 With its gables and its shutters, 
 One, Urania, fair and thoughtless. 
 Full of mirth and sparkling nonsense. 
 Loving much to wander idly, 
 In the pastures and the woodlands, 
 With the singing birds and flowers. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 Oft adown the winding pathways. 
 
 By the sparkling, dashing brooklet, 
 
 Listening, singing, dreaming, gazing 
 
 At the water and the pebbles. 
 
 While the Robin, hoppinff near her, 
 
 Peered upon her from his covert, 
 
 And the rabbit, startled, leaping 
 
 Slowly down the beaten pathway. 
 
 Stopped to gaze in silence at her, 
 
 Wandered sne without companion. 
 
 Often, als0, wandered with her. 
 
 Calm Elizabeth, who, smiling. 
 
 Listened to her idle chatter. 
 
 Friends were they from early childhood; 
 
 One so true, so strong, so gentle, 
 
 One so idle, full of passion; 
 
 Both, one evening, walked the pathway 
 
 Leading backward from the river. 
 
 In the pasture by the streamlet. 
 
 Ah, that scene was one of beauty. 
 
 Fit, indeed, for painter's pencil! 
 
 Calmly fell the evening sunlight, 
 
 Gh)wing from the western hilltops, 
 
 On the cornfields in the distance, 
 
 On the short and yellow stubble, 
 
 On the clouds, piled up in masses, 
 
 Over in the eastern heavens, 
 
 liike the high and grand old castles 
 
 Built upon the rocky summits 
 
 Of the mountains, which, in legend 
 
 Of the old and warlike ages, 
 
 A.re described to us, the children. 
 
 Of the noblemen who built them. 
 
 On the tree-top sang the brown thrush. 
 
 Homeward browsed tlie lazy cattle. 
 
 While the darkness slowly gathered 
 
A WAR SONG. 
 
 In the forest's deep recesses. 
 
 Neither of these friends were dreaming. 
 
 That too soou these idle wanderings 
 
 All would cease, and separation 
 
 Part these hearts so well united. 
 
 O, sweet Friendship, softly fallino; 
 
 On the hearts of wandering mortals, 
 
 Blessing all with soft influence, 
 
 Brine:ing joy into the households 
 
 Of the low and high; thy blessings, 
 
 Like the sound of sweetest music 
 
 Floating in the air of heaven, 
 
 From the angel choirs tailing 
 
 On our souls when we are dreaming, 
 
 Are the bonds that surely bind us 
 
 To each other and to heayen! 
 
 Bonds of friendship, snapped asunder. 
 
 Are not quickly reunited. 
 
 Hand in hand these maidens wandered 
 
 Till the evening dews were falling: 
 
 Then, returning homeward, happy, 
 
 Parted ere the darkness, coming, 
 
 Wrapped the landscape in its shadows. 
 
 Days of joy 
 
 Pass away. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 .RING, O Muse, the inspiration 
 
 -^9-^ To my heait, that what is written 
 May resound and ring forever. 
 Till the doors of time will open 
 And admit eternal spirits 
 To their final destination. 
 
 Manhood comes, and with it wisdom; 
 Womanhood, and with it passion. 
 
10 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Childhood da3^s are full ot pleasure; 
 Youthful days are full of waiting. 
 Manhood's prime is str©n^ endeayor; 
 xV^e, again, is quiet waiting — 
 Thus the wheel of time is turning. 
 
 la the evening, by the moonlight, 
 Walked two lovers, young and happy. 
 Dreaming not of years of sorrow. 
 Dreaming not of years of parting. 
 Only thinkhig of tJie future, 
 Painting it in glowing colors: 
 He, in form, erect and manly; 
 She, as graceful as the rain-dove; 
 He, so strong, so true, so tender; 
 She, so beautiful, so faithful — 
 And it seemed as though the heavens 
 Smiled upon them, full of blessings, 
 O, 'tis sweet at eve to wander, 
 As the darkness draws around you, 
 With a gentle, l^ved companion, 
 Whose sweet soul with yours is knitted, 
 In whose heart and mind a likeness, 
 Suited to your own, is blended 
 With a thousand other graces! 
 And near by them walked a couple, 
 One of whom in gloomy silence 
 Watched the lovers, heedless list'ning 
 ^ To the words ©f her companion. 
 Fond Urania, light and happy. 
 Felt a jealous hatred growing 
 In lier heart against the maiden. 
 Who had won the love ot William — 
 William true, and strong and manly. 
 Smiled the heavens blue above them; 
 Bnght the stars shone in their orbits; 
 
A WAR SONG. 11 
 
 And the moon, in calm effulgence, 
 Seemed to glow with sacred beauty. 
 Hanging in a sky unclouded. 
 Then a mass of misty darkness. 
 Rising from the western heayens, 
 Climbed al®ng on heaven's arches. 
 Till the moon and stars were hidden. 
 *'Like that cloud-mist I shall darken 
 Their bright dreams of love and future!" 
 Thus Urania thought while gazing 
 Up toward the clwuding heayens. 
 Then a muttered growl of thunder 
 Seemed to warn her from her purpose; 
 And when kindly she was rallied 
 By Elizabeth at parting, 
 Who had marked her gloomy silence. 
 All the kind w^ords to her spoken 
 Seemed to pierce her heart like sword- 
 thrusts. 
 
 Would you knew the words which William 
 
 Spoke at parting with his loved one? 
 
 You must ask 3^our own fond fancy, 
 
 You must listen to the night-wind, 
 
 You must ask the whispering tree-leaves. 
 
 Now, Urania, jealous, watchful. 
 
 Sought a way to separate them; 
 
 Whispered evil stories to her; 
 
 Laughed and t©ld him that a lover, 
 
 Other than himself, was suing 
 
 For the hand of his affianced. 
 
 William laughed, would not believe her. 
 
 But the father of his fair one, 
 
 Rich in lands, proud of his riches. 
 
 Full of wrath heard from Urauia 
 
 All the story of their wooing; 
 
i2 ELIZABETH. 
 
 And he swore, by all the powers, 
 That his daughter ne'er should marry 
 Any beggar howe'er noble. 
 Calling, then, to him his daughter. 
 Fair Elizabeth, the faithful. 
 Stern commands he laid upon her, 
 Ne'er again to see that beggar. 
 Ne'er again to converse with him. 
 If she woidd avoid his anger. 
 But Ehzabeth, though mutely, 
 Heard she all his stern reproaches. 
 In her heart resolved that never 
 Any other hand but William's 
 Should clasp her hand as a lover. 
 Therefore William was forbidden. 
 By her stern and irate father, 
 E'en to speak or converse with her. 
 Proudly William gazed upon him. 
 And as haughtily addressed him: 
 "Whether willing or unwilling. 
 You permit me or forbid me. 
 If your daughter loves, respects me, 
 Neither vou, nor hell, nor devils 
 Can forbid our future union." 
 
 Tlien, Elizabeth, forbidden, 
 E'en to walk beyond the garden. 
 Told her grief unto Urania, 
 Never dreaming that she fondled 
 On her pure and trusting bosom 
 The false serpent which had stung her. 
 And Urania, false to friendship, 
 Sympathizing, but exulting, 
 Promised, secretly, to carry 
 Messaa-es between the lovers. 
 And Elizabeth, so faithful, 
 
A WAR SONG. 13 
 
 Wrote a note unto her lover, 
 
 Breathing naui^ht but trust and favor, 
 
 Promising, wnate'erher father 
 
 Said ©r did, she would be fnithful. 
 
 But this note whs ne'er delivered. 
 
 And Urania, sympathizing, 
 
 Softly speaking, artful, weeping, 
 
 Went to William to console him. 
 
 Proffered him her kindest service 
 
 And he also wrote a letter 
 
 Breathing naught but trust and fervor. 
 
 Which was also not delivered. 
 
 Hastening went the false Urania 
 
 To Elizabeth and told her 
 
 William had received the letter, 
 
 But had deigned to give no answer. 
 
 Shocked, surprised, and never dreaming 
 
 That she wept upon the bosom 
 
 Of a false and scheming traitress, 
 
 Fair Elizabeth was saddened. 
 
 Then Urania went to William, 
 
 Bearing yet another message 
 
 From Elizabeth, the faithful; 
 
 And she told him that his loved one 
 
 Languidly had read his letter, 
 
 And had told her to intorm him 
 
 She obeyed her father's wishes. 
 
 Thus Urania stirred up evil; 
 
 Thus her jealous heart compelled her. 
 
 Changed was William in his manner. 
 
 Seeking to avoid companions, 
 
 Walking often in the silence 
 
 Of the evening twilight, lonely. 
 
 By the silent rolling river. 
 
 Till the moon rose o'er the hill-tops, 
 
14 ELIZABETH, 
 
 Casting ©n the silent water 
 Giant shadows, dark and ghostly. 
 Thus, one evening in the springtime, — 
 Spring, with scented, balmy breezes, 
 With its singing birds and flowers, — 
 William walked down by the river. 
 Near the mansion of his loved one. 
 Sad and thoughtful were his musings,. 
 While he gazed upo.n the water 
 As it sobbed upc^n the pebbles. 
 *'0, thou grand and silent river. 
 Dost thou sympathize with mortals?"' 
 Seemed a voice to speak within him; 
 But the river answered n«>thing, 
 As it rolled its splashing waters. 
 '^'Truly man's life is a riveiv 
 Sometimes troubled with a storm-cloud. 
 Sometimes peaceful, smooth, unruffled I 
 I could leap into thy b®som; 
 But I scoruy in any sorrow,. 
 Those who seek in death a solace.'' 
 As he listened^ on the breezes 
 Came a sweet voice saftly singing: 
 
 "Why, my dear ©ne, hast thou left me 
 
 All alone to weep and die? 
 Why, O^ why hast thou bereft me 
 
 Of that love for which I sigh?" 
 Thus the tones in sweetest cadence 
 Rose and fell upon the breezes. 
 "Friends are false, and I am weary 
 
 Of this sad and heavy load; 
 Pleasant days to me are dreary, 
 
 Lite seems but an endless road." 
 
 Then it ceased, and William, weeping. 
 Bowed his head in silent anguish, — 
 
A WAR SONG, 15 
 
 For he knew that voice, — and raising 
 Up his right hand to the heavens. 
 Vowed that he some day should win her. 
 
 And hope, like the flowers of mornin^^, 
 Bloomed afresh in his o'erburdened breast; 
 yweet hope, which blesses sad mortals 
 Even till they take their long rest, 
 
 CANTO III, 
 
 ^;^0W the war^ in growling thunder, 
 ^ Burst upon the sleeping nation. 
 Thouglits were changed from peaceful 
 
 cnannels; 
 And in clarion notes the message, 
 ■Calling out the strong-armed freemen. 
 Roused the sons of patriot fathers. 
 Fired, then, was every bosom. 
 As the raartiai clang of music 
 Waked the echoes of the valleys, 
 Swept the heights of rugged mountains, 
 O'er the river billows rolling. 
 Calling, calling to the battle. 
 Hailing now the soaring eagle, 
 Emblem of our grand Republic, 
 As he fiercely screamed his war-notes. 
 
