V THe 7m. KIS'TORK BOYli: . \ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. | I §]pp Sapijrij^t !f 0*- Slielf..„...:iD7 ^'i ^^ '^. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. THE OTHER SIDE %n l^i^toric poem BY VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE i^TrvV CAMBRIDGE PrtntcU at t\)t JSitjcreiiUc Prc6£( 1S93 K T U"\'\ CopjTight, 1893, By VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. TO CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS LIVING AND DEAD AND TO THE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH (^W poem IS DEDICATED PREFACE The literature of a country is a many-sided polygon, upon whose polished surfaces is re- flected the internal structure of its peoples. From the womb of literature is born the history of a nation, the outer record of an inner chronicle of heredity and environment. Contemporaneous history cannot be writ- ten, and the statement of such an existence stamps the production at once as false and partisan. Contemporaneous literature, however, in whatever state, is the logbook by which the his- torical mariner can steer off the shoals of nar- rowness and lift above the fogs of sectionalism the many phases of an heterogeneous people. America has no history ; the Republic is too new for crystallization ; but its transition bears testimony to two distinct eras, born of the same impulse, bearing toward the same goal, but differing in results. Success tells its own story. That there is an- other side is too often forgotten in the pceans for the victorious ; but victor and vanquished have vi Preface the privilege, nay, it should be urged that it is their duty, in this united country, to leave fear- lessly upon the shrine of posterity the records of psychological differentiation and causes of effects, for the unborn historian who shall arise, — the barrister before the Court of Time. Northern and Southern literatures do not exist ; but American literature is rich in lore sprung from the various peoples evolved by that heredity and environment, whose duty it is to preserve pure and simple the structure of each section. Therefore, as an American citizen, under the stars of a perfected Union, the Author has no hesitancy in presenting to an American public a contribution to Ameri- can literature, believing that it will be received as it is given, as a mirror of the past, bearing no more upon the future than the sunset of today upon the dawning of the morrow; that it will be received by the great minds of the winning side, in whom there is implicit faith, without rancor or bitterness ; and when the sentiment not less true, may jar, that they will yet hear with interest the unfamiliar voice, re- membering that it is the literature of "The Other Side." THE AUTHOR. Memphis, Tennessee, Ociobe?; 1891. CONTENTS PAGE Part First. Divergent Lines 9 Part Second. The Prisoner of State . . 26 Part Third. Reconstruction 48 THANKS BE TO GOD, THAT I TOO AM AN AMERICAN CITIZEN 1 " THE OTHER SIDE AN HISTORIC POEM PART FIRST DIVERGENT LINES Across the waters of the elder world, Upon the ancient land of lore and song, Two foster brothers smiled in childish play, And knelt beside an English mother's knee. The one was gentle, and a mystic bloom Lay on the olive cheek and dewy lip, That mirrored in their open purity .The joyous, loving heart that beat within. And one was grave ; the curve of youth was hid Beneath a cloak of sternness, and the eye, Fraught with the portent of the coming time. Looked keen and hardened from a narrow brow That marked the branching of the parent tree. And so they grew, nursed by divergent themes, Beside the ancient fountain of the race, 9 10 The Other Side Until their knighthood graved upon their shields The legends '' Cavalier " and " Puritan." When turning from the mother heart that dealt Unfairly with the children of her love, The one led on by conquest's glittering train, The other for the easing of a gall, — Upon the borders of the western world These brothers met, as warders of the land. They chose, and if perchance the goodly land That fell to Jacob's lot was fair, 't was well. For on the bleak frontier with sturdy strength, The iron-sinewed Esau delved and throve ; And burning from oppression's blistering brand. The hot blood surging through his corded veins. The alien drove his flying scourge and bade The red-skinned Ishmael seek the setting sun. When " right divine " became a feudal wrong. These brothers snapped the leading-strings in twain. And in the tangle of the newer world They made a compact on the field of blood. All Historic Poem ii Upon the wave that swept across the sea They poured the honest sleet of rebel ball ; Enthroned powers trembled in their wrath, And rage gnawed at the ermine of a king. On high, by force of dauntless rebel will And rebel arms, on glory parchment writ. There flashed the white star of achievement, flung Upon the stirring records of the world. The British crimson faded from the field, Through lifting smoke, where ships go down to sea j 'Mid stacking arms, a lusty shout arose. That gave a grand Republic to the world. Full well they wrought, those fathers of the land. To blazon freedom on the rearing crest Of what they dreamed, a proud posterity. And time looked on the field and blessed the yield Of each with plenty, fit unto his kind. And nature's heart to each ambition gave The key that fits the oiled lock of ease. Yea, greed of gold ! — high heaped the shining pile. 12 The Other Side And still the itching palm stretched out for more, As through the years the slavers plowed the deep, And trafficked on the mart in human souls. One gave the slave into his brother's hand For glut of gold, and came and came again. Until the dark cloud in the South eclipsed The sense of wrong, as locusts hide the sun. The Cavalier smiled on his ample fields. Tilled by the sinews of the dusky race ; The sin took root and bore an ample fruit — His brother gave, alas ! and he did eat ! What mattered to the Puritan the cry, — The cry of dusky children 'neath his gold ? The silken robe remembered not the past, The yellow balm had soothed his fretted soul. Strange, that the clarion note of freedom slept Throughout the years that spread the fowlers' net. That herded human chattels in the field. That better bred the ill-begotten race, Gave recompense unto that bleaker part With that befitted to her rugged lines. Strange, that the mutual sin had blinded eyes, All Historic Poem i ^ So wont to see, with clearer vision set, Until the poison leaven in the cup With envy's lees had blent, and yeasted o'er In bitter, darkened curses, brewed for each. Still westward, on and on, the wear}^ feet Of Ishmael pressed the dust}^ rocky way, — Now turning in the light of savage rage To break an arrow on the heel of fate. Then on and on, with bow unstrung, to leave A ghost upon his happy hunting ground. The bond, the free, both cradled by the scythe, That garnered for the dominating race ; The boast of dragging centuries had dawned To see the planting of an iron heel ! Well fared the young Republic in her race, Until men owned her prowess, and the hands Of monarchies had clapped in her applause. Until beside the single altar reared, A broken oath lay sullied in the dust. For like a vaulting bird that wheels and swoops Upon his nest, destroying what he wrought, Or like an angered stag that blindly turns His antler thrusts upon his beating heart, The Puritan had laid his daring hands 14 The Other Side Upon the compact both had sealed in blood ; Between the brothers' hands, if clasp they could Grew something harder than the grasp of love. Slow drifting on a cloudless sky there came A fleck not larger than an infant's hand. Men thought it thundered, paused within the field. Then bent the sickle to the harvest sheaves. But through the dancing gleam of pike and brand There grinned the horrid carrion of night, That crept upon a sleephig land to breed Foul demons in the breasts of simple slaves. God could not lend the breath of life to these ! — The grim abortions stained the virgin field, And on the cold brow of the murdered sire Was left the imprint of another Cain. The throat of golden eloquence had thrilled The silver tongues of North and South in vain, Till that great centre shook from pave to dome, — A Babel for the rights and wrongs of men. An Historic Poem 75 And there was scoffing in that evil day, And waggings of the wise-pates, to and fro. What cared the Cavalier for war or arms, — Whose storehouse burst with plenty through those years That hung his idle spear upon its walls? His sword of Revolutionary fame Had known baptism where the plowshare turns ; But what were rights ? — that share could turn again. That pruning-hook leap out, a trusty blade. When vandals marred the rare foundation stone For which they fought, for which they wrought anew The fabric of the governmental world. Strife fell within the quiet tents of each, — The gentler Jacob, yearning for his flocks, Bade Esau let him now depart in peace From out his coasts, nor let their verging paths Cross oft again, nor e'er if not in peace ; It was a just, inalienable right, — The compact should be tested, proved if true. 1 6 The Other Side But Envy, creeping from the arms of Hate, Gave birth to blear-eyed Jealousy, and slew Upon the very altar of her needs The country's last born child, the soft-eyed Faith ; And in her stead the changeling grew and throve. Nor dared reveal her horrid bloated form, But through the night fed on the sops that cast The shadow of the substance, brewed in hell. What tie of blood was there to stronger hold Than legends writ in water, oaths in sand ? — The unbound eyes of Justice stared afar, And wrong had tampered with the honest scale. The war-cloud burst, the fading sun went down, To leave a swirling bloody afterglow ; And by the sea and through the mountain pass There rung the changes of the reveille. It echoed in the halls where wealth had trod. Where hearts had wove the tenderest chord of life, And in the cot where poverty and love Had nested in the faith of God and home. /4// Historic Poem ly For unto each the summons came alike, And stirred wherever spark of manhood dwelt. They left the plowshare in the furrowed field, The anvil yearning for the hammer's stroke. The downy couch of ease, the thornless path Through fallow lands as far as eye could reach, And tottering graybeards looked upon the sky With shaded eye, nor read the portents there. What mattered to the " flintlock "' that the gun Of progress waited on the hungry field. Or alien hireling with Northern host Opposed the cause his heart espoused for right With ranks outnumbering, and swelled the troops With those poor ebon chattels of his hand, — Enfranchised mockeries, — held in the lines By bayonets that prodded from the rear. And goaded by the lash of promised gain To spill the blood that most had been their care ! The compact had been broken, sovereignty Of states was scoffed at as an idle tale, — 1 8 The Other Side A brother's hand was laid, a tyrant's rod, To centralize the strength its seal diffused. What serfs were here to wear the hated yoke Plebeian monarchy enthroned would weld ? — Secession waved her arm, — the yell that struck Keen edged fear in aftertimes, split through The surcharged throats, and base and nobler born, With one accord, struck for their God, their South ! — They chose, and sadly from his fruitless quest For peace, the eagle of the Southland came. And on his crest, his People laid the seal Of leadership, the Southland's weal or woe. Wives gave their loves, and lovers, the be- trothed ; Men gave their hopes, and women gave their trust, — Nor ever Spartan mother gave the shield With grander token than the Southern heart Yea, what a charge was there ! — the wonder- ing world Stood still in silence, and the beating pulse Aji Historic Poem ig That times the arteries of nations, leaped, Thrilled with the greatness of the civil shock ! What mattered half-starved legions, thinning ranks, — For valor closed the lines where valor fell, And honor kept the hunger-wolf unseen. Within the vitals of the Southern host. Amid the smoke that wreathed the battle plain. High reached the flames that swept the lordly- homes, — Her dwelling places then were human hearts, And Dixie was an altar raised to God ! Ah ! would she yield ? — her valiant arm beat back The swelling horde that poured against her heart. The