 | The music-lesson of Confucius, And Other Poems |  |
149
SONGS OF THE AMERICAN WAR OF EMANCIPATION, 1861–1865.
151
THE KNIGHT AND THE DRAGON.
July, 1861.
WHEN I wandered in the land of Art
'Mid the sharp-tipped dreams, where blue Madonnas
Sit like butterflies upon a sunflower,
Framed in fragments of the Golden Ages,
Oft I noted that in all Cathedrals,
Here or there amid grotesquest carving,
One quaint symbol never was forgotten—
Soon or later I was sure to find it
Lurking somewhere in entrellised columns;
Peeping strangely through a gnarling impost,
Always came the strange Masonic symbol
Of a warrior, helmeted and sworded,
Fighting grimly with a devil dragon.
'Mid the sharp-tipped dreams, where blue Madonnas
Sit like butterflies upon a sunflower,
Framed in fragments of the Golden Ages,
Oft I noted that in all Cathedrals,
Here or there amid grotesquest carving,
One quaint symbol never was forgotten—
Soon or later I was sure to find it
Lurking somewhere in entrellised columns;
Peeping strangely through a gnarling impost,
Always came the strange Masonic symbol
Of a warrior, helmeted and sworded,
Fighting grimly with a devil dragon.
Good old priests have told me that the figure
Simply meant St George:—you know the story—
Deeper heads will have it 'tis a symbol,
Persian-old—the myth of Light and Darkness,
Ahriman and Ormuzd fiercely fighting,
Ever fighting the great world-old battle.
Simply meant St George:—you know the story—
Deeper heads will have it 'tis a symbol,
Persian-old—the myth of Light and Darkness,
Ahriman and Ormuzd fiercely fighting,
Ever fighting the great world-old battle.
And it is the fight of Light and Darkness,
The great fight of God against the Devil;
The great fight of Tyranny and Freedom;
Truth and Right against foul Might and Falsehood:
Many a thousand years the two have battled—
Tell me, is it an unending struggle?
The great fight of God against the Devil;
The great fight of Tyranny and Freedom;
Truth and Right against foul Might and Falsehood:
Many a thousand years the two have battled—
Tell me, is it an unending struggle?
152
Many voices cry, ‘It is unending;
Man is damned by birth, for black transgression
And the lust of power are his nature,
Slavery, like sin, must last for ever:
Woe unto the weaker—woe eternal;
God and Sin and Pain have plainly spoken,
And the Earth will ne'er be free from bondage.’
Man is damned by birth, for black transgression
And the lust of power are his nature,
Slavery, like sin, must last for ever:
Woe unto the weaker—woe eternal;
God and Sin and Pain have plainly spoken,
And the Earth will ne'er be free from bondage.’
Let me see once more that ancient carving:
No; it is not a mere balanced battle;
True, the knight seems smothered by the dragon,
True, the foul and snaky folds are round him;
True, he gasps amid the flame and poison;
But his blade is in the monster's vitals,
And the grisly drake is slowly dying.
No; it is not a mere balanced battle;
True, the knight seems smothered by the dragon,
True, the foul and snaky folds are round him;
True, he gasps amid the flame and poison;
But his blade is in the monster's vitals,
And the grisly drake is slowly dying.
Yes, although so slowly, he is dying;
Many thousand years have fled in darkness
Since the sword first cut his scaly armour,
And the red wound roused him into madness;
But the good knight is of race immortal—
Ever young, and passionate, and fearless;
And the strength which oozes from the dragon
Blooms reviving in the glorious warrior.
Many thousand years have fled in darkness
Since the sword first cut his scaly armour,
And the red wound roused him into madness;
But the good knight is of race immortal—
Ever young, and passionate, and fearless;
And the strength which oozes from the dragon
Blooms reviving in the glorious warrior.
Ancient dragon, you are slowly dying!
Golden warrior, ever fairer, stronger!
Child of Light, my great Prometheus-Balder,
Dear and beautiful and never-fading,
Rouse! for now the fire-drake makes him ready
For his maddest, fiercest, foulest struggle—
Rouse!
Golden warrior, ever fairer, stronger!
Child of Light, my great Prometheus-Balder,
Dear and beautiful and never-fading,
Rouse! for now the fire-drake makes him ready
For his maddest, fiercest, foulest struggle—
Rouse!
Oh, countrymen! men of the Northland
All around you twines the Southern dragon,
All your life is blent with subtle poison,
All your veins are fired with heat infernal,
From the loathsome devil's spume and breathing:
Strike, my warrior, strike him dead for ever!
End the world-old strife between the oppressor
And the oppressed: press on, for you must conquer.
All around you twines the Southern dragon,
All your life is blent with subtle poison,
All your veins are fired with heat infernal,
153
Strike, my warrior, strike him dead for ever!
End the world-old strife between the oppressor
And the oppressed: press on, for you must conquer.
Now the good knight frees him from the dragon,
Casts aside the ancient heavy armour,
Bathes him in the purest light of heaven,
In the intensest lucent-flowing spirit;
White and beautiful and lithe and naked,
Oh! how golden fair withouten armour!
True, it shielded him for many ages;
True, it guarded him against the dragon;
But it always was a heavy armour,
Girding, smothering, chafing unto bleeding
Those fair limbs of ivory-purest beauty:
Strange that thousands should have dreamed that armour
Was his chiefest charm and best worth keeping;—
Soul of Beauty;—rule this world for ever.
Casts aside the ancient heavy armour,
Bathes him in the purest light of heaven,
In the intensest lucent-flowing spirit;
White and beautiful and lithe and naked,
Oh! how golden fair withouten armour!
True, it shielded him for many ages;
True, it guarded him against the dragon;
But it always was a heavy armour,
Girding, smothering, chafing unto bleeding
Those fair limbs of ivory-purest beauty:
Strange that thousands should have dreamed that armour
Was his chiefest charm and best worth keeping;—
Soul of Beauty;—rule this world for ever.
154
A SONG OF '62.
THERE'S a sorrowful old story how the army of the Turk
Once fell into an ambush, full of blood and evil work;
When the fate-believing Moslem, caring not that all was gone,
With sword a-sheath and eyes firm closed right into death rode on.
Once fell into an ambush, full of blood and evil work;
When the fate-believing Moslem, caring not that all was gone,
With sword a-sheath and eyes firm closed right into death rode on.
He could not fly—his hour had come—and so he kissed the rod
With La il Allah! on his lips, gave all the rest to God:
Down rolled the rocks—the muskets roared—in heaps the Faithful fell,
But one escaped of all the host the dreadful tale to tell.
With La il Allah! on his lips, gave all the rest to God:
Down rolled the rocks—the muskets roared—in heaps the Faithful fell,
But one escaped of all the host the dreadful tale to tell.
But there's another story, how a slave, in cruel sport,
Was thrown unto a tiger before the Roman court.
The man was born of fighting blood, and so he turned at bay:
The Roman at the tiger!—and the great brute slunk away!
Was thrown unto a tiger before the Roman court.
The man was born of fighting blood, and so he turned at bay:
The Roman at the tiger!—and the great brute slunk away!
155
Hurrah! we're called to battle—hurrah! the word is ‘fight!’
We've a bloody day before us, perhaps a deathly night.
But let there happen what there may in all our battlework,
We'll pattern by the Roman, and never by the Turk.
We've a bloody day before us, perhaps a deathly night.
But let there happen what there may in all our battlework,
We'll pattern by the Roman, and never by the Turk.
156
CAVALRY SONG.
1862.
WEAPONED well to war we ride,
With sabres ringing by our side,
The warning knell of death to all,
Who hold the holiest cause in thrall,
The sacred Right
Which grows to Might,
The day which dawns in blood-red light.
With sabres ringing by our side,
The warning knell of death to all,
Who hold the holiest cause in thrall,
The sacred Right
Which grows to Might,
The day which dawns in blood-red light.
Weaponed well to war we ride,
To conquer, tide what may betide,
Since never yet beneath the sun
Was battle by the devil won;
For what to thee
Defeat may be
Time makes a glorious victory.
To conquer, tide what may betide,
Since never yet beneath the sun
Was battle by the devil won;
For what to thee
Defeat may be
Time makes a glorious victory.
Weaponed well to war we ride—
Who braves the battle wins the bride;
Who dies the death for truth shall be
Alive in love eternally.
Though dead he lies,
Soft starry eyes
Smile hope to him from purple skies.
Who braves the battle wins the bride;
Who dies the death for truth shall be
Alive in love eternally.
Though dead he lies,
Soft starry eyes
Smile hope to him from purple skies.
157
Weaponed well to war we ride:—
Hurrah for the surging thunder-tide!
When the cannon's roar makes all seem large,
And the war-horse screams in the crashing charge,
And the rider strong
Whom he bears along
Is a death-dart shot at the yielding throng.
Hurrah for the surging thunder-tide!
When the cannon's roar makes all seem large,
And the war-horse screams in the crashing charge,
And the rider strong
Whom he bears along
Is a death-dart shot at the yielding throng.
Weaponed well to war we ride:
The bail is open, the hall is wide;
The sabre as it quits the sheath,
And beams with the lurid light of death,
And the deadly glance
Of the glittering lance,
Are the taper-lights of the battle-dance.
The bail is open, the hall is wide;
The sabre as it quits the sheath,
And beams with the lurid light of death,
And the deadly glance
Of the glittering lance,
Are the taper-lights of the battle-dance.
Weaponed well to war we ride,
Find your foeman on either side;
But woe to those who miss the time
When one false step is a deadly crime:
Who loses breath
In the dance of death
Wins nor wears nor wants the wreath.
Find your foeman on either side;
But woe to those who miss the time
When one false step is a deadly crime:
Who loses breath
In the dance of death
Wins nor wears nor wants the wreath.
Weaponed well to war we ride—
Our swords are keen and our cause is tried;
When the sharp edge cuts and the blood runs free,
May we die in the hour of victory!
We feel no dread—
The battle bed,
Where'er it be, has heaven o'erhead.
Our swords are keen and our cause is tried;
When the sharp edge cuts and the blood runs free,
May we die in the hour of victory!
We feel no dread—
The battle bed,
Where'er it be, has heaven o'erhead.
158
THE PROCLAMATION.
September 22, 1862.
NOW who has done the greatest deed
Which History has ever known?
And who in Freedom's direst need
Became her bravest champion?
Who a whole continent set free?
Who killed the curse and broke the ban
Which made a lie of liberty?
You—Father Abraham—you're the man!
Which History has ever known?
And who in Freedom's direst need
Became her bravest champion?
Who a whole continent set free?
Who killed the curse and broke the ban
Which made a lie of liberty?
You—Father Abraham—you're the man!
The deed is done. Millions have yearned
To see the spear of freedom cast:—
The dragon writhed and roared and burned:
You've smote him full and square at last.
O Great and True! You do not know,
You cannot tell—you cannot feel
How far through time your name must go,
Honoured by all men, high or low,
Wherever Freedom's votaries kneel.
To see the spear of freedom cast:—
The dragon writhed and roared and burned:
You've smote him full and square at last.
O Great and True! You do not know,
You cannot tell—you cannot feel
How far through time your name must go,
Honoured by all men, high or low,
Wherever Freedom's votaries kneel.
159
This wide world talks in many a tongue—
This world boasts many a noble state—
In all your praises will be sung,
In all the great will call you great.
Freedom! Where'er that word is known,
On silent shore, by sounding sea,
'Mid millions or in deserts lone,
Your noble name shall ever be.
This world boasts many a noble state—
In all your praises will be sung,
In all the great will call you great.
Freedom! Where'er that word is known,
On silent shore, by sounding sea,
'Mid millions or in deserts lone,
Your noble name shall ever be.
The word is out—the deed is done—
The spear is cast—dread no delay.
When such a steed is fairly on
Fate never fails to find a way.
Hurrah! hurrah! The track is clear,
We know your policy and plan;
We'll stand by you through every year:
Now, Father Abraham, you're our man.
The spear is cast—dread no delay.
When such a steed is fairly on
Fate never fails to find a way.
Hurrah! hurrah! The track is clear,
We know your policy and plan;
We'll stand by you through every year:
Now, Father Abraham, you're our man.
160
WHEN THE CAPTAIN IS READY TO RIDE.
February 17, 1863.
Air—‘Was helfen mir tausend Ducaten, tra la.’
IN the morning when trumpets are sounding, tra la,
Our horses are quickly untied,
And fast down the road we go bounding—tra la,
Or over the meadow-land ride;
Our horses are quickly untied,
And fast down the road we go bounding—tra la,
Or over the meadow-land ride;
CHORUS.
For we are the boys of the sword,Who can jump from the bed or the board,
And be off like a shot to the skirmishing hot,
When the Captain is ready to ride.
‘Well, scout, have you something to tell us?’—tra la,
‘The rebels are hid by the hill,
And the fellows believe they can sell us—ah ha!
But I know of a road by the mill.’
‘The rebels are hid by the hill,
And the fellows believe they can sell us—ah ha!
But I know of a road by the mill.’
‘We'll give them no chances to turn on the heel,
We'll give them the powder and ball;
We'll give them the bullet, we'll give them the steel;
We'll give them the devil and all!’
We'll give them the powder and ball;
We'll give them the bullet, we'll give them the steel;
We'll give them the devil and all!’
161
Hurrah for the battle! Hurrah for a bout!
How we scatter the soldiers of sin!
When our cavalry spreads like a thunder-cloud out,
And drives like a thunderbolt in.
