 | The bird and the bell, with other poems |  |
POEMS OF THE WAR.
301
THE BURIAL OF THE FLAG.
An Incident in Memphis, Tennessee, 1861.
O, who are these that troop along, and whither do they go?
Why move they thus with measured tread, while funeral trumpets blow?
Why gather round that open grave in mockery of woe?
Why move they thus with measured tread, while funeral trumpets blow?
Why gather round that open grave in mockery of woe?
They stand together on the brink, they shovel in the clod;
But what is that they bury deep? Why trample they the sod?
Why hurry they so fast away, without a prayer to God?
But what is that they bury deep? Why trample they the sod?
Why hurry they so fast away, without a prayer to God?
It was no corpse of friend or foe. I see a flag uprolled;
The golden stars, the gleaming stripes, are gathered fold on fold,
And lowered into the hollow grave, to rot beneath the mould.
The golden stars, the gleaming stripes, are gathered fold on fold,
And lowered into the hollow grave, to rot beneath the mould.
302
Then up they hoisted all around, on towers and hills and crags,
The emblems of their traitorous schemes, their base dis-union flags.
That very night there blew a wind that tore them all to rags!
The emblems of their traitorous schemes, their base dis-union flags.
That very night there blew a wind that tore them all to rags!
And one that flaunted bravest by the storm was swept away,
And hurled upon the grave in which our country's banner lay,
Where, soaked with rain and stained with mud, they found it the next day.
And hurled upon the grave in which our country's banner lay,
Where, soaked with rain and stained with mud, they found it the next day.
From out the North a power comes forth,—a patient power too long,—
The spirit of the great, free air,—a tempest swift and strong;
The living burial of our flag, it will not brook that wrong.
The spirit of the great, free air,—a tempest swift and strong;
The living burial of our flag, it will not brook that wrong.
The stars of heaven shall gild her still; her stripes like rainbows gleam;
Her billowy folds like surging clouds o'er North and South shall stream.
She is not dead, she lifts her head, she takes the morning's beam!
Her billowy folds like surging clouds o'er North and South shall stream.
She is not dead, she lifts her head, she takes the morning's beam!
303
The banner of the unsevered States,—though buried in the dust,
She is not dead; she springs to life; her cause, like truth's, is just;
She leads the van, her meteor flame directs the thunder-gust!
She is not dead; she springs to life; her cause, like truth's, is just;
She leads the van, her meteor flame directs the thunder-gust!
That storm of lightning, wind, and rain shall sweep the country clean,
Till sweet airs breathe, and bright suns shine the cloudy rifts between,
And all the vales shall bloom anew, and all the hills be green!
Till sweet airs breathe, and bright suns shine the cloudy rifts between,
And all the vales shall bloom anew, and all the hills be green!
June 4, 1861.
304
THE ROSE OF DEATH.
A BALLAD OF THE WAR.
I.
“She told me of a roseIn a Southern field that grows;
But my love, my love,—she little knows
The flower that I may bring.
In the heart of the perilous storm,
By the roads where our foemen swarm,
In the fields of death it blossoms warm;
But on I march, and sing
O the red, red rose,
She little knows
The flower that I may bring!
II.
“For I am Northern born:She,—only yestermorn
I saw on her lips her Southern scorn.
Coldly she saw me fling
305
Coldly she heard me say,
‘In the Union ranks I march to-day!
And here I march, and sing;—
O the red, red rose,
She little knows
The flower that I may bring!
III.
“Ah, it were sweet to know,When face to face with the foe,
That a loving heart did with me go,
Like the kiss of a talisman ring,
Praying that death might spare
The life of her lover there,
In the cannon's smoke and the trumpet's blare.
No matter. I march, and sing
O the red, red rose,
She little knows
The flower that I may bring!
IV.
“Her love,—have I lost it all,Because at my country's call
I said, ‘'T were better in battle to fall
Than see this treason cling!’
306
‘Traitor’ is writ on each brow.
On, comrades! I have made a vow,
And I breathe it as I sing
O the red, red rose,
She little knows
The flower that I may bring!”
V.
Deep in the battle thereHis breast to the guns is bare,
Where flame and smoke befoul the air,
Swords clash and rifles ring.
“She loves,” he cried, “but the brave
Who fight for the chains of the slave.
What then? I can fill a patriot's grave,
Though she may jest, and sing
O the red, red rose,
He thinks that he knows
The flower he home will bring!”
VI.
All terror the soldier scorns,Mid the cannon and clanging horns;
From the bristling fields of the bayonet thorns
A rose on his breast he will bring.
307
To his fearless heart has sped;
With his face to the fire, he reels,—he is dead!
And the soldiers who bear him sing
O the blood-red rose!
She little knows
The flower that home we bring!
VII.
Ah, sad were the streets the mornWhen that brave form was borne,
Wrapped in the Union banner, torn
Like a wounded eagle's wing.
At her window the maiden stood,
Changed from her angry mood;
And she saw on her lover's breast the blood;
And the death-march seemed to sing
O the blood-red rose
From our country's foes
Is the only flower we bring!
VIII.
She rushed to the bier with a cry.“O God!” she said, “it was I
Who sent him, without one kiss, to die
In the flush of his morn of spring!
308
Ah, let me at least go rest
In the grave where you bear the dearest, best!
And the pitying winds shall sing
Here Love's red rose
Met Death's, at the close
Of their lives, in eternal spring!”
309
NOVEMBER 8TH, 1864.
Joy to our reunited States!—one struggle more has passed.
A load is lifted from our hearts. The traitors stand aghast.
The Nation writes its record clear;—our land is saved at last!
A load is lifted from our hearts. The traitors stand aghast.
The Nation writes its record clear;—our land is saved at last!
Calmly mid armed conspirators this day a work is done,
Amid the thunder of the war one bloodless field is won,
That on the page of history glows in letters like the sun.
Amid the thunder of the war one bloodless field is won,
That on the page of history glows in letters like the sun.
One effort of the people towards the source of primal light;
One forward leap across the gulf from chaos and from night;
One stride along the century to union based on right!
One forward leap across the gulf from chaos and from night;
One stride along the century to union based on right!
310
We see the rainbow span the gloom. We hear the deep-tones bell
That strikes the nation's hour of noon, toll slavery's funeral-knell.
Rebellion totters to its doom. The watchman cries, “All 's well.”
That strikes the nation's hour of noon, toll slavery's funeral-knell.
Rebellion totters to its doom. The watchman cries, “All 's well.”
Not as a party's triumph-shout rings out this people's voice.
When Life and Death are in the scales, who wavers in his choice?
O flower of nations, blighted now no more, rejoice, rejoice!
When Life and Death are in the scales, who wavers in his choice?
O flower of nations, blighted now no more, rejoice, rejoice!
O morning-glory of the earth! thy garden in the west
Is wet once more with falling dews of peace and love and rest.
Thou liftest up thy drooping head. All, all is for the best!
Is wet once more with falling dews of peace and love and rest.
Thou liftest up thy drooping head. All, all is for the best!
Thy petals are the sister States. Though scorched by battle's fire,
Not one shall wither in the blast, now hot with foemen's ire;
But fairer yet thy leaves shall rise, and broader still and higher.
Not one shall wither in the blast, now hot with foemen's ire;
But fairer yet thy leaves shall rise, and broader still and higher.
311
No stain upon thy radiant disk, thy colors all re-blent,
Washed in the thunder-storm of war, to thee that storm has lent
Strength for the future that o'erpays the blood thy roots have spent.
Washed in the thunder-storm of war, to thee that storm has lent
Strength for the future that o'erpays the blood thy roots have spent.
My country, in this hour of hope, O, send to those who bear
The burden of the war to-day our help, our strength, our prayer;
Our greeting of the coming day, our farewell to despair!
The burden of the war to-day our help, our strength, our prayer;
Our greeting of the coming day, our farewell to despair!
O soldiers of a thousand fields! O brothers strong and young!
Brave hearts who breast the battery fires,—heroes unknown, unsung,—
Long galaxies of starlike lives and deaths above us hung!
Brave hearts who breast the battery fires,—heroes unknown, unsung,—
Long galaxies of starlike lives and deaths above us hung!
What record of the historian's pen, what poet's loftiest lays,
What parallel from out the grand and stern old Roman days,
What sculptured monument those lives, those deaths, can overpraise!
What parallel from out the grand and stern old Roman days,
What sculptured monument those lives, those deaths, can overpraise!
312
We slumber calmly in our beds, and by our firesides read
The story of your battles grim. We see you march and bleed;
From hospital and prison hear your cries of pain and need.
The story of your battles grim. We see you march and bleed;
From hospital and prison hear your cries of pain and need.
Ye march that we may rest, our land free from the slave-lord's rod;
Ye fall, that juster laws may flower from out your blood-stained sod;
Ye die, that we may live a life more true to man and God.
Ye fall, that juster laws may flower from out your blood-stained sod;
Ye die, that we may live a life more true to man and God.
Through drenching rains and scorching fires we see you fighting still,—
No rest by day, no sleep by night, no joy your cup to fill,—
While we step calmly to the polls to vote the nation's will.
No rest by day, no sleep by night, no joy your cup to fill,—
While we step calmly to the polls to vote the nation's will.
A little sprinkling of the rain while standing in the queue,
We wait our turn amid the crowd to see our ballot through,
Then homeward wend, and thank our stars we 've served our country too.
We wait our turn amid the crowd to see our ballot through,
Then homeward wend, and thank our stars we 've served our country too.
A little round of speech-making mid captivated ears;
A few intense mass-meetings, a few huzzas and cheers;
Some sleepless nights, some busy days, some weeks of hopes and fears;—
A few intense mass-meetings, a few huzzas and cheers;
Some sleepless nights, some busy days, some weeks of hopes and fears;—
313
Such are the battles that we fight here in our peaceful North.
One hour of life in camp and field whole days of this seems worth;
Yet none the less is victory won. The nation's will goes forth,
One hour of life in camp and field whole days of this seems worth;
Yet none the less is victory won. The nation's will goes forth,
Once and forever forth,—the arm is held that beat it back;—
Goes forth to unmask the traitor's plots, hunts on the foeman's track;
Stands like the rock against the sea, the sun mid tempest's wrack.
Goes forth to unmask the traitor's plots, hunts on the foeman's track;
Stands like the rock against the sea, the sun mid tempest's wrack.
From east to west it thrills and rings, and tells this lesson plain:
Self-government henceforth achieved, our seeming losses gain;
War leads to peace, and yet no peace till slavery's life be slain.
Self-government henceforth achieved, our seeming losses gain;
War leads to peace, and yet no peace till slavery's life be slain.
O strange and wondrous Providence, that sealed the people's eyes,
Lest all too soon these mighty truths within their creed should rise!
We fought amid the clouds at first,—how slowly we grow wise!
Lest all too soon these mighty truths within their creed should rise!
We fought amid the clouds at first,—how slowly we grow wise!
314
Those truths we scorned four years ago now on our banners glow,
Burnt in and branded on our souls, in battling with the foe;
Ay, worn as amulets to shield our fame where'er we go.
Burnt in and branded on our souls, in battling with the foe;
Ay, worn as amulets to shield our fame where'er we go.
We praise that stern fanatic, to death and triumph gone;
That voice crying in the wilderness.—rough herald of the dawn.
Our John the Baptist is not dead; his soul is marching on!
That voice crying in the wilderness.—rough herald of the dawn.
Our John the Baptist is not dead; his soul is marching on!
We cancel creeds of former days. Our timid codes are null.
We leave our ancient council-fires to smoulder low and dull.
We trust the nation's newer life will heap its measure full.
We leave our ancient council-fires to smoulder low and dull.
We trust the nation's newer life will heap its measure full.
A breeze of morning sweeps the sky. Old errors one by one
Are crowded back upon the south, a cloud-bank dark and dun,
Or hang in air like floating mists beneath the rising sun.
Are crowded back upon the south, a cloud-bank dark and dun,
Or hang in air like floating mists beneath the rising sun.
But still the northern winds must blow; yes, still war's bitter blast
Must purify that poisoned air, till, force by right surpassed,
Each groaning bondsman breaks his chains, and all are free at last.
315
Each groaning bondsman breaks his chains, and all are free at last.
No half-truth now! Our feet are set upon a higher ground;
No more mid dawn's uncertain shades, by old delusions bound;
The sun that shone on peaks alone now fills the vales around.
No more mid dawn's uncertain shades, by old delusions bound;
The sun that shone on peaks alone now fills the vales around.
O trumpet voices of the press! O bards by visions stirred!
O leaders of the people's will! O preachers of the Word!
Yours be the freest, truest tones the nation yet has heard!
O leaders of the people's will! O preachers of the Word!
Yours be the freest, truest tones the nation yet has heard!
Sound the keynote the age demands,—Humanity's great prayer;
A sigh for peace, but not a lull of foul and stagnant air,
A sleep on a volcano's brink, a stillness of despair:
A sigh for peace, but not a lull of foul and stagnant air,
A sleep on a volcano's brink, a stillness of despair:
No, not that helpless apathy, that torpor of the life
Drunk with the chloroform of lies,—the amputator's knife
Ready by one fell cut to end the giant nation's strife.
Drunk with the chloroform of lies,—the amputator's knife
Ready by one fell cut to end the giant nation's strife.
316
O bleeding land! thy North and South forever have been wed.
No quack shall drug thy cup, though bitter be the draught and red;
No knife shall touch thy limbs. I see, I see thee lift thy head;—
No quack shall drug thy cup, though bitter be the draught and red;
No knife shall touch thy limbs. I see, I see thee lift thy head;—
I see thee smile with sad, stern eyes, triumphant o'er thy woes;
Strength that o'ertops the surgeon's skill through all thy members flows;
Thou standest as thou stoodst of old, a terror to thy foes.
Strength that o'ertops the surgeon's skill through all thy members flows;
Thou standest as thou stoodst of old, a terror to thy foes.
I have no prophet's sight or speech, and yet I see thy form
Looming above the battle-smoke, unscathed amid the storm;
Around thy head the skies are blue, the sunshine still and warm.
Looming above the battle-smoke, unscathed amid the storm;
Around thy head the skies are blue, the sunshine still and warm.
Peaceful and wise I see thee sit, earth's youngest, fairest queen;
War's blackened wastes by freemen tilled, all waving gold and green;
From North to South, from sea to sea, no slave or tyrant seen;
War's blackened wastes by freemen tilled, all waving gold and green;
From North to South, from sea to sea, no slave or tyrant seen;
317
Reedemed and strong forever. On field and hill and town,
All prophet dreams shall be fulfilled in wisdom and renown;
Thy newer life shall now begin, thy sun no more go down!
All prophet dreams shall be fulfilled in wisdom and renown;
Thy newer life shall now begin, thy sun no more go down!
SONNETS FOR THE TIMES.
APRIL, 1865.
321
I.
THE DARK TOWER.
“Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.”
What then?The poet paints a mystery weird and dark,
Full of foreboding. Bones and corpses stark,
On blighted moorland and in rotting fen,
Under the knight's adventurous feet protrude.
Voices like gusts of wind, warning and taunt,
Stun his bewildered ears. The sunset slant
Shows the Black Tower against a sky of blood.