thinning ranks refilled, the graybeard came, And death gave up his own a little while ; Then from his pillow where he dreamed, the child Leaped into manhood in a single night, — The South had need of men, and childhood died, 20 The Other Side To leave a memory, a golden curl, An honored name upon the roll of war, — For even " seed corn " went to save the stalk. So passed the years, the battle-years that wore The star of valor, pointed with the tears And brightened with the love that trod the loom, And bore the burden of the empty home. What room for woman's wailing when the scream Of shot and shell filled in each lagging pause ! She gave her all for right, and duty bade Her still her moan in silence, though her song Was hymned unto the guns, and twilight blent The cry of battle with her evening prayer. What tribute to the serfdom of the past, So fair, so strange, so tender true as this. When all the Southland gave her men to war, And left her womanhood unguarded, lone, She trusted in her own, and looking back Some time through lifting smoke a shadow fell Between the danger line and tender lives, — An Historic Poem 21 The bare brown shoulder of an humble shield, The true arm of a loving, faithful slave ! Pressed on the right, encompassed round about, Pressed on the left, the dauntless Southland stood Unyielding yet, though famine hand in hand Stalked forth with war, and seas of gleaming spears Broke like a surf against her wooden walls. The fortress could not hold, the fates, new named Starvation, War, and Time, wore on the host ; The tide of strength ran out and left the bars As gaunt as naked skeletons of death. But one more strike for liberty, for right ! The hearts of men burst, broken with the shock, — The silence bled. Upon the shrine of war The Southland laid a warrior's spotless sword ! And Richmond, chosen daughter of her heart, — Could she, the mother, leave thee, leave thee so? — 22 The Other Side Love laid the torch to give thee unto death, That beauty might not glad the victor's arms ! The darkness came and dwelt, sat at the board With silence for a guest, and high there crept A thousand tongues of living, leaping flame ; Now folding like a wreathing arm of light, Now climbing up and up until the gleam Pled unto heaven like a golden prayer. Ay ! they were prayers ! — what hecatombs of love, And incense crushed from bruised and bleed- ing hearts, And hopes all unfulfilled, heaped high the mount That lifted up the Southland to her God ! The morning dawned, above the smouldering heap They flung the Union banner to the breeze ; But shrouded in the heart of her \vho loved There gleamed the radiance of the Southern Cross. They cried not quarter from beleaguered posts, The ragged, starving legions waiting there, An Historic Poem 25 Though rumors like as blackbirds in the spring Dropped thick upon the evil sprouting corn, Half unbelieved. When from the sullen North, Like blades of ice, a palsied horror fell, Too awful yet for speech, a dragging hush That stilled the palms upon the Southern slope. In all the gleaming of a thousand lights. The maniac murderer struck, nor struck in vain ; Amid the throbbing of a thousand hearts He fled, a thing of blackness, through the night, Adown the darkness of the sphinx-like years, A restless Judah, still unblessed of death ! How could she know the deed was laid to her. Who spurned unequal vantage in the field, — That her unrifted night should blacker wear Beneath the mantle of a dastard lie ? She mourned her fallen foe as one who held The jewel of his office to the light. 24 The Other Side Set round, perhaps, with justice, — reft too soon To show the mellow hues that mercy lends. She scorned the shallow mummer chance had placed Within the stately chair — whose shrunken wits Would hang upon its arm a cap and bells, Beside the sables of a nation's woe. And so she mourned above the victor's shroud, But felt a curse like flame upon her head Pour from the frenzied tongues that wildly cut The tie to mere humanity in twain. As stern revenge hissed through the cry that told The world, the lion of the North was slain. Oh ! beauteous Southland, — fairest of fair lands ! Thy soul of honor gave the crime the lie Unsought, unjustified, for though thy wreath Was cypress, victor's bays ne'er held the dews Of truth and right more wholly pure than thou ! — All Historic Poem 25 The hand of History pauses, and her pen Droops o'er her scroll in sadness, but the call Of centuries before her bids her write, — By gleam of Truth's white burning torch, nor spare The damning spot that blots the Union shield, Whose pardoning grace can only come from God! 26 The Other Side PART SECOND THE PRISONER OF STATE The dogs of war within the fortress sleep, The silent shadows drift upon its wall, Within the moat that frets its sombre side The sluggish tidal oozes rise and fall. The clanging gates have shut upon the world Where justice may have dwelt, — hope's rays depart ; The yearning bars grate through their rings to hold The iron secrets of a granite heart. The heavy present weighs upon its own. Nor gives a token of the deeds to be ; — A martial cloak but hides the hand that dropped The sword of honor for a jailer's key. Jefferson Davis When Captuked. An Historic Poem 27 The plumage of the eagle drips with blood, His broken pinion droops, he cannot fly, Nor look upon the glory of the sun. Nor hear the hungry eaglets when they cry. His foot may claim no resting-place on earth, Save what the victor gave, — a muffled knell, A sorrow crucified, that sifts the light Of anguish through a grated prison cell. He looks in silence on the fading moat, A darkness comes, — he cannot see the stars ; The night is falling on the world he loved, — He feels its blackness through the driven bars. His bearings have been lost, the captive speaks — The question dies, the answer is his own. That echoes through the narrow cell to strike A sullen mass of living, human stone. Nor yet alone, — all through the weary day The heavy treading of the sentries' beat, — 28 Tbe Other Side All through the night's unsleeping watch it rings, — The measured echo of the soldiers' feet. Unheard it falls, beyond the chilling vault, — The dwelling of a warrior's spotless shield. The spirit of the Chieftain haunts to-night The last sad bivouac upon the field. The dawning wears, a somber, feeble ray Strains through the casemate where the shad- ows press ; The prison lamp is out, the captive turns Upon the pillow slumber could not bless. What sorrows wait for thee, sad riven heart ! Thy cup is full of wormwood darkly blent, Thy days are mixed with gall to drag their length Across the narrow span the victors lent ! The thief that waits by night the darkened moon, The felon, throttling life until it died, The outcast of the earth is blameless held, Until by light of proof his cause is tried ; An Historic Poem 29 But thou ? — tribunals will not hear thy voice, And Truth swoons on the high dishonored stair, While Hate holds parlance, offering to Re- venge, — The Baal of the nation, worshiped there. A key is turned, the grating hinges groan, A shadow falls upon the prison bed. The sentries break their measured beat and pause To hear the echo of the jailer's tread. Without, the ripened time before the earth Has clamored of a higher, golden age ; Within, the brutal lust for guiltless blood, Proclaims a later Inquisition's rage. The weary eyes are closed, — has death come first, Has nature robbed the torturers of their prey? Must vengeance die upon a sheathed sword. And hold, unspent, its passions still at bay .'' — ^o The Other Side Life yet must linger, honor could not die, Nor even leave the shadow of a stain ; The strength of manhood in its purest flower. Could not be crushed beneath a felon's chain ! Woe stirs the pulses of the broken heart, With cruel pathos memory's fingers dwell Upon the brain, shut in from life, from love, From even misery, — a living hell ! The crimson bar upon the anvil cools, The idle bellows has forgot its part ; The brawny smith has left the blazing forge, To ply his craft upon a human heart. They bring the mighty sinews of the fort, The men of strength, before the man of grief ; Their heavy irons drag with clanking chains The shackles for the Southland's honored Chief. Before his persecutors stands he there, Brutality and honor, face to face, — More merciful. Oh ! Death, be quick to spare The country for all time, the dire disgrace ! An Historic Poem ^t Yea, he could bear it for his people's sin ; If sin there be, his willing blood would flow — Yet not on him alone, the shame is poured Upon a broken people in its woe. Alas ! the creed men wear upon the sleeve, Man's inhumanity gives oft the lie ; Alas ! the cycle of the golden age Must weld an iron segment ere it die ! Can such things be, and manhood bear un- marred The impress of his God? — what heed were bars. Or walls of bayonets, or prison gates, That infamy cries out unto the stars ! There is an arm to strike, a voice to plead For smoking flax beside the broken reed ; Within the cell a fearful struggle dies, — Recording angels cannot blot the deed ! The day of progress, ay, so called, of peace, Enfolds the land, nor pauses at the gate To look upon the manacles that bind The welded Union's Prisoner of State. ^2 The Other Side Ay, damning spot upon the scutcheon laid ! When hate is dead, what incense can atone ? When time, the leveler, shall stand confessed. What heart, what tongue, the dastard deed shall own ? — So wear the days away, — what matter they, Or blue of sky or plash of cooHng rain, — The change of sentries marks the passing hour. And time is only calendared by pain. Four narrow walls for that wide eerie sweep. That met the eagle of the Southern plain, — A noisome vapor for the spicy breath, — A ceaseless grinding on the fevered brain ; A twilight where the darkness may not fall, A darkness where the light of peace is dead, A dawning moated with a thousand fears, A midnight blackened with a silent dread ; The hideous torturing of human eyes, Unsleeping, fixed, well schooled unto their part, — The gaze of serpents on the wounded life, That gloat, yet dare not feed upon its heart. An Hisionc Poem ^^ Without, the busy world must live, must move, The pulse of Commerce beat within the gate ; But still no echo filters through those walls, Save messages of calumny and hate. Not even Truth may come, unless in shape Warped like a wrinkled crone, she passed her by, To glare across the bars, — a lower wretch Than she who often paused, — the Naked Lie. Humiliation, thou art here, — thy scourge Lies on the heart that bleeds unto thy rod ; Before thy shrine there kneels a very king, Whose soul, unconquered, looks unto his God ! The ravening beast will prey upon his kind. Complete the anguish that mischance began ; The brutal hirelings can have their will, — The part divine is slumbering in man. They heap their tortures on the wasted frame. Indignities with insults flaunt and vie, To wring repentance for an imaged wrong. To chronicle regret's unguarded sigh. ^4 The Other Side What cunning guild hath taught thy hand of steel, O art of cruelty, distilled, refined, That turns the blade upon the quivering nerve To test the limitations of the mind ? Day unto day, the weary watches wear, But bring no signal of the coming end ; He cannot know if on the whole wide earth There breathes for him a whispered prayer, — a friend ! Troops fawn upon the mantle of success, And friendship thickens round the heaping store ; He sank in honor with his people's hope, — Held he his people's faith, he asked no more. Day unto day, — the tired senses reel. The warders change, the sentries come and go; The curse is silence, and he cannot plead His cause unto the ear of friend or foe ; Not his, — a blameless offering is held, The old Hebraic altar lies within ; An Historic Poem ^5 The breast of manhood, free from stain, is bared To suffer for a people's doubtful sin. Go to ! thou ermine of polluted Right, — The lion's skin but hides the craven fools, Whose pliant knees are trembling in their haste To glut the Union wrath, ere reason cools ! Ah ! where are they, unsullied laws of state, Unerring, swerving not from cast or die, — Ah ! where are they, the hidden springs that move The better part of all humanity ? Is this a murderer in durance held, A wily traitor to his torture sent, A deep dyed criminal, to bear the weight Of weary