How we scatter the soldiers of sin!
When our cavalry spreads like a thunder-cloud out,
And drives like a thunderbolt in.
Hurrah for the men of the sword!
Who fight for the cause of the Lord!
Oh, the sabre's sharp edge is the entering wedge
In a war to let liberty in.
Who fight for the cause of the Lord!
Oh, the sabre's sharp edge is the entering wedge
In a war to let liberty in.
162
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
October 27, 1864.
THAT I have lived to know this time,
That I have lived this fight to see,
Through Slavery's night to Freedom's prime,
Is Heaven's own holiest joy to me.
I do not ask to see the end,
For what am I to be so blest?
Enough for me the strife's begun,
And God will care for all the rest.
Through blood-red clouds the light I see,
Nunc dimittis Domine!
That I have lived this fight to see,
Through Slavery's night to Freedom's prime,
Is Heaven's own holiest joy to me.
I do not ask to see the end,
For what am I to be so blest?
Enough for me the strife's begun,
And God will care for all the rest.
Through blood-red clouds the light I see,
Nunc dimittis Domine!
Gone are those nightmares of the past,
The hardening fear—the lingering doubt,
If Lord or Slave unto the last
Must be our parts to still act out.
How oft they came—those fiendish thoughts,
Like vampires rising from the grave;
‘Oh, call your labour what you will,
The labourer is always slave.’
From all devilish doubt set free,
Nunc dimittis Domine!
The hardening fear—the lingering doubt,
If Lord or Slave unto the last
Must be our parts to still act out.
How oft they came—those fiendish thoughts,
Like vampires rising from the grave;
‘Oh, call your labour what you will,
The labourer is always slave.’
From all devilish doubt set free,
Nunc dimittis Domine!
163
The world has seen a thousand wars,
To test humanity's great truth,
Yet still the prison kept its bars,
And still the strife was one of youth,
Of headlong Youth with wary Age:
But Man is somewhat wiser grown,
While Ancient Evil weakens fast,
And soon it shall be overthrown.
Saints have prayed this time to see,
Nunc dimittis Domine!
To test humanity's great truth,
Yet still the prison kept its bars,
And still the strife was one of youth,
Of headlong Youth with wary Age:
But Man is somewhat wiser grown,
While Ancient Evil weakens fast,
And soon it shall be overthrown.
Saints have prayed this time to see,
Nunc dimittis Domine!
And thus spoke God: ‘Out of the North’
(In every age the place of doom),
‘Behold, great evil shall come forth.’
Wail! South-land, wail!—for it has come.
‘Woe to the South!’—the word went forth
In solemn warning years ago,
And many on the border laughed:—
The bolt is shot—now let it go!
Lord! we bow our heads to thee!
Nunc dimittis Domine!
(In every age the place of doom),
‘Behold, great evil shall come forth.’
Wail! South-land, wail!—for it has come.
‘Woe to the South!’—the word went forth
In solemn warning years ago,
And many on the border laughed:—
The bolt is shot—now let it go!
Lord! we bow our heads to thee!
Nunc dimittis Domine!
Ho! Northmen of the stormy coast!
Ye chosen with the avenging sword,
Called forth—it is no idle boast—
To do the bidding of the Lord,
Go on! And this ye shall not lose,
This to your name shall glory lend,
That Northmen in the world's long fight
First brought the battle towards an end.
'Tis the end of Slavery.
Nunc dimittis Domine!
Ye chosen with the avenging sword,
Called forth—it is no idle boast—
To do the bidding of the Lord,
Go on! And this ye shall not lose,
This to your name shall glory lend,
That Northmen in the world's long fight
First brought the battle towards an end.
'Tis the end of Slavery.
Nunc dimittis Domine!
164
FREE!
1865.
FREE, free, free
The whole land shall be,
North and South, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free!
The whole land shall be,
North and South, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free!
Free, free, free
Shall all our labour be,
Without a lash, without a chain,
Without reproach, without a strain,
Without a sneer or rankling word,
Without a dungeon and the cord:—
North and South, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free!
Shall all our labour be,
Without a lash, without a chain,
Without reproach, without a strain,
Without a sneer or rankling word,
Without a dungeon and the cord:—
North and South, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free!
Free, free, free
Our Speech shall ever be;
Far as Earth's waters run and ring,
Far as the wild birds soar or sing,
Where voice may speak and voice reply,
And white-winged sheets like angels fly,
North and South, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free!
Our Speech shall ever be;
Far as Earth's waters run and ring,
Far as the wild birds soar or sing,
Where voice may speak and voice reply,
And white-winged sheets like angels fly,
North and South, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free!