 William, faithful to has country, 
 Hoping in the scenes of warfare 
 To forget his load of trouble. 
 Fearing not to die in battle, 
 Longing much to serve his country. 
 Volunteered, a private soldier. 
 With him plead his aged parents: 
 ■*' Others are there fer the battle, 
 
16 ELIZABETH. 
 
 You, our only clnld, our solace — 
 If you go and die in battle, 
 Who will then support our footsteps. 
 As into the o-rave we totter?'' 
 But he answered calmly, sadly: 
 "If 1 die, it is for freedom; 
 If I live, it is for action; 
 If 1 live or die, my country 
 Calls me to a soldier's duty. 
 Plead not with me, plead not with me; 
 What is life compared with duty?" 
 Then his tather, smiling proudly. 
 Overcoming all emotions, 
 Rose up, like a gray-haired warrior. 
 Saying, "Go, and God go with you, 
 Aid you, bless and keep you safely. 
 And I wish that I were younger. 
 That 1 could march to the battle." 
 When Elizabeth, in silence. 
 Heard that William had enlisted, 
 Weeping, sad, and all unconscious 
 That each day her lover wandered 
 By her home that he might meet her, 
 Thought that he had now forgotten 
 All those vows which thej had taken. 
 And Urania, sympathetic. 
 By her arts and by her beauty, 
 Sought to win the heart of William; 
 But his love once could be given, 
 Once and only once forever. 
 So the days passed, dragging slowly, 
 Till the day of rest, the Sabbath, 
 Brought again its peaceful moments. 
 In the house of worship gathered 
 Were the soldiers; for the morrow 
 Was the day of then- departure 
 
A WAR SONG. 17 
 
 To tiie distant field of battle. 
 And they came once more to listen 
 To the words that fell like music 
 On a torn and wounded spirit. 
 There sat Willi;im with his comrades, 
 In the seats where they, as children, 
 Once had learned of that s»Teat Master, 
 Who had guided all their actions, 
 From their chiIdh©oii to their manhood. 
 And the people of the village 
 Came with sorrow in their bosoms — 
 Came to gaze with admiration 
 On their friends' nnd children's faces. 
 Round that holy altar gathered 
 For the last time in a long time, 
 And perhaps the last forever. 
 With them came in tearless sori-ow 
 Wronged Elizabeth, the faithful. 
 Guarded by a jealous father. 
 Know vou not that eyes are letters. 
 Surer far than any written? 
 Surely, then, these estranged lovers, 
 Head by looks that each the other 
 Still possessed in strong affection. 
 But this hymn the gray- haired preacher 
 Read witn fiery zeal and manner: 
 
 "Am I a soldier of the cross, 
 A follower of the lamb?" 
 
 And the organ, pealing, ringing, 
 Sent the anthem up to heaven. 
 And the soldiers joined in singing. 
 Sang with fervor in their voices. 
 Then the good man knelt, and, praying, 
 Asked tor succor to their country. 
 Prayed for blessings on their soldiers, 
 
1^ ELIZABETH. 
 
 And protection to these children, 
 Who were ffoiu,:? out to battle; 
 And he preached in accents tender, 
 Words that rinc;', and wdl forever. 
 Oft repeated by the as^es, 
 Telling of a future beinsj, 
 Free from care and pain and sorrow, 
 Where no parting ever happens, 
 Where is peace, not war and battle. 
 And he praised the soldier's glory — 
 Glory won in righteous causes — 
 Till their hearts within them bounded, 
 And the morrow was forgotten. 
 •' O, that I could but forget her! " 
 Murmured William as he watched her 
 Sitting by her haughty father. 
 Weeping, praising, and hand-shaking 
 Stirred that little congregation 
 E'er it slowly separated. 
 For a patriotic spirit 
 Stirred the hearts «f all the people; 
 And the old men wished for youthful 
 Strength and vigor for the battle; 
 And the women wished for manhood, 
 That they, too. might shoulder musket. 
 
 But soon came the final morning. 
 When the soldiers left the village; 
 Left those homes, their homes from child- 
 hood ; 
 Left the hills, the creeks and valleys. 
 Where in sport they oft had wandered, 
 Light and happy as the swallow^ 
 Skimming over field and meadow. 
 Sad Elizabeth that morning, 
 Sick and weary with nisrht-watching, — 
 
A WAR SONG. 19 
 
 For no slumber to her eyelids, 
 All that night so lone and dreary, 
 Had come with its soft influence,— 
 Saw the soldiers passing- qnickly, 
 Saw the uprischt form of William 
 As it passed from out her vision. 
 O, ye powers of tlie heavens. 
 Why permit to us such anguish? 
 
 As she walked out in the garden, 
 Tearless, seeking not for comfort, 
 She was startled by a footstep — 
 3t was that of William's mother; 
 In her hand she bore a package; 
 To Elizabeth she gaye it, 
 Then, in silence, started homeward. 
 'Twas a package of mementos 
 Which to William she had given, 
 And a note within it told her 
 That, as she her troth had broken. 
 Had refused to even see him, 
 Nor had deigned to answer letters, 
 He released her from engagement. 
 
 Thus does jealousy 
 
 Cause a world of trouble. 
 Thus does scheming loye 
 
 Make life seem a bubble. 
 War in heart and mind. 
 
 War in steel and blood, 
 Renders conscience blind, 
 
 Till remorse arises in a rushing flood. 
 
■20 . ELIZABETH, 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 ^^OW the fathers, mothers, sisters 
 ^ Calmly waited, eyer praying. 
 For their sons and for their brothers. 
 For their friends who, in the battle. 
 Offered up their lives to Freedom. 
 Wives arose, and ©n their shoulders 
 Took the burdens which their husbands. 
 E'er they marched away, had carried. 
 Noble women drove the reapers, 
 Bound the ij^olden sheaves of harvest. 
 Plowed the corn and made the garden, 
 And, when winter came upon them. 
 Labored often in the forest. 
 Say not, then, that men are braver! 
 Say not, then, that men are stronger! 
 Though their names are unrecorded 
 In the pulilic roll of honor, 
 They deserve as glorious praises 
 As those ancient, noble women 
 Fondly praised in Grecian story. 
 And the glorious God of Heaven 
 Seemed to shield them with his power; 
 For their liomes were bright and cheerful, 
 Though they anxiously awaited 
 News from dear friends in the army. 
 
 And the patriotic freemen, 
 Gathered round their star-lit banner. 
 Marched exultingly to conquer; 
 While their fierce misguided brothers, 
 Just as bravely, from their sunny 
 Homes amidsD the orange flowers. 
 Drew their armies out to meet them. 
 Ah, how beautiful that banner, 
 Union's emblem. Freedom's guardian. 
 
A WAR SONG. 21 
 
 Hecl^«,^ed about with swords and cannon. 
 Torn and rem by traitor bullets, 
 Waving o'er the liery battle 
 And the dreadful scenes of carnaije! 
 In the field the toiling soldier 
 Fouuht for Country, name and honor; 
 While at home the cheerful mother. 
 The fond wife and lovini»' sister, 
 Knitted, sewed and fabricated. 
 Sending clothing to the soldiers, 
 And their blessings with the presents. 
 After marches long and weary, 
 Manv were the tears of welcome 
 Which the strong and faithful sokhers 
 Shed upon these welcome offenngs, 
 Tokens that they were remrembered 
 By their triends in the old home-place. 
 But some never reached then' owners, — 
 Stolen! — be it ever shameful 
 To the dogs that bite in darkness! 
 
 Thus the war, with horrid clashing, 
 Roared and raged from gulf to ocean. 
 Soldiers fell on fields of glory; 
 Some, whose eyes then closed forever; 
 Others wounded, sick and weary. 
 Called for aid and found an answer. 
 Angel hands seemed to care tor them; 
 Angel hands and voices soothed them, 
 Brought them back to health and duty, 
 Or their dim eyes closed forever. 
 Angel Women, know that ever, 
 While the records ©t yoar country 
 Shall remain to future ages, 
 Your heroic, tender nursing 
 Of the sick and wounded soldier 
 
22 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Will be gratefully remembered! 
 
 And Urania, restless, silent. 
 Changed from blithe and thoughtless child- 
 hood, 
 To a cold and silent woman, 
 JB'ull of shame and now repentant, 
 Felt remorse, that dread avenger, 
 Knocking, gnawing at her bosom. 
 Now, no more she loved to wander 
 In the fields with her companion. 
 But avoided her and shunned her. 
 Hateful to her was the sunlight; 
 And the flowers seemed to mock her 
 With their pure and lovely beauty; 
 And the songsters seemed to taunt her; 
 E'en the forest, dark and somber, 
 Was less dark than her reflections. 
 In excitement and in action 
 Can be found the only potion 
 For remorse, to bring oblivion. 
 So, with other noble ladies, 
 Sad Urania sought employment, 
 In the hospitals for soldiers. 
 But, when miles were intervening 
 Twixt her and the little village, 
 Whore remained her wronged companion, 
 Then she wrote a full confession, 
 Which Elizabeth, receiving, 
 Pondered, read, and scarce believing 
 That the pure friend of her childhood 
 Could have done her such an evil, 
 Wept with pity, loye and sorrow; 
 Yet withal was never happier; 
 For she knew that he was faitiiful 
 To whom all her faith was plighted. 
 
A WAR SONG. 23 
 
 So the months of war rolled onward. 
 
 And, as elsewhere, in this yilla^^-e 
 
 Eagerly the people waited 
 
 For their letters from the army, 
 
 For accounts of all the movements 
 
 Of that army which their neighbors, 
 
 And their fathers, sons, or brothers. 
 
 Or their husbands, or their lovers, 
 
 Had with weary footsteps followed. 
 
 Soldiers from that little village 
 
 Died upon the field of battle; 
 
 Others fever-stricken languished 
 
 Till their life-spark was extinguished. 
 
 One came home worn out and sickly; 
 
 And from him the eager people 
 
 Heard accounts ©f dire conflicts, 
 
 Of the marches and the battles; 
 
 How the soldier's life is merry; 
 
 How they chased the rebel foemen; 
 
 Yet, how bravely he had met them,— 
 
 And a thousand other stories 
 
 Of this greatest of rebellions. 
 
 Also spake he of the courage 
 
 Of his comrade in the army; 
 
 Spake of William and Lis actions; 
 
 How he, in the longest marches. 
 
 And in fierce and bloody battles, 
 
 Always did a soldier's duty; 
 
 How at last he was promoted; 
 
 How, in many weary marches. 
 
 He had helped a weaker comrade — 
 
 These accounts admiring neighbors 
 
 Heard, and said they knew that William 
 
 Would soon prove himself a soldier- 
 
24 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Then came there on win£»'s of lightning-, 
 News of a disastrous battle, 
 Fiercely fought at Murfreesboro. 
 Two days of this mighty contest 
 Now had passed. Th^i immid shadows 
 Of returning niglit were falhng 
 O'er a sleepless, restless nation. 
 And Elizabeth, in silence. 
 Sat near by her chamber windew, 
 Where the starlight stole in softly, 
 Through the scintillating branches 
 Of the ice-wrapped, glistening maple 
 Standing just without tiie window. 
 Ail the earth with snow was covered, 
 And a silence supernatural 
 Seemed to brood upon the landscape, 
 Lying dimly in the distance. 
 As she leaned her throbbing forehead 
 On the sill and gazed out southward, 
 All was still but for the howling 
 Of the wolf upon the hillside, 
 Which awoke the sleeping echoes 
 Of the forests and the valley; 
 And the stars in gleaming grandeur 
 Twinkled in the vault of heaven; 
 But their light seemed cold and frosty. 
 Long she gazed, and thought and won- 
 dered, 
 Till a breeze arose and rattled 
 All the icy maple branches 
 Like the bones of some huge goblin 
 Shapened by the eye of fancy. 
 On her snowy arm her forehead 
 Dreoped and rested, until slumber 
 Closed her eyes. The playful firelight 
 Danced and leaped within the fender. 
 
A WAR SONG. 25 
 
 Shooting rays of light around her, 
 Now upon her shining tresses, 
 Now upon her shapely fingers: 
 Thus the fire-imps danced about her. 
 
 As she slept her troubled fancy 
 Brought before her mind an armv, 
 Resting on their arms, from battle; 
 On the damp and trampled foreground, 
 Lay the forms of many soldiers; 
 Broken guns and flags were near them; 
 Here were sentries, there intrenchments; 
 While, concealed within the hollows, 
 Campfires gleamed out from the darkness; 
 And near one of these a soldier 
 Tall, erect, wrapped in a great coat, 
 Stood and watched the flickering embers. 
 
 But the vision 
 
 Passed away. 
 She awoke to hear the tapping 
 Of the icy maple branches 
 On the window, as the darkness 
 Of the night-time wore away. 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 fHUS, while in her father's mansion 
 She was dreaming of her loved one, 
 He was lying in the trenches 
 On the fields of Murfreesboro. 
 Tired, sleepy, worn and weary, 
 By the battle's ceaseless action, 
 He had yisited the sentries; 
 Then, had sought sweet rest and slumber. 
 But no sleep came t© his eyelids: 
 All his thoughts seemed floating north- 
 ward ; 
 
26 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ah his memories awakened, 
 And his spirit, like a storm-cloud 
 Driven by the fierce tornado, 
 Found no rest. Then, drawim;- closer 
 His great army-coat about him, 
 Slowly paciui? back and forward, 
 He .^azed off into the darkness; 
 But the cold, damp mist around him 
 Huni^- above the river's valley. 
 Hiding- from his view the bivouac 
 Of the fierce, exulting rebels. 
 Round about him, ever watchful, 
 Lay his comrades, who, though worsted 
 ]n the former day's sharp conflict, 
 Now were waiting for the morning. 
 Breathing naught but dire vengeance. 
 There, were frowning cannon planted; 
 Here, the rifle-pits were guarded; 
 And the sentries, sleepless, watchful, 
 Paced along their boats in silence. 
 
 All the world seemed dark and dreary 
 
 As he leaned his weary body 
 
 On a bank of earth and listened. 
 
 All unconsciously he slumbered; 
 
 And before him passed a vision, 
 
 Vague and formless, first; but, changing, 
 
 It became his native village; 
 
 O, how glad the sight, how joyful! 
 
 Here, the village and the river; 
 
 There, the church and in it, people; 
 
 And Elizabeth was by him; 
 
 While the organ, softly pealing, 
 
 Seemed to lead his soul to heaven. 
 
 But the organ tones grew louder, 
 
 Pealing, ringing, volleying thunder! — 
 
A WAR SONG. 27 
 
 With a start lie woke from slumber, 
 
 Woke to hear the cannon boomini;-; 
 
 Woke to hear the crash of battle, 
 
 And the deadly bullets sin.s^in.i?. 
 
 Soon in rank, as soon in battle, 
 
 Bravely with his comrades leading', 
 
 They reo^ained, by stubborn yalor, 
 
 All which they had lost. And fiercely. 
 
 All along the line of battle 
 
 Rolled the roaring tide of conflict. 
 
 There were charges, counter-charges; 
 
 There were groans and shouts and cheer- 
 ing; 
 
 And the sulphurous smoke of powder 
 
 Hid trom sight the very heavens. 
 
 Here, the blazing cannon thuadered; 
 
 There, long lines of fiery flashes 
 
 Told where stood the strong foot-soldier. 
 
 Now, a bayonet charge is ordered; 
 
 Suddenly, the crashing ceases, 
 
 And the clanging musket rattles, 
 
 As the pointed swords are fastened. 
 
 ^'^ Charge!" And, leaping from their 
 trenches. 
 
 See the advancing line of valor! 
 
 Now the Loyal and the Kebel, 
 
 In a deadly, giant grapple, 
 
 Meet, and none can tell the issue; 
 
 They are brave and strong and hardy — 
 
 Brothers, — neither run or conquer! 
 
 Surely now the God of Justice 
 
 Must decide this bitter struggle! 
 
 Slowly backward fall the Rebels- 
 See the Stars and Stripes advancing — 
 
 God be thanked, 'tis tor the Union J 
 
28 ELIZABETH. 
 
 William, in the front of battle, 
 Saw his comrades fail about him 
 As he led them to the conflict — 
 Falling like the leaves of autumn; 
 But he wavered not, nor faltered. 
 AH day horridly the battle 
 Roared and raged witli doubtful issue; 
 But, as evening drew arounel them, 
 Rosecrans was still unconquered, 
 And the rebel Bragg was beaten. 
 
 But, alas, for hapless William! 
 
