 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
75
THE LAST OF SIX
Come in; you are welcome, neighbor; all day I've been alone,
And heard the wailing, wintry wind sweep by with bitter moan;
And to-night beside my lonely fire, I mutely wonder why
I, who once wept as others weep, sit here with tearless eye.
And heard the wailing, wintry wind sweep by with bitter moan;
And to-night beside my lonely fire, I mutely wonder why
I, who once wept as others weep, sit here with tearless eye.
To-day this letter came to me. At first I could not brook
Upon the unfamiliar lines by strangers penned, to look;
The dread of evil tidings shook my soul with wild alarm—
But Harry's in the hospital, and has only lost an arm.
Upon the unfamiliar lines by strangers penned, to look;
The dread of evil tidings shook my soul with wild alarm—
But Harry's in the hospital, and has only lost an arm.
He is the last—the last of six brave boys as e'er were seen!
How short, to memory's vision, seem the years that lie between
This hour and those most blessed ones, when round this hearth's bright blaze
They charmed their mother's heart and eye with all their pretty ways!
How short, to memory's vision, seem the years that lie between
This hour and those most blessed ones, when round this hearth's bright blaze
They charmed their mother's heart and eye with all their pretty ways!
My William was the eldest son, and he was first to go.
It did not at all surprise me, for I knew it would be so,
From that fearful April Sunday when the news from Sumter came,
And his lips grew white as ashes, while his eyes were all aflame.
It did not at all surprise me, for I knew it would be so,
From that fearful April Sunday when the news from Sumter came,
And his lips grew white as ashes, while his eyes were all aflame.
76
He sprang to join the three months' men. I could not say him nay,
Though my heart stood still within me when I saw him march away;
At the corner of the street he smiled, and waved the flag he bore;
I never saw him smile again—he was slain at Baltimore.
Though my heart stood still within me when I saw him march away;
At the corner of the street he smiled, and waved the flag he bore;
I never saw him smile again—he was slain at Baltimore.
They sent his body back to me, and as we stood around
His grave, beside his father's, in yonder burial-ground,
John laid his hand upon my arm and whispered, “Mother dear,
I have Willy's work and mine to do. I cannot loiter here.”
His grave, beside his father's, in yonder burial-ground,
John laid his hand upon my arm and whispered, “Mother dear,
I have Willy's work and mine to do. I cannot loiter here.”
I turned and looked at Paul, for he and John were twins, you know,
Born on a happy Christmas, four-and-twenty years ago;
I looked upon them both, while my tears fell down like rain,
For I knew what one had spoken, had been spoken by the twain.
Born on a happy Christmas, four-and-twenty years ago;
I looked upon them both, while my tears fell down like rain,
For I knew what one had spoken, had been spoken by the twain.
In a month or more they left me—the merry, handsome boys,
Who had kept the old house ringing with their laughter, fun, and noise.
Then James came home to mind the farm; my younger sons were still
Mere children, at their lessons in the school-house on the hill.
Who had kept the old house ringing with their laughter, fun, and noise.
Then James came home to mind the farm; my younger sons were still
Mere children, at their lessons in the school-house on the hill.
O days of weary waiting! O days of doubt and dread!
I feared to read the papers, or to see the lists of dead;
But when full many a battle-storm had left them both unharmed,
I taught my foolish heart to think the double lives were charmed.
I feared to read the papers, or to see the lists of dead;
77
I taught my foolish heart to think the double lives were charmed.
Their colonel since has told me that no braver boys than they
Ever rallied round the colors, in the thickest of the fray;
Upon the wall behind you their swords are hanging still—
For John was killed at Fair Oaks, and Paul at Malvern Hill.
Ever rallied round the colors, in the thickest of the fray;
Upon the wall behind you their swords are hanging still—
For John was killed at Fair Oaks, and Paul at Malvern Hill.
Then came the dark days, darker than any known before;
There was another call for men—“three hundred thousand more;”
I saw the cloud on Jamie's brow grow deeper day by day;
I shrank before the impending blow, and scarce had strength to pray.
There was another call for men—“three hundred thousand more;”
I saw the cloud on Jamie's brow grow deeper day by day;
I shrank before the impending blow, and scarce had strength to pray.
And yet at last I bade him go, while on my cheek and brow
His loving tears and kisses fell; I feel them even now,
Though the eyes that shed the tears, and the lips so warm on mine
Are hidden under southern sands, beneath a blasted pine!
His loving tears and kisses fell; I feel them even now,
Though the eyes that shed the tears, and the lips so warm on mine
Are hidden under southern sands, beneath a blasted pine!
He did not die in battle-smoke, but for a weary year
He languished in close prison walls, a prey to hope and fear;
I dare not trust myself to think of the fruitless pangs he bore,
My brain grows wild when in my dreams I count his sufferings o'er.
He languished in close prison walls, a prey to hope and fear;
I dare not trust myself to think of the fruitless pangs he bore,
My brain grows wild when in my dreams I count his sufferings o'er.
Only two left! I thought the worst was surely over then;
But lo! at once my school-boy sons sprang up before me—men!
They heard their brothers' martyr blood call from the hallowed ground;
A loud, imperious summons that all other voices drowned.
But lo! at once my school-boy sons sprang up before me—men!
78
A loud, imperious summons that all other voices drowned.
I did not say a single word. My very heart seemed dead.
What could I do but take the cup, and bow my weary head
To drink the bitter draught again? I dared not hold them back;
I would as soon have tried to check the whirlwind on its track.
What could I do but take the cup, and bow my weary head
To drink the bitter draught again? I dared not hold them back;
I would as soon have tried to check the whirlwind on its track.
You know the rest. At Cedar Creek my Frederick bravely fell;
They say his young arm did its work right nobly and right well;
His comrades breathe the hero's name with mingled love and pride;
I miss the gentle blue-eyed boy, who frolicked at my side.
They say his young arm did its work right nobly and right well;
His comrades breathe the hero's name with mingled love and pride;
I miss the gentle blue-eyed boy, who frolicked at my side.
For me, I ne'er shall weep again. I think my heart is dead;
I, who could weep for lighter griefs, have now no tears to shed.
But read this letter, neighbor. There is nothing to alarm,
For Harry's in the hospital, and has only lost an arm!
I, who could weep for lighter griefs, have now no tears to shed.
But read this letter, neighbor. There is nothing to alarm,
For Harry's in the hospital, and has only lost an arm!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |