 | Poems of the war |  |
196
ELISHA KENT KANE.
February 27, 1857.
O mother Earth, thy task is done
With him who slumbers here below;
From thy cold Arctic brow he won
A glory purer than thy snow.
With him who slumbers here below;
From thy cold Arctic brow he won
A glory purer than thy snow.
Thy warmer bosom gently nursed
The dying hero; for his eye
The tropic Spring's full splendors burst,—
“In vain!” a thousand voices cry.
The dying hero; for his eye
The tropic Spring's full splendors burst,—
“In vain!” a thousand voices cry.
“In vain, in vain!” The poet's art
Forsook me when the people cried;
Naught but the grief that fills my heart,
And memories of my friend, abide.
Forsook me when the people cried;
Naught but the grief that fills my heart,
And memories of my friend, abide.
197
We parted in the midnight street,
Beneath a cold autumnal rain;
He wrung my hand, he stayed my feet
With “Friend, we shall not meet again.”
Beneath a cold autumnal rain;
He wrung my hand, he stayed my feet
With “Friend, we shall not meet again.”
I laughed; I would not then believe;
He smiled; he left me; all was o'er.
How much for my poor laugh I 'd give!—
How much to see him smile once more!
He smiled; he left me; all was o'er.
How much for my poor laugh I 'd give!—
How much to see him smile once more!
I know my lay bemeans the dead,
That sorrow is an humble thing,
That I should sing his praise instead,
And strike it on a higher string.
That sorrow is an humble thing,
That I should sing his praise instead,
And strike it on a higher string.
Let stronger minstrels raise their lay,
And follow where his fame has flown;
To the whole world belongs his praise,
His friendship was to me alone.
And follow where his fame has flown;
To the whole world belongs his praise,
His friendship was to me alone.
198
So close against my heart he lay,
That I should make his glory dim,
And hear a bashful whisper say,
“I praise myself in praising him.”
That I should make his glory dim,
And hear a bashful whisper say,
“I praise myself in praising him.”
O gentle mother, following nigh
His long, long funeral march, resign
To me the right to lift this cry,
And part the sorrow that is thine.
His long, long funeral march, resign
To me the right to lift this cry,
And part the sorrow that is thine.
O father, mourning by his bier,
Forgive this song of little worth!
My eloquence is but a tear,
I cannot, would not rise from earth.
Forgive this song of little worth!
My eloquence is but a tear,
I cannot, would not rise from earth.
O stricken brothers, broken band,—
The link that held the jewels lost,—
I pray you give me leave to stand
Amid you, from the sorrowing host.
The link that held the jewels lost,—
I pray you give me leave to stand
Amid you, from the sorrowing host.
199
We 'll give his honors to the world,
We 'll hark for echoes from afar;
Where'er our country's flag 's unfurled
His name shall shine in every star.
We 'll hark for echoes from afar;
Where'er our country's flag 's unfurled
His name shall shine in every star.
We feel no fear that time shall keep
Our hero's memory. Let us move
A little from the world to weep,
And for our portion take his love.
Our hero's memory. Let us move
A little from the world to weep,
And for our portion take his love.
| Poems of the war | |