165
Free, free, free
Our Thought shall ever be,
Yes, freer yet with every year;
What man may dare or heart holds dear
Shall ring and roll through every land
In speech which all may understand.
North and South, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free.
Our Thought shall ever be,
Yes, freer yet with every year;
What man may dare or heart holds dear
Shall ring and roll through every land
In speech which all may understand.
North and South, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free.
Free, free, free!
And God our guide shall be!
He led our fathers on of old
Through trials dark and manifold,
Till they the mark appointed won;
Us will he lead yet further on,
Till all shall be, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free.
And God our guide shall be!
He led our fathers on of old
Through trials dark and manifold,
Till they the mark appointed won;
Us will he lead yet further on,
Till all shall be, from sea to sea,
Free—for ever free.
166
REAL INCIDENTS. BLUE AND GREY.
December, 1865.
I.
‘THE only difference in your war,’
I heard a stranger say,
‘Is that one side is dressed in blue,
The other clad in grey.’
I heard a stranger say,
‘Is that one side is dressed in blue,
The other clad in grey.’
I went into a Federal camp,
I heard the soldiers cry:
‘Hurrah! there come the newspapers!’
And saw them rush to buy.
I heard the soldiers cry:
‘Hurrah! there come the newspapers!’
And saw them rush to buy.
I went along the Valley Road,
And met upon my way
Ten of Lee's straggling infantry,
All dressed in rebel grey.
And met upon my way
Ten of Lee's straggling infantry,
All dressed in rebel grey.
One held a proclamation out,
And as I stopped my steed,
Said: ‘Tell us what this paper says?
For none of us can read!’
And as I stopped my steed,
Said: ‘Tell us what this paper says?
For none of us can read!’
167
And I spoke out:—‘If you could read,
And find out what is true,
Instead of wearing Davis grey,
You'd bear the Lincoln blue.’
And find out what is true,
Instead of wearing Davis grey,
You'd bear the Lincoln blue.’
Grey is the colour of the dust
In which the serpent crawls,
And blue the hue of heaven, which looks
Down on earth's prison walls.
In which the serpent crawls,
And blue the hue of heaven, which looks
Down on earth's prison walls.
II.
ONE day, when I was on the march,
In Eighteen Sixty-three,
The very day when General Meade
Was driving General Lee
Before him out of Maryland,
With all his chivalry:
In Eighteen Sixty-three,
The very day when General Meade
Was driving General Lee
Before him out of Maryland,
With all his chivalry:
We passed a school-house on the road,
The benches scattered round;
But, ah! the scholars, where were they?
For no familiar sound
Of lessons conned, or pleasant play,
Was heard in all the bound.
The benches scattered round;
But, ah! the scholars, where were they?
For no familiar sound
Of lessons conned, or pleasant play,
Was heard in all the bound.
I entered, and I stood alone;
The troop went slowly by,
And fainter grew the captain's tone,
And faint the driver's cry;
The heavy cannon's clank and groan
Still lessened, passing further on,
Yet never seemed to die:—
Was it an echo all my own,
Or the wild brook running nigh?
The troop went slowly by,
And fainter grew the captain's tone,
And faint the driver's cry;
The heavy cannon's clank and groan
Still lessened, passing further on,
Yet never seemed to die:—
Was it an echo all my own,
Or the wild brook running nigh?
168
I looked around, and on the walls
I read in writing clear:
‘We've gained the day, we'll soon have all
The country far and near,’
Signed by a rebel officer,
A boasting cavalier.
I read in writing clear:
‘We've gained the day, we'll soon have all
The country far and near,’
Signed by a rebel officer,
A boasting cavalier.
Hodie tibi, cras mihi,
Beneath this vaunting strain,
‘To-day is thine, to-morrow mine,’
I wrote as clear and plain:
No doubt it pleased the schoolmaster
When he came back again!
Beneath this vaunting strain,
‘To-day is thine, to-morrow mine,’
I wrote as clear and plain:
No doubt it pleased the schoolmaster
When he came back again!
'Twixt Boonsboro' and Hagerstown
That log-hut school-house stands,
The writing still upon the wall:
But where are now the bands
Which swept so proudly up and down,
O'er all the border lands?–
Oh! whither went the stately house
Which stood upon the sands?
That log-hut school-house stands,
The writing still upon the wall:
But where are now the bands
Which swept so proudly up and down,
O'er all the border lands?–
Oh! whither went the stately house
Which stood upon the sands?
THE END.
| The music-lesson of Confucius, And Other Poems | |