University of Virginia Library


11

POEMS OF THE WAR.


12

THE FIRST MARTYR.

My five-years' darling, on my knee,
Chattered and toyed and laughed with me:
“Now tell me, mother mine,” quoth she,
“Where you went i' the afternoon.”
“Alas! my pretty little life,
I went to see a sorrowing wife,
Who will be widowed soon.”
“Now, mother, what is that?” she said,
With wondering eyes and restless head:
“Will, then, her husband soon be dead?
Tell me, why must he die?
Is he like flowers the frost doth sear,
Or like the birds, that, every year,
Melt back into the sky?”
“No, love: the flowers may bloom their time,
The birdlings sing their merry chime,
Till bids them seek another clime

13

The Winter sharp and cold;
But he who waits with fettered limb,
Nor God nor Nature sends for him,—
He is not weak nor old.
“He lies upon a prison bed
With sabre gashes on his head;
And one short month will see him led
Where Vengeance wields the sword.
Then shall his form be lifted high,
And strangled in the public eye
With horrible accord.”
“But, mother, say, what has he done?
Has he not robbed or murdered one?”
“My darling, he has injured none.
To free the wretched slaves
He led a band of chosen men,
Brave, but too few; made captives then,
And doomed to felon graves.”
“O mother! let us go this day
To that sad prison, far away;
The cruel governor we'll pray

14

To unloose the door so stout.
Some comfort we can bring him, sure:
And is he locked up so secure,
We could not get him out?”
“No, darling: he is closely kept.”
Then nearer to my heart she crept,
And, hiding there her beauty, wept
For human misery.
Child! it is fit that thou shouldst weep;
The very babe unborn would leap
To rescue such as he.
O babe unborn! O future race!
Heir of our glory and disgrace,
We cannot see thy veilèd face;
But shouldst thou keep our crime,
No new Apocalypse need say
In what wild woe shall pass away
The falsehood of the time.

15

APRIL 19.

A spasm o'er my heart
Sweeps like a burning flood;
A sentence rings upon mine ears,
Avenge the guiltless blood!
Sit not in health and ease,
Nor reckon loss nor gain,
When men who bear our country's flag
Are set upon and slain,
Not by mistaken hearts
With long oppression wrung,
Filled with great thoughts that ripen late,
And madden, when they're young.

16

The murderer's wicked lust
Their righteous steps withstood;
The zeal that thieves and pirates know
Brought down the guiltless blood.
From every vein of mine
Its fiery burthen take;
From every drop the burning coin
Of righteous vengeance make.
Low let the city lie
That thus her guests receives;
A smoking ruin to the eye
Be marble walls and eaves!
Thou God of love and wrath,
That watchest on the wing,
Remorseless at those caitiff hearts
Thy bolts of judgment fling!

17

Blot from the sight of heaven
The city, where she stood,
And with thy might, avenging Right,
Wipe out the guiltless blood!

20

REQUITAL.

He died beneath the uplifted thong
Who spared for us a thousand lives:
He came to sing glad Israel's song;
We gave him Babylonian gyves.
With swelling heart and simple thought
He warned us of the unheeded snare
Our chiefs discovered: vilely caught,
They flung him back to perish there.
Did Pilate seal the Saviour's fate
As still the shuddering Nations say,
When, in that hour of high debate,
With ill-washed hands he turned away?

21

Sweet Christ, with flagellations brought
To thine immortal martyrdom,
Cancel the bitter treasons wrought
By men who bid thy kingdom come.
Their sinful blood we may not urge
While Mercy stays thy righteous hand;
But take all ours, if that should purge
The wicked patience of the land.

22

THE QUESTION.

Tell me, Master, am I free?
From the prison land I come,
From a mocked humanity,
From the fable of a home;
From the shambles, where my wife
With my baby at her breast,
Faded from my narrow life,
Rudely bartered, ill-possest.
Will you keep me, for my faith,
From the hound that scents my track,
From the riotous, drunken breath,
From the murder at my back?

23

Masters, ye are fighting long;
Well your trumpet-blast we know;
Are ye come to right a wrong?
Do we call you friend or foe?
God must come, for whom we pray,
Knowing his deliverance true;
Shall our men be left to say
He must work it free of you?
Fetters of a burning chain
Held the spirit of our braves;
Waiting for the nobler strain,
Silence told him we were slaves.

29

HARVARD STUDENT'S SONG.

Remember ye the fateful gun that sounded
To Sumter's walls from Charleston's treacherous shore?
Remember ye how hearts indignant bounded
When our first dead came back from Baltimore?
The banner fell that every breeze had flattered,
The hum of thrift was hushed with sudden woe;
We raised anew the emblems shamed and shattered,
And turned a front resolved to meet the foe.
Remember ye how, out of boyhood leaping,
Our gallant mates stood ready for the fray,
As new-fledged eaglets rise, with sudden sweeping,
And meet unscared the dazzling front of day?
Our classic toil became inglorious leisure,
We praised the calm Horatian ode no more,
But answered back with song the martial measure,
That held its throb above the cannon's roar.