 In the last great rebel effort 
 
 All his comrades fell around him, 
 
 Or retreated, and a prisoner 
 
 He was taken, sorely wounded, 
 
 Bv the now retreating rebels. 
 
 In the days of pain that followed, 
 
 While his broken arm was healing, 
 
 He received a soldier's treatment; 
 
 But, when healed, a rebel prison — 
 
 Name abhorred by every soldier! — 
 
 With its haggard crowds, received him. 
 
 There he languished through the summer 
 
 And the years of war that followed. 
 
 O, those long and burning summers, 
 
 Dry and hot and full of feyer! 
 
 Men, like cattle, in a stockade, 
 
 Suffered from a want of water, 
 
 Suffered from a want ot yictuals, 
 
 Suffered from a want of clothing. 
 
 Without pity, without shelter 
 
 From the cruel sun of summer 
 
 Or the chilly rains of winter. 
 
 Harassed by the l)aleful insects, 
 
 By the thirsty swamp mosquitoes. 
 
A WAR SONG. 29 
 
 These once noble men grew frantic 
 With disease, and death was welcome. 
 Friends at home looked for the " missing," 
 Waited long and waited ever; 
 But no sign e'er came to tell them 
 Where their sons or friends were buried. 
 Dying, tliey were dragged in silence 
 Te a grave, and left to moulder 
 Witliout name or sign or mention. 
 Soldiers marched into those prisons; 
 Shadows issued forth when freedom, 
 Brought by force of arms, was granted. 
 
 Here was Wdliam two long summers. 
 While the field of battle lessened; 
 And the Union army gathered 
 Near Atlanta's strong defences. 
 
 And one evening of the sunmier. 
 Sitting by a mound of rubbish 
 Which, like prairie-dogs, the soldiers 
 Had thrown out in making burrows 
 To afford them partial shelter 
 From the blazing heat of summer, 
 William thou^^htfull}" was waiting. 
 Slowly, in the east, fair Luna 
 Showed her smiling face, arising 
 Through the pine trees in the distance, 
 Out beyond the guarded stockade; 
 And her mellow beams fell softlv 
 On the mass of crowded prisoners, 
 Lighting up the filthy hillsides 
 And the stagnant, swampy streamlet, 
 With a light that seemed to waver. 
 As reluctant there to linger. 
 Little groups of haggard soldiers, 
 
30 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Gathered here and there were talking; 
 Some of methods of escapin^i?; 
 While alone some prisoners sadly 
 Dreamed of h©me's old pleasant fireside. 
 With the children laui^hiu^^, playing. 
 Catching at the dancing shadows 
 On the wall. And, O! how sweetly 
 Came those memories to the soldier. 
 There, a soldier, rendered frantic, 
 Rushes out towards the dead-hne, 
 And, before his friends can stop him, 
 He has crossed it, and a volley 
 From the guns along the guard-lme 
 Lays him dead upon his bosom. 
 " One poor comrade out of misery!" 
 Muttered many an envious prisoner. 
 Then upon the nightly breezes 
 Caine the sound of song and worship. 
 From a few religious spirits 
 Gathered near the spring of water 
 Which had burst out from the hillside, 
 As if Providence had given, 
 Since by man it was forgotten, 
 Mercy to these thirsty soldiers. 
 "There is a fountain," rose the chorus, 
 Swelling gladly up to Heaven. 
 Slowly, o'er the cheeks of many 
 Strong and stern, brave-hearted s©ldiers. 
 Coursed the scalding tears, which never 
 By a human hand were started. 
 Long sat William thinking sadly 
 Of his parents, who were mourning 
 For their s»n, one of the "missing!" 
 And of her to whom his spirit 
 Yet seemed turning as its idol. 
 
A WAR SONG. 31 
 
 But a voice waked him from clreamino:: 
 
 "Come here, comrade — I am dyin^, 
 
 And I wish to tell you somethiii^^ 
 
 E'er the trump of doom shall call me! '' 
 
 Rising, William looked around him. 
 
 Saw a feeble hand outstretching, 
 
 Beck'nino; him, and gomg nearer, 
 
 He beheld a comrade dying, 
 
 One who had been good and faithful 
 
 On tlie march and in the battle, 
 
 KneeliHg by his side and takine- 
 
 On his arm the head now dizzy 
 
 With the fever, William listened: 
 
 " Hold my hand, — there ! Now, God bless 
 
 you! 
 For I never can repay you 
 All the good that you have done me. 
 You have starved yourself to save me; 
 But it's no use — 1 am going. 
 One request 1 have to give you. 
 Which I know you will liold sacred 
 When y©u see your native village. 
 I am here from far Wisconsin, 
 From the happy scenes of childhood, 
 Where I sported in the meadows 
 With my sisters gathering flowers, 
 Flowers all so bright and golden. 
 And I loyed the Mississippi, 
 With its rolling flood of water." 
 
 " There I have a widowed mother, 
 And a darling wife, my Mary, 
 And a bright-ej^ed little daughter — 
 O! I hoped that I should see her 
 E'er I died; but I am dying! 
 Weep not, comrade, weep not for me; 
 
32 ELIZABETH. 
 
 You, perhaps, too, have a Mary? 
 No? a lover? nor a parent? 
 Yes; 1 thought so, and a good one. 
 Tell my Mary, when you see her, — 
 You will find her by these letters, — 
 Tell her that ner dying husband 
 Leaves to her his parting blessing; 
 That he loves her just as fondly 
 As when we stood by the altar. 
 I am glad to die for freedom; 
 But, if I could see my daughter 
 Bounding out to meet her father; 
 If r could but hear the welcome 
 Voice of mother, ever tender, 
 I could die, O, then, so happy!'' 
 Then his feeble accents faltered; 
 But he rallied as the breezes 
 Fanned the long hair from his forehead. 
 '' When we parted I was wicked; 
 Her last blessing was prophetic — 
 Tell her that her wish is granted, 
 That we all will meet in Heaven. 
 But I'm cold. O, if this weakness! — 
 Hold me, comrade; I am going, — 
 I can see my Mary yonder 
 Waiting at the — ! " but a shudder 
 Shook his frame — his war was ended. 
 William rose and gazed around him. 
 All was quiet save the hooting 
 Of the owl, off in the swampland, 
 And the crving of the night-bird, 
 Of the Whip-poor-will, lamenting. 
 
