 | The lost earl with other poems and tales in verse |  |
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“WHEN WE CAME FROM THE WAR.”
SONG OF THE POORHOUSE VETERANS.
Our people, when first we came home from the war,
Before they forgot what the fighting was for,
Came out with gay bands, and a wonderful noise
Of cannon and shouting, to welcome us boys.
Our riddled old regiment marched in its rags
Under arches of triumph and billowy flags,
That made the poor shred of our ensign ashamed;
And orators under an awning declaimed;
And loud were the plaudits; and handkerchiefs waved
When they talked of the Union our armies had saved,
And vowed that our victories made up a debt
Which a bountiful nation would never forget,
When first we came home from the war.
Before they forgot what the fighting was for,
Came out with gay bands, and a wonderful noise
Of cannon and shouting, to welcome us boys.
Our riddled old regiment marched in its rags
Under arches of triumph and billowy flags,
That made the poor shred of our ensign ashamed;
And orators under an awning declaimed;
And loud were the plaudits; and handkerchiefs waved
When they talked of the Union our armies had saved,
And vowed that our victories made up a debt
Which a bountiful nation would never forget,
When first we came home from the war.
But the fervor of greeting died out with the sound
Of the guns and the trumpets, and some of us found
That with toil and exposure and wounds badly healed
We had left the best part of ourselves on the field;
While at home younger men had stepped into our place,
And put us old limpers quite out of the race.
Our welcome wore off, and the often-told tale
Of our services soon became hackneyed and stale.
Kind souls, when we offered small wares at their doors,
Would buy them in pity, but voted us bores,
And could hardly believe that the blue-coated tramps
Were ever acquainted with battles and camps,
Or ever came home from the war.
Of the guns and the trumpets, and some of us found
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We had left the best part of ourselves on the field;
While at home younger men had stepped into our place,
And put us old limpers quite out of the race.
Our welcome wore off, and the often-told tale
Of our services soon became hackneyed and stale.
Kind souls, when we offered small wares at their doors,
Would buy them in pity, but voted us bores,
And could hardly believe that the blue-coated tramps
Were ever acquainted with battles and camps,
Or ever came home from the war.
At length they decided to settle us down
In the almshouse, with other poor wrecks of the town.
No parade of gay bands and great crowds thronging near
With flags and orations to welcome us here!
But the rosy-faced keeper received us, and said
That we ought to be thankful for shelter and bread.
Now, troubled no more with our needles and soap,
And the sight of gaunt men without health, without hope,
Who sadly remind them of services past,
Our kind-hearted people have leisure at last
To forget all about what the fighting was for,
And the promises made when we came from the war,
When first we came home from the war.
In the almshouse, with other poor wrecks of the town.
No parade of gay bands and great crowds thronging near
With flags and orations to welcome us here!
But the rosy-faced keeper received us, and said
That we ought to be thankful for shelter and bread.
Now, troubled no more with our needles and soap,
And the sight of gaunt men without health, without hope,
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Our kind-hearted people have leisure at last
To forget all about what the fighting was for,
And the promises made when we came from the war,
When first we came home from the war.
| The lost earl with other poems and tales in verse | |