days in silent anguish spent ? These may be heard ; benignity awakes To bid each speak for justice soon or late ; All may be heard, save he untouched of crime, — The welded Union's Prisoner of State. ^6 The Other Side Where else the brave tribunal that would hold The body in a prison cell aloof, Upon a questioned charge, and shirk the test, The trial that would clear, or make the proof ! — Ay, one. Upon a festal Jewish eve They loosed Barabbas from the prison walls, For One all blameless. Buried visions wake Within the solemn gloom of Pilate's halls. But only echoes come ; tides rise and fall, And trees are swaying in the sighing wind : Forgiveness comes to some, — these lips are dumb ; He only asks for pardon who has sinned. Thy crime. Oh ! hapless Prisoner of State, Is that thy people chose thee for their head ! Oh ! manhood of the South, if thou hast plead. He knows thy pardon was the cry for bread ! The seasons bring their changes, vernal bloom Has dropped its beauty for the cloth of gold ; The fortress minstrels don the southern plume, — He marks the season by the coming cold. An Historic Poem ^7 How press the goads upon the anguished frame, On soul and sinew cut the torturing bands ; The staff of life, the very prison bread Is shredded through a brutal soldier's hands ; The humble implements of humbler life For humblest food, his torturers deny. Lest by his hand upon the homely blade. In black despair, the frenzied captive die ; For he had courted death before the guns Of angered guards before the fateful deed ; He should not die in peace and leave un- drained The bitter cup, his captors deemed his meed. Yet they who hold an early death too kind, Know not the manhood that they seek to rend, — Starvation mocks, the thin lips cannot beg, — The soul God gave him was not born to bend ! He deems the vital spark a thing divine. E'en when the face of death is sweeter far To man than life, — his prowess cannot give, — He may not enter where the holies are. ^8 The Other Side One came to him with healing balm, a foe, — Humanity to man, an aid would lend ; And manhood knew his kind, though far apart And hedged about, he dared to be a friend. When fever surges through the wasted form. And phantasies play on the storm-racked heart, What alchemy can mix the draught of peace. What physic holds the crucible of art ! The great soul wanders out upon the world, Upon the world he loved, whose woe he bears. Along the grave clods of dismantled loves, Of broken shrines, of bitter, silent tears. There is no bolt to bind, nor lock to bar ; How fare his people 'neath the Union wing ? Unfeathered promises, that yet will moult Unplumed, before the coming of the spring ! How fare his own? — the proud ancestral palm Stands scorched upon the plain where sleep the dead, All Historic Poem ^g Where nest his own young eaglets in the gloom That stifles with the pride-hushed cry for bread ! Alas ! that wandering spirit cannot speak, Whose cloak lies wasting in a guarded cell, Unblessed, save by the Higher Hand for death, — Unheard, unjustified, if life should dwell. What matter for the body ? — feeble thing, That barely holds the greatness in its bounds, — What sophistries, earth wove or spun of hell. Can drink the poison from these rankling wounds ! To die? — the human eyes gaze from their lair, — 'Twere sweet to miss the converse of the glance. To feel the watch of life beat out its spring, To drift, — into the light of peace, perchance ; To lose the tread of sentries in the hush That comes to lull the weary pulse to rest, — 40 The Other Side To close the fluttering lids upon the world, To sleep, upon the old Earth-Mother's breast. To die, — ah ! what is death ? — the earth to earth, The lowly blending with the primal sod, Unbinding all the cords that fret the hope That looks through faith, in darkness, up to God; To strip the soul of every earthly veil. To loose the unknown something from its bond, To leave a moveless silence in the clay, To feel, to know, there is a life beyond ! Then come, still kindly Death, reverse the torch, For Thou, ah ! God, Thou knowest what he bears ! He cannot quench Thy light, but fed by woe The feeble flame deep in the socket wears ! To die, — with silence on those fevered lips, What heart shall know, what clarion tongue shall tell, — /In Historic Poem 41 When they shall flaunt their charges, who shall speak ? To die unheard, — within a prison cell. They seal that being from the outer world, Whose voice is mute, whose shattered life a thread ; When shame at last shall draw the iron bars. Shall they, too late, but look upon the dead ? Dead, with a shadow on the honored name ; More harmful yet, the vague and skulking doubt, That enters through a crevice with the wind. While sober judgment stands and waits with- out? Men have been crucified, have died for hate, Hearts have been broken on the racking wheel ; A nation's thrice-blessed chalice never washed Oppression's memories from her guilty heel ! Then let the trial come, the cause be heard. Or let the curse drag on from sun to sun ! — The weary prisoner turns upon his bed, — " My Father, I would live, — Thy will be done ! 42 The Other Side So weaves the raveled thread of somber life, That in the changing light, faith knits with care For him who looks up through the clouds of earth Beyond the bars, and feels a Presence there. The springtime dallies with the ragged hem That binds the snowy robe of sleeping earth ; Yet once again her broideries break through The dark cold clods, that yearned to give them birth. Within the fort are whisperings of life, And in the tender green of new-born leaves, The feathered wanderers have dropped the wing. And swallows twitter in the drying eaves ; Like incense sifting through the prison bars. Like prayers, the trusting music breathes afar The worship of the Unknown Love that taught The tiny things what love and freedom are. Yea, such as these, — a thing that man may hold Within the roomy hollow of his palm. /In Historic Poem 4^ Will break the tiny wing within a snare, Will pine for freedom, in a prison's calm ; Oh ! Hand that counts the strands of human life Like beads upon the shadow of His thought ! — To lie upon the sluggish tide that tells The turn of time, where days, where years are naught ! — How goes the day, the wistful day that laid The sad year dead, upon the leaves of fate ? What message drifts upon the heavy gloom That lies around the Prisoner of State ? Peace cannot tell the old familiar tale, Hearts cannot speak the sympathy they feel ; Oh ! love, thy voice is hushed, and friendship weeps, Blocked out by granite, barred by glittering steel ! The hand that led the flower of the world, Whose fingers, chivalry was wont to press. Wooes with a crumb, a timid starving mouse, — The only thing he has the power to bless ! 44 The Other Side Across the moat the sunbeams drift and die, Beneath the frov/ning turrets, shadows blend, Are born and die again with dreary rote ; The sickened senses swim, — when comes the end ! The hand of Nature heals the war-scarred earth, She nestles close unto the mother's heart. To feel its beating, while her human sons In din and strife, forget that better part. For whence the force that seals the captive's cell, — What power wields the key that bars the gate ? Dwells he beneath the rules of martial sway. Or by the ancient civil laws of state ? The martial bond dies with the pulse of war. Then whence the charge, Oh ! learned court of Truth ? — The civil law had sent the baser crimes Upon a speedier road than this, forsooth ! Had there been dealt by stealth a secret blow, A traitorous hand, a traitor's fate had met ; All Historic Poem ^5 A murderer's heart had justly ceased to beat, A prison-torturer's sun had long been set ! Yea, what a siDectacle is this, to leave Upon the record of a vaunted peace — A prisoner, held by government, ashamed To grant a trial or to give release ! And should he die beneath the bonds of hate. Through riven bars shall they look on the dead, Then hiss into the ear of listening worlds The Jewish cry, " His blood be on our head " ? His code is cast within a higher mould. That asks not mercy, at the victor's hand — Before a civil court he only craves An open trial of his native land. The issue clogs the progress of the wheels That lead the triumph of the Union cause ; Before the seat where reigns unholy wrath, The scions of humanity must pause. To hear the voices calling from the waste Where Justice left her mantle ere she fled ; 46 The Other Side The pleading for the smothered spark of right, Lest honest right of fearless truth be dead. It is a sun-gleam, shot across the cloud, — Born where the human fountain ebbs and flows, The fealty of manhood unto man, Pledged with the open hands of noble foes. The ears waxed dull against the boom of war, The treason-criers with their garments rent. And balanced reason yet must hear the call — The clarion that humanity has sent ! Two weary years ! The heavy prison gates Swing on their laggard hinges once again. The breath of heaven mingles with the earth. The light of heaven mingles with the pain ! And still the spawn of undiluted hate And craven shame, upon the vantage grope, — When sons of wrath have gulped envenomed gall, To vaunt the " clemency that spared the rope." Two weary years ! the proud head of the Chief, Unbowed in chains, unbent in wasting care. /Ill Historic Poem ^7 Droops in the silent faith with her who waits, — The light of love is more than he can bear ; Whose voice is dead within a living world, Ambition's feather broken on its glave, The future, but the cypress-trailing past, — Not even his, the franchise of a slave ! 48 The Other Side PART THIRD RECONSTRUCTION They turned their faces from the sullen field, Where time had writ defeat with bloody hand ; The grave had claimed its own, and prison holes Had vomited their ghastly wrecks of life. Unconquered men ! — who held the coat of gray In rags and honor o'er the Southern heart, That struck for right, outstripped by force, for death — Unblessed by both, to teach how manhood lives ! They told their stories by the broken hearth, By empty chairs, by boards with sorrow spread. Where two or three had gathered in the name, And paused within a prayer, to call it ' Home.' A)i Historic Poem 49 The calm had kissed the storm, the twilight hush Had pressed the burning heels of noontide glare, — But what a calm was there, its stillness ■ drooped Before the horrors of a blank despair ! They came from far along the dusty way To seek their own, — to find the husks of life : Graves sorrow-filled, to soothe a yearning love, And dreary wastes where torch of wrath had dwelt. Men pressed the teeth into the lip, nor spake, But strained their sinews to the biting need That fed upon the wasting chords of life ; Plaints died unuttered, empty words were vain, — For such before the ear of God were dumb. Some fell beneath the awful car that strewed The hearts of men along the way of life, — Souls paused amid the chaos, and the light Of reason fled before the wrecks of love ; Death slipped beneath the arms and sorrow slept Upon his bosom like a cradled child. ^o The Other Side And some there were, a few, oh ! bitter shame ! Who in the darkness turned the coat of gray, — Its ragged honors must have hardly pressed To give its lining such a sheen of blue ! To some a silence came, and sorrow supped With tears and sorrow ; watching eyes grew dim With gazing down familiar paths in vain. And then a sword or whispered message came And Rachael lifted up her voice and wept ; To turn again to earnest life alone, Beneath the sackcloth and the ash of woe, To stifle back the mother-cry that left Her patriots on the field of honor, dead. The sword was hung above the scanty board. Was hung in honor, crossed with that which gave The birth throe of Republics, — blade with blade Bore silent witness of a common cause ; For truth has lived, will live, a thing of God, Though human strength falls quivering by the way ; The flames consume not, nor the blight that drops A weaker fruit untimely to the earth ! All Historic Poem 5/ While yet, the goodly land the fathers gave Tossed thorn and hedgerow, waiting for the touch Of loving hands and hearts, to sow and reap A fairer harvest than of shot and shell. What time for idle grief when barn and store Yearned with the bowels of an empty depth. And wide-eyed children played upon the heart And