 O, foul War, thy pomp and grandeur 
 Are but flowers on a grave; 
 All thy boasted deeds heroic, 
 
A WAR SONG. 33 
 
 Are destroyers of the brave! 
 
 Desolation, desolation 
 
 Dost thou send us on thv wave ! 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 ^TILL the war rolled on its thunder; 
 %^ iStill the world in doubtful wonder 
 Looked and waited for the issue 
 Ot the fierce and bloodv conflict. 
 But the lines of battle closer 
 Drew around the greei -eyed serpent, 
 Till its struggles and its writiiings 
 Weaker grew; and now its hissing 
 Crested head was grappled closely, 
 By a hand tliat e'er unceasing 
 Pressed the dread rebellion under; 
 xVnd a sword of burnished wliiteness 
 Was descending on its writhing 
 Folds to sever them forever. 
 Now the biavfc and grateful negro 
 Fought beside his whiter brethren. 
 
 Meanwhile, at the home of William 
 There was long and anxious waiting. 
 How his aged, trembling parents 
 -Longed to hear news from their soldier! 
 But no w^ord came back to cheer them, 
 None except the dread word, "Missing!" 
 He might e'en now^ not be living. 
 He might long since be a spirit. 
 And Elizabeth, heart-broken, 
 Longed to die, that she might join him. 
 If. indeed, he were no longer 
 In this bright laud of the living. 
 O, the heart-ache, and the vigils ! 
 
3'4 ELIZABETH. 
 
 O, the niglits of sleepless tossing 
 
 On a coucJa, where welcome slumber 
 
 Seemed reluctant long to Im.o^er ! 
 
 And the days of patient sadness, 
 
 As they passed seemed but to leave her 
 
 With a sadder heart to carry! 
 
 And the nope that William some time 
 
 Would appear and find lier faithful 
 
 Grew less as the days of summer 
 
 Grew into the days of autumn. 
 
 And the autumn into winter. 
 
 Yet he came na)t from the " missing." 
 
 When her tatlier saw his daughter 
 Losing all her gayer spirits; 
 Saw her droop M^thin his palace, 
 Like a plant deprived of sunlight, 
 Then his heart within liim melted. 
 But in vain he tried to cheer her; 
 Vam were all his consolations — 
 Mend he could not what was broken. 
 
 Yet within the Rebel prison 
 
 William languished, till the tree leaves 
 
 Of the autumn days were turning. 
 
 In the darkness of the night-time. 
 
 When the heavy clouds were dripping, 
 
 And the wind sobbed through the branches 
 
 Of the pme-tree in the forest. 
 
 He with comrades, then, f©r freedom, 
 
 Scaled the palisades and quickly 
 
 Vanished iu the swampy forest. 
 
 O, how sweet the cool night breezes, 
 
 Blowing through that tangled forest! 
 
 Though the driving mist and branches 
 
 Seemed to hide all from their vision. 
 
A WAR SONG. 35 
 
 Yet before them saw they freedom, 
 Whilst beliind them was destructiou; 
 And they weakly hastened onward 
 Throuo-h the brush and stai^nant water. 
 As the morning broke around them, 
 And the misty clouds rolled o'er them, 
 Heard they, then, the deep-toned baying 
 Of the blood-hounds, and the shouting 
 Of their masters as they urged them. 
 Terrified, with trembling footsteps, 
 Farther onward still they hastened. 
 Separating, then they wandered 
 Through the mud and brush and water, 
 Till the yelping of the blood-hounds 
 Died away into the distance. 
 William waded in the crooked 
 Stream that wandered through the torest. 
 Till it led him from the swampland. 
 Then, with weary, weary marching- 
 Still he hastened through the forest. 
 All around him stretched the cane-brake, 
 Tall with reeds and vines and creepers. 
 Torn and wounded by the branches. 
 Finally into a thicket, 
 Hidden in the deep recesses 
 Of the woods, he slowly wandered; 
 There he rested until night-time, 
 Till the shades of night were creeping 
 Through the branches of the pine trees. 
 In the swamp the alligator 
 Sighed and gamboled, ever watchful; 
 While the booming of the bittern 
 Roared its echo from the distance; 
 And the shiny snake lay quiet 
 In his covert near the water. 
 In the branches just above him, 
 
36 ELIZABETH. 
 
 As he woke from fitful slumber, 
 
 William saw an owl which eyed him 
 
 With its solemn, vacant visage, 
 
 As it wondering how a human 
 
 Came to sleep there in the forest. 
 
 "'Tis an omen and a warning! 
 
 Night-bird, I will join thy legions, 
 
 As 1 travel to the arm3^" 
 
 William spake, and slowly walking. 
 
 Wandered onward, faint and weary. 
 
 And the sun, with all his glory 
 
 Hid behind the hazy storm-clouds. 
 
 Lying in the western heayens. 
 
 Then he stopped, dazed and bewildered, 
 
 Stopped and listened to the whispering 
 
 Of the giant branches o'er him, 
 
 As they moaned and sighed and rattled, 
 
 Seemingly with trembling terror 
 
 At the. coming of the storm-clouds. 
 
