 |
 |
|
 | The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell |  |
197
MY TOWNSMEN FOR THE WAR.
A fife's shrill strain comes up the way;
Quick drum-beats make the pulses play;
Light sprays are waving overhead;
I hear a manifold tramp and tread:
Quick drum-beats make the pulses play;
Light sprays are waving overhead;
I hear a manifold tramp and tread:
Ah! you are soldiers, now, my kindly neighbors,
Learning the step and drill and watch at night;
Bound to that field where bayonets and sabres
Cut living flesh, and honest work is fight.
Learning the step and drill and watch at night;
Bound to that field where bayonets and sabres
Cut living flesh, and honest work is fight.
God bless you, there, as in this homely tillage!
One while, our brow's sweat,—one while, heart's red gore.
Keep safe the free homes! save the land from pillage!
Give to some right, once,—peace to all, once more!
One while, our brow's sweat,—one while, heart's red gore.
Keep safe the free homes! save the land from pillage!
Give to some right, once,—peace to all, once more!
We must be ready for our Time to call us;
Noble and brave, the best have answered first:
We must be men, let good or ill befall us:
Self-slaves and cowards in their blood are curst.
Noble and brave, the best have answered first:
198
Self-slaves and cowards in their blood are curst.
What has God set us in His living world for,
Save for the work that falls upon our day?
His iron smites the bosom it was hurled for,
One in his honest place, and one, away.
Save for the work that falls upon our day?
His iron smites the bosom it was hurled for,
One in his honest place, and one, away.
Go your great way! the sight of you has kindled
Awe for a simple man's undaunted will:
Men of great place, and men's great gains, have dwindled:
Daring of death for right grows higher still.
Awe for a simple man's undaunted will:
Men of great place, and men's great gains, have dwindled:
Daring of death for right grows higher still.
Soldiers, keep near best thoughts of homes that bred you:
Love, and the Prayer, and Parent's kind reproof;
Toil and earned rest; the maiden that shall wed you;
Plenty and peace beneath the farmer's roof.
Love, and the Prayer, and Parent's kind reproof;
Toil and earned rest; the maiden that shall wed you;
Plenty and peace beneath the farmer's roof.
Think of our Road, and Hill, and far-seen Churches;
Neighbors that gather on the Sabbath-morn;
Hear the harsh cry from where the peacock perches,
Not breaking that strong peace, of God's Word born.
Neighbors that gather on the Sabbath-morn;
199
Not breaking that strong peace, of God's Word born.
Think of our God, by whom your pledge is holden;
Do your work well: He sees it from above:
So, by and by, along the streets all golden,
March in blest triumph under eyes of love!
Do your work well: He sees it from above:
So, by and by, along the streets all golden,
March in blest triumph under eyes of love!
The fife's shrill strain faints far away:
Again bright stillness holds the day.
The drum's dull sound, behind the hill,
Lets down the blood's warm, hurried thrill.
Again bright stillness holds the day.
The drum's dull sound, behind the hill,
Lets down the blood's warm, hurried thrill.
It is not like our full-ripe grain
To cut fellow-men down, made in vain:
But come they crushing truth and right,
Sinks their low manhood out of sight.
By manful hands God fells man's crime:
The way shows forth: we see the time.
To cut fellow-men down, made in vain:
But come they crushing truth and right,
Sinks their low manhood out of sight.
By manful hands God fells man's crime:
The way shows forth: we see the time.
To some of us no high call comes
To march with clarions, flags, and drums,
And fling our life-strength into the throng:—
We have our prayer and speech and song.
Some take a place: the great Fate glides,
Far angels peering from the sides;
And farther down are won the gains,
Safe law, broad right, and broken chains.
To march with clarions, flags, and drums,
200
We have our prayer and speech and song.
Some take a place: the great Fate glides,
Far angels peering from the sides;
And farther down are won the gains,
Safe law, broad right, and broken chains.
Duanesburgh, July, 1863.
| The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell | |