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GEORGE W. BAGBY.
 
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Page 23

GEORGE W. BAGBY.

Dr. George W. Bagby was born in Virginia in 1828, and for a
number of years was the editor of the Southern Literary Messenger,
published at Richmond, Va. He was a frequent contributor
to current literature, and won well deserved literary laurels
in humorous writings, over the pen-name of "Mozis
Addums." He also achieved considerable success as a lecturer.
Some of his lyrics are exquisite. "The Empty Sleeve"
is a gem of this kind, full of homely but genuine pathos.

THE EMPTY SLEEVE.

Tom, old fellow, I grieve to see
That sleeve hanging loose at your side;
The arm you lost was worth to me
Every Yankee that ever died.
But you don't mind it at all,
You swear you've a beautiful stump,
And laugh at the damnable ball—
Tom, I knew you were always a trump!
A good right arm, a nervy hand,
A wrist as strong as a sapling oak,
Buried deep in the Malvern sand—
To laugh at that is a sorry joke.
Never again your iron grip
Shall I feel in my shrinking palm;
Tom, Tom, I see your trembling lip,
How on earth can I be calm?

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Page 24
Well, the arm is gone, it is true;
But the one that is nearest the heart
Is left—and that's as good as two.
Tom, old fellow, what makes you start?
Why, man, she thinks that empty sleeve
A badge of honor; so do I,
And all of us—I do believe
The fellow is going to cry!
"She deserves a perfect man," you say;
You, "not worth her in your prime;"
Tom, the arm that has turned to clay,
Your whole body has made sublime;
For you have placed in the Malvern earth
The proof and the pledge of a noble life,
And the rest, henceforward of higher worth,
Will be dearer than all to your wife.
I see the people in the street
Look at your sleeve with kindling eyes;
And know you, Tom, there's naught so sweet
As homage shown in mute surmise;
Bravely your arm in battle strove,
Freely for freedom's sake you gave it
It has perished, but a nation's love
In proud remembrance will save it.

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Go to your sweetheart, then, forthwith—
You're a fool for staying so long;
Woman's love you will find no myth,
But a truth—living, tender and strong;
And when around her slender belt
Your left arm is clasped in fond embrace,
Your right will thrill, as if it felt
In its grave the usurper's place.
As I look through the coming years,
I see a one-armed married man;
A little woman, with smiles and tears,
Is helping as hard as she can
To put on his coat, pin his sleeve,
Tie his cravat, and cut his food—
And I say, as these fancies I weave,
"That is Tom, and the woman he wooed."
The years roll on, and then I see
A wedding picture, bright and fair;
I look closer, and it's plain to me
That is Tom with the silver hair;
He gives away the lovely bride,
And the guests linger, loth to leave
The house of him in whom they pride—
Brave old Tom, with the empty sleeve.