 Lonely, sad and all dejected, 
 
 William leaned his weary body 
 
 On a gray and fallen tree-trunk, 
 
 Green with downy, clinging mosses, 
 
 A.nd allowed his thoughts to wander. 
 
 O, how bitter 'cwas to perish. 
 
 After all this brave endeavor! 
 
 Then, a sudden, on the breezes, 
 
 Came a cry, a howl so lonely, 
 
 That it seemed to be liis death-knell. 
 
 Tolling ere his weary spirit 
 
 From his bosom was departed. 
 
 'Twas the yelling of the she wolf. 
 
 Or the howling of the watch-dog. 
 
 And he listened. Slowly swelling 
 
 On the breeze that stirred the branches. 
 
 Came a voice so sweet, entrancing. 
 
A WAR SONG. 37 
 
 Such a melody of music, 
 
 RoUiu^^ through the movinq; forest, 
 
 That it seemed to be an angel 
 
 Sent from heaven to receive him. 
 
 And it rose and fell and echoed, 
 
 Till it seemed to fire the bosom 
 
 Of the tired and lonely wand'rer. 
 
 Bounding from his seat he hastened, 
 
 Lest, by chance, this welcome singer 
 
 Should her melody all finish, 
 
 Ere he found her; and emerging, 
 
 From the forest's dark recesses, 
 
 In the gathering dusk of even, 
 
 Soon he spied a toiling negress 
 
 Working in a small field near him. 
 
 And she guided him with caution 
 
 To her cabin, and there ted him. 
 
 O, now sweet those viands tasted. 
 
 Though they were but coarse! And kindly 
 
 Did the woman bid him welcome. 
 
 Soon her husband came, and gladly 
 
 Greeted William. 
 
 Then the storm-cloud 
 Obscured all the face of heaven; 
 While the lightning, bright and glaring. 
 Flashed and gleamed along its masses. 
 Deathly silence covered nature. 
 Now the wind about the cottage 
 Howled and moaned, and in the forest 
 Tall trees swayed and shook and rattled. 
 Then the thunder roared and bellowed, 
 As if it would rive the heavens; 
 And the rain came down in torrents, 
 From the flashing, groaning masses 
 In the heavens rolling swiftly. 
 Long the storm raged in its fury, 
 
38 ELIZABETH. 
 
 While the inmates of the cottage 
 
 Sat and talked of war and slavery. 
 
 Food and drink and queer instructions 
 
 How to reach tne Union army 
 
 Did the kind and thoughtful negroes 
 
 Give to William in the cabin. 
 
 Then, in prayer, to God Almighty 
 
 Did these simple souls commend him, 
 
 As the bursting storm raged round them. 
 
 Hark! They listen; 'tis the trample 
 
 Of shod feet before the cabin. 
 
 Terror was there in the cabin; 
 
 But — a window ! Quick ! — ' tis open ! 
 
 Out into the night sprang William, 
 
 As a fiercer blast of thunder 
 
 Rent the masses in the heavens; 
 
 And the bellowing wind pursued him 
 
 As he rushed into the forest, 
 
 Where the pine trees roared, and, shrieking, 
 
 Bent before the mighty power 
 
 Of the storm in all its fury. 
 
 But, as midnight rolled its numbers, 
 
 Broke tlie storm, and to the eastward 
 
 Rolled away, while William, guided 
 
 By the stars, pressed quickly onward. 
 
 Thus he hastened, eyer cautious 
 Traveling in the night; in daylight 
 Lying hidden in a thicket; 
 Often hungry, but reloicing, 
 Helped by negroes as he needed, 
 After long and weary marches. 
 With his body racked by fever, 
 He, at last, O, joylul vision! 
 Sav/ the flag of Union waving 
 O'er the army in Atlanta. 
 
A WAR SONG. 39 
 
 In the hospital he lingered, 
 Fever-stricken; hut a woman 
 Lavished on him all attention. 
 Proud Urania! proud Urania! 
 Thou didst there atone thy rashness! 
 How her heart did leap within her, 
 As she made full reparation 
 For the sin she had committed ! 
 Soon Elizabeth was summoned 
 From her home, and, coming quickly, 
 Weeping saw her lover lying 
 There, with Death's cold, icy fingers 
 Stretched to grapple and secure him. 
 By long nursing, careful watching. 
 He was saved; hut pale Urania, 
 Stricken by the dreadful fever, 
 Died; but happy, blessed and cheerful, 
 In the knowledge that her life work 
 Had outweighed one little error. 
 O, Urania, thou wert erring. 
 Yet we love thee! Thou wert human. 
 Birds and fields, and suffering soldiers 
 Lost in thee a kindly angel ! 
 
 In the village by the river. 
 
 In a mansion grand, 
 Live the true and noble William 
 And Elizabeth the faithful, 
 
 One in heart and hand. 
 
 Oft they form a wreath of blossoms, 
 
 And seek out a grave 
 There among the springing flowers, 
 Where Urania loved to wander. 
 
 By the brooklet's wave. 
 
'40 ELIZABETH. 
 
 There are lau^'liing little children 
 
 In that mansion home; 
 There's an aged couple also, 
 All near by the rolling river, 
 With its snowy foam. 
 
 AFTER-PLAY. 
 
 tWEET are the thoug-hts that are float- 
 ing to-night 
 Through the vast world with its sorrow 
 and joy. 
 Glad is the soul filled with holy delight. 
 Peace and our Union can none e'er de- 
 stroy. 
 
 And — thus ends the medley. 
 
 FINIS 
 
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