lifted up their orphaned cries of woe ? Ay, women weep when poignant griefs bear hard, — The hand of Him men love hath made them so ; But ah ! that line that held those starving throats In silence, charged before the fearful odds In clash of war, in aftertimes revealed The ease, endurance works through living pain ! Men called it peace. Arbitrament of war Had held the Southland in the Union league With stern decree, lest even right should break The link that bound the welded sisterhood. She bowed her head to fate, and in the night That lay upon her heart, footsore and sad, ^2 The Other Side Before the Union's citadel of might She pressed unto the brazen door and knocked ; Men heard her not, a chaos reigned within, Nor opened unto amnesty and right. " Peace hath her victories no less than war." Peace hath her shames — ah ! pitiful the word That heaped the blackness of unnumbered crimes Upon the devastation of the sword ! Wide lay the lines between the heated hearts, Not wider they, when fratricidal war Plowed with a bloody scythe the teeming fields ; The olive branch of Reconstruction came, — A cursed leaf upon a blighted trunk ! Ay, peace forsooth ! along her barren land, That yielded up its store to flame and sword, She wound her silent way with folded hands ; What more for her ? — her wonted eloquence Was hushed amid the governmental world, Her arm of might was severed from its power. And alien robes swept through her halls of state ! Hast seen the birds that sentry on the beach, Upon the calm that follows on the storm ? An Historic Poem 53 Hast seen the human ghouls with net and snare, Who ply their craft along the cruel bars ? For so they came, the warriors of peace, To sniff the harmless aftermath of strife. Clothed in the little brief unwonted power, That gives a beggar airing for his rags ; Unburdened, save by hate, that strove to fill The long lean cavern of an empty pouch. So grew the loathsome cloud from out the North, Along the low horizon of the South, — The swaying buzzard hath not surer flight Than that which swooped upon the wrecks of war. What wonder men grew pale and ground the teeth In sullen silence, bending to their tasks. Or soft-eyed women, toiling at the wheel, Wept low that even sunlight had grown dim ! From fleecy fields the " Wards of Freedom " came With thick-lipped clamor, waving in their hands, 5^ The Other Side With blatant ignorance and vicious lusts, The franchise that the Southron could not use. Full loud the grotesque clamor rose and fell Unheeded, by a promise unfulfilled ; What gift of office could appease the hope That held a goodly Canaan and a mule ! But even they, the children of the night. Must fill a hungry maw that yearned for more ; From dusky hands, in childish trust, there slipped A piteous hoard to feed unholy greed ! Some preached of love, from altars hedged about. Far from the scene, nor pondered what they taught, — Where blank-eyed dreamers, wild with theories, Hugged not the truth, but images brain- wrought. Some bridged the gulf, but from coercion hewed The keystone of the arch set in with blood. Flanked by the glittering bars of bayonets, That held their sharpness by a brutal might. An Historic Poem ^^ Blight followed blight ; the dark insensate ground Was cold beneath the chilling drops of war, Nor freely gave its multiplying power Into the hands whose harvest had been death. Had He, who in the fullness of His word Holds all within the hollow of His hand, Forgot to look upon the evil days Heaped up with labor, running o'er with prayers ? Her lines were hard, but still the Southland held Her faith unshaken, and her trust undimmed Against foul slander, calumny, and wrong, — The very vipers warming at her hearth, — To lend a still tongue and a muffled ear To all the shallow comforters of Job Who perched upon the ruin of her walls To crave a curse upon the evil time. Her land of dreams had died upon her heart, As daring, pure, as palaces of snow, To leave as residue that hallowed thing, Unconquered, in the history of man, — That dwelt upon the vanquished ones who warred ^6 The Other Side In truth for her, and by the holy dead Took up again the tangled skein of life. It lived, within a bruised and roughened husk, So small and still, imprisoned in the dark. Then on the weary, germinating years It burst, a giant from a mustard-seed. God smiled in sunlight, and the sodden earth Gave back to loving care, a loving yield, As fleecy fields tossed white with Southern snow. And golden fruitage bent with breaking trees. Upon the fair land, vandal - swept, where stalked A hungered poverty among her brood. There rose the white wing of a living hope Above the ashes of her buried love= Hill called to hill, and hidden treasure yawned To give into her hand a heaping store. And high against a storm-washed sky she raised The tower of her covenant of faith. The empty hands were filled, and meager forms Basked in the pleasant warmth of self-wrought ease, As resurrection rent the pallid veil /Ill Historic Poem ^y That lay upon the dearth of stunted years. Progression spake, and from wide throated vaults There poured a mellow stream of Northern gold, Though malcontents were grumbling in their mood, That God had made a Nazareth so fair. Peace lay upon her ways, and pleasant herbs Sprung in the furrow plowed by shot and shell. Though o'er the land that held the Southern Cross, The waving banner of the Union fell ; Hers too, to smite a stern reality. Hers too, abiding through the coming time, — Whose fair allegiance, not less true, reveals The symbol of an unforgotten dream ! Like as a mother, when the day is done. Turns from the tiny forms she hushed to rest. So tender, yet so faithful in her love, — To weep upon a treasured golden curl, Or faded shoe a buried baby wore, — Not yet a part, and yet a tie to waft $8 The Other Side The incense of the holy risen thing, — On each returning springtime o'er her Cross The widowed South remembered, wept her dead ; To smile again upon the living hearts That looked their love into her faithful eyes, To draw her mantle o'er the holy place Where slept the emblem of her living dead. Blest ashes ! — keep the dust the mother loves. As she in solemn grandeur keeps their shields, — The dead who died with victory in their ears, Who never knew their daring issue failed ! Rest lightly as a curtain spun of mist, — Let no rude zephyr tell the story there, — Unto the dead whom all the world has crowned. Who never felt the woe the vanquished feel ! Years dropped away, the busy quiet days Wore slanted shadows, and the first light snow Lay on the boyish brows of Sixty One ; They told their sons of war, and in the hush They pointed to the dusty, vacant chairs, y^n Historic Poem 59 Then to the grassy slopes beneath the trees, Where rest in silence all the hills of God ; And childish eyes grew wide and childish hearts Quaffed deep the living principle they taught. The page of life repeats as cycles close, And from the selfsame missal it was learned, Full lettered out, the same old simple creed The fathers of the Revolution held. True, tender, loving, proud old South ! — the hands That rent their palms against the barb of war To gild thy name, have woven for thy form A wondrous garment in a magic loom. Thou art the " New " unto the stranger's glance. Thou art the " New " unto the stranger's clasp That never knew thine in the olden day. But they, Oh ! mother, who have knelt with thee. Have lain upon thy heart to breathe their woe. When manhood left its all upon the field Save that undimming honor of its shield, — Look through the vestments of thy newer day. Upon thy placid, dear familiar face ! 6o The Other Side Beside the sea the vista had grown gray, The long moss trembled from the gnarled trees To swell of sighing pines, that blent with shades That fold about the eventide of life. There had been woeful sacrifice of blood, There had been offering without the death ; Upon the altar of a people's love A Chief's unsullied broken life was laid ; Atonement for the living, for the dead, A requiem for the cause that lived and died, — A shrine to bear a weak one's conscious sin, If craven hand be found to cast it there. An alien in the land that gave him birth, Without a pardon, either asked or given, A severed chord yet vibrant in its strength, A silence, when the thunder peal is stilled. He lived, — unbent before the stricken years. Cut like a granite form against the gray. To nourish in his heart the flawless germ Of life, the riven Constitution lost. He lived, — the target of a thousand shafts, — A sentinel above the grave of hope, The substance of a disembodied dream, — A living, bleeding sacrifice for men ! An Historic Poem 6i The dreams of youth drift when the frosty- years Leave snowflakes in the locks that manhood brought ; Somewhere upon the path, the ghost of bloom Will mingle with the mellowed autumn leaf. The issue failed, — its following was want. The cry for bread had stilled the voice of men. The present need beat back the bloody past Within the darkness, but what time the feet Were loosed from treading corn, the silent hearts Turned back in faith unto their early love. The newer day was theirs ; upon the form They followed, loved, the night was falling fast, And with the throbbing of a million loves The war-scarred Southrons sought again their Chief. But once again ! the loyalty they gave But slumbered through the five and twenty years, — But once again ! ere grandeur slept with age Beside the starry banner in its shroud ! T' was meet — through life he suffered death for them. 62 The Other Side For them he gave the flower of his years To leave its perfume in an iron hand, Its petals dead, and yet he murmured not. And so they came as soldiers once again, Came with the autumn glory as it smiled Upon the frost-touched heads, half sorrow crowned, To blend the tokens of a living love. From every walk of life, with martial tread, In tender mood they wound their thoughtful way. To cast a joy into the cup of pain, A gleam against the years of sleet and rain. Ay, stood he there ! the eagle of the South, Old, gray, beneath the chains of fettered years. Alone and grand against a changing sky, — A sunset of a glorious day that died I They looked upon the wasted form they loved ; Hearts broke the clod of weary buried time ; A rush of soul — Oh ! God ! if it were sin. That all Thy faithful had such following ! Ah ! what was time ? a filmy veil that swept Like spiders' webs before the seething flood ! Ah ! what was life ? a single drop to pour Within the precious chalice of the past ! All Historic Poem 6j The martial line was broken, far above A shout clave through the sympathetic air ; Heart called to heart, that echoed back again Through bursting throats a swelling sea of sound. On, on, they came, what mattered form or state ? The day had cheated age, the hearts wer^ young To lift the tender glory of the past. To press like children to the Chieftain's feet. All, all forgot ! ay, but to see his face. To hear his voice, to touch his withered hands, To look into the eagle eye, that looked Its last, through glistening tears, upon his own ! They struggled, surged, a breaking wave of hearts, Swept by a backing tide of memory, — To rain their kisses on the thin pale hands And wash them with the strength of manhood's tears. All, all were there — the faithful in the dark, The steadfast armorers, and e'en the sons That strayed apart, came back in earnest troth To look upon the emblem of their love. 64 The Other Side What hand could check ? from human hearts it flashed As sudden lightning rends the cloudless skies, A joy that filtered through an age of woe, A candle snuffed to radiance as it dies ! And scoif who might, the sordid day had paused, The mystic triumph sped from soul to soul ; High heaven's angels looked into their depths And marked its passage with a spotless stone ! They raised the tatters of the Southern Cross, With trembling hands above the weeping host. The Chieftain bowed upon its bloodstained folds — The living emblem and the dead were one ! The last farewell ! above his People crowned With sunlit peace, he waved the tattered thing, — Like to his breaking heart, the tie that bound Their lives, their glories, with the deathless past ; A shout, a prayer, a benediction died Upon the shadow of the glorious dream, — A silence drifted like a snowy veil, And left a Grandeur on the heart of Time !