The hills like gloomy giants watch to see
His fall, as others fell. He dauntless blows
His horn, and fights, and tells the tale. So he
Who our grim tower of slavery overthrows
Shall well inspire our future minstrel's strain,
True son of knighthood, Roland come again.
322
II.
DELIVERANCE.
For never was a darker dungeon builtBy king or pope in the old, wicked time,—
The lurid centuries when the lords of crime
Walked shameless in their robes of chartered guilt;
Churchman and statesman vying which could dye
With reddest ink of blood the historic page.
They played their part. But our illumined age
Brooks not the insult, and flings back the lie,
When slave lords fight against the eternal tides,
When truth is twisted from its straight intent,
And freedom blighted in its loveliest spring.
The mask where hatred smiles and treachery hides
Is torn away at last. The war-clouds bring
Deliverance from our long imprisonment.
323
III.
THE ABOLITIONISTS.
Brave men, far-sighted seers! who on the rimOf your high battlements looked clearly forth
Over the fog that stretched from south to north,
And called with warning voices down the dim
Blind valleys, “Men are children all of Him
Who made us all,”—our cause for pride is slight,
That now so late we see the eternal Right
Shining like wings of heavenly seraphim.
True prophets, who discerned the cloud of war
Rise from the mist of long, delusive peace,
Pardon the eyes that could not pierce so far.
Long since the people's fears and doubtings cease;
Our hands no longer in the darkness grope:
We share with you your toil, your faith, your hope.
324
IV.
THE DAWN OF PEACE.
Four years of war have driven afar the dreamOf union based on hollow compromise.
We wake to see the auroral splendors stream
Across the battle smoke from opening skies.
The demon, shrieking, tears us as he flies
Exorcised from our wrenched and bleeding frame.
O costly ransom! dearly purchased prize!
Release too long delayed! from sin and shame,
From evil compacts and from brutal laws,
Whose iron network all the land encaged.
Force never triumphed in a juster cause,
Nor bloody war was e'er so justly waged.
Henceforth our banner greets a cloudless morn.
Peace dawns at last. The nation is re-born!
325
V.
THE DEATH-BLOW.
But yesterday the exulting nation's shoutSwelled on the breeze of victory through our streets;
But yesterday our gay flags flaunted out
Like flowers the south-wind wooes from their retreats,—
Flowers of the Union, blue and white and red,
Blooming on balcony and spire and mast,
Telling us that war's wintry storm had fled,
And spring was more than spring to us at last.
To-day,—the nation's heart lies crushed and weak;
Drooping and draped in black our banners stand.
Too stunned to cry revenge, we scarce may speak
The grief that chokes all utterance through the land.
God is in all. With tears our eyes are dim,
Yet strive through darkness to look up to Him!
326
VI.
THE MARTYR.
No, not in vain he died, not all in vain,—Our good, great President. This people's hands
Are linked together in one mighty chain,
Knit tighter now in triple woven bands,
To crush the fiends in human mask, whose might
We suffer, O, too long! No league or truce
Save men with men. The devils we must fight
With fire. God wills it in this deed. This use
We draw from the most impious murder done
Since Calvary. Rise, then, O countrymen!
Scatter these marsh-light hopes of union won
Through pardoning clemency. Strike, strike again!
Draw closer round the foe a girdling flame!
We are stabbed whene'er we spare. Strike, in God's name!
327
VII.
OUR COUNTRY.
As on some stately ship, with land in view,The last sea-swell beneath her gliding keel.
Sudden, like God's hand clad in blinding steel,
A thunder-bolt falls crashing from the blue,
Shattering the mast, a sulphurous cloud rolls through
The sails and rigging, while with quivering lips
The sailors see the deck all strewn with chips
And shreds and splinters, yet make all ado
To mend their loss, and still the ship sails on:
So, reeling from the shock, our Ship of State
Repairs the chasm left by the fall of him
Who stood her mainmast: onward we have gone;
Sound at the core, though tossed by storms but late,
Nearing our port, we cross the shadows dim.
| The bird and the bell, with other poems | |