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Remember ye the pageants dim and solemn,
Where Love and Grief have borne the funeral pall?
The joyless marching of the mustered column,
With arms reversed, to Him who conquers all?
Oh! give them back, thou bloody breast of Treason,
They were our own, the darlings of our hearts:
They come benumbed and frosted out of season,
With whom the summer of our youth departs.
Look back no more! our time has come, my brothers!
In Fate's high roll our names are written too:
We fill the mournful gaps left bare by others,
The ranks where Fear has never broken through.
Look, ancient Walls, upon our stern election!
Keep, Echoes dear, remembrance of our breath!
And gentle eyes, and hearts of pure affection,
Light us resolved to victory or death!

31

ONE AND MANY.

He is dead with whom we spake;
Ere the latest war cloud brake,
Vanished, with the smile he wore
When we parted evermore.
As a star that leaves its place
Fills the heavens with passing grace,
Did he set our hearts aglow,
Loving loath to see him go.
Where he was, a shadow rests,
Veiling void in aching breasts:
He but heeds the immortal rule,
Lifted to the Beautiful!

32

LEFT BEHIND.

The foe is retreating, the field is clear;
My thoughts fly like lightning, my steps stay here;
I'm bleeding to faintness, no help is near:
What, ho! comrades; what, ho!
The battle was deadly, the shots fell thick;
We leaped from our trenches, and charged them quick;
I knew not my wound till my heart grew sick:
So there, comrades; so there.
We charged the left column, that broke and fled;
Poured powder for powder, and lead for lead:
So they must surrender, what matter who's dead?
Who cares, comrades? who cares?
My soul rises up on the wings of the slain,
A triumph thrills through me that quiets the pain:
If it were yet to do, I would do it again!
Farewell, comrades, farewell!

33

HYMN FOR A SPRING FESTIVAL,

MAY 27, 1862.
In this glad time of Spring
Nature doth garlands bring,
Crowning her joys.
All that was seared with frost,
Buried, and mourned for lost,
With a new Pentecost,
Flame-touched, doth rise.
Come, then, ye sons of men!
Stand, and take heart again,
Blessing the year.
Earth fills her breast with food;
Odors enchant the wood;
Each leafy solitude
Music doth cheer.

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Where the war-trumpets blow,
Our legions meet the foe
With deathful din;
But hosts unseen are there,
Fight and fatigue to share:
So we but strive with prayer,
Steadfast, we win.
O hearts that wonder long!
O Truth that sufferest wrong!
Meet in your might;
Lift the pure banner high;
Raise one impassioned cry,
Nobler than victory,—
“God speed the right!”
Through the dark years of crime,
For this appointed time
Justice did wait.
Purpose and Hope, that lay
Passive and dumb as clay,
Stand, in God's chosen day,
Stronger than Fate.

35

We then, with faith increased,
Hold our fraternal feast,
Death making sign,
Solemn as when he stood
Where our Supremest Good
Bade memory count his blood
Dearer than wine.
All glories, Lord! are thine;
All joys are throbs divine
Pulsed from thy breast.
As thine infinity,
Peace-crowned, returns to thee,
Let our toil gathered be
Into thy rest.

36

THE JEWELLER'S SHOP IN WAR-TIME.

Past these counters wilt thou lead me,
Notes of luxury to read me
In the pearly shows and golden
That to outward boast embolden?
Watchful sit the shapes of sorrow.
Say: the Black Death comes to-morrow.
Bride, the altar-gifts are waiting
The permission of thy mating;
Heart and purse make brief unclasping
From the daily miser-grasping.
Fill the cup! away with sorrow!
Will the Black Death come to-morrow?
Lo! he lies in bloody heather,
'Neath the burning summer weather:
Not a drop his dry lip wetteth;
Dryer yet his sad eye setteth.

37

Rend thy bridal robes for sorrow:
Doth the Black Death wait the morrow?
See! the silver vessels goodly
Hands of hirelings stir not rudely;
Gems that deck the board's white wearing,
In a house of noble bearing;
Legendary urns of sorrow:
Death attends the feast to-morrow!
See! the rings of wild desire,—
Dreamy opal; diamond fire;
Emerald, green as summer grasses
Lit of sun that never passes;
Jets, the dim delights of sorrow,
That the Black Death buys, the morrow.
Chalice see and salver ghostly
That affright the gazer mostly;
Stirrup-cup that awes and blesses,
Cordial drop of last distresses;
Pearl of hope dissolved in sorrow,
Dear where Death is due the morrow.

38

Take me rather when the hours
Write their journal fair in flowers;
Where our sweet joys die and darken
With the firmament to hearken.
Soft in silence sinks our sorrow;
Resurrection comes to-morrow.
Life ye tear to shred and flitter,
Joying in the costly glitter
To rehearse each art-abortion
That consumes a widow's portion.
Lavish feast makes secret sorrow;
Pinch at heart brings Death to-morrow!
Take me where sweet doctrine, hoarded,
Stays the ravage, ill-afforded;
Wisdom's store, divinely pleasured,
Hero heart-beat, poet-measured.
Song that lightens out of sorrow
Shields from every Death to-morrow.