 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
THE EVE OF BATTLE
From “Recollections of a Soldier,” an unpublished poem
The sun had set, the winds were still,
And night drew round the camp-crowned hill
Her misty mantle—o'er the sky
Unnumbered beacons burst to view,
And slow the heavy clouds passed by,
Deep tinged with evening's sombre hue.
And night drew round the camp-crowned hill
Her misty mantle—o'er the sky
Unnumbered beacons burst to view,
And slow the heavy clouds passed by,
Deep tinged with evening's sombre hue.
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I wandered forth.—The tented grounds
No longer shook with war-like sounds.
The soldier's arm was nerveless now;
The frown of hate had left his brow,
And night restored with gentle sway
Those spirits, which the toils of day
Had broken, and the charm of sleep,
Oblivious, spirit-soothing, deep,
With magic power had chased away
The terrors of the coming fray.
No longer shook with war-like sounds.
The soldier's arm was nerveless now;
The frown of hate had left his brow,
And night restored with gentle sway
Those spirits, which the toils of day
Had broken, and the charm of sleep,
Oblivious, spirit-soothing, deep,
With magic power had chased away
The terrors of the coming fray.
The moon shone out above a cloud,
That veiled awhile her silvering ray;
Her brightness pierced its dusky shroud,
And rolled the scattered gloom away.
I saw the foeman's banners gleam
In moonlight o'er a neighboring height—
Proud banners! which were soon to stream
High o'er the thunder-cloud of fight.
I saw their watchful sentries glide,
Where, far along the rude hillside,
Couched on their arms, the foemen lay,
All waiting for the dawn of day,
When, rousing from the thrall of sleep,
The mad'ning trumpet-call should sweep
Aside each thought that dared to stray
From martial feat, and battle-bray;
When, mingling in the throng of fight,
The gleaming spear and axe of might,
The fiery crest, the bowing plume,
The flashing eye and brow of gloom
Should rouse the warrior's sternest power,
To meet the horrors of the hour.
That veiled awhile her silvering ray;
Her brightness pierced its dusky shroud,
And rolled the scattered gloom away.
I saw the foeman's banners gleam
In moonlight o'er a neighboring height—
Proud banners! which were soon to stream
High o'er the thunder-cloud of fight.
I saw their watchful sentries glide,
Where, far along the rude hillside,
Couched on their arms, the foemen lay,
All waiting for the dawn of day,
When, rousing from the thrall of sleep,
The mad'ning trumpet-call should sweep
Aside each thought that dared to stray
From martial feat, and battle-bray;
When, mingling in the throng of fight,
The gleaming spear and axe of might,
The fiery crest, the bowing plume,
The flashing eye and brow of gloom
Should rouse the warrior's sternest power,
To meet the horrors of the hour.
There is a solemn power in night,
To day's bright imagery unknown,
When, gliding to the memory's sight,
The visions of the past are shown.
O, never from my mind will be
Erased the memory of that hour,
When dreams of glory's pageantry
Gave place to thoughts of softer power.
I thought of those with whom I passed
Youth's golden hour! when fancy cast
Her sun-bright radiance on my way,
When hope, too, lent its powerful ray.
I thought of her I left behind
When, to her fond affection blind,
I hastened to the scene of death,
To win a name in slaughter's path!
O, these were thoughts which well might wean
A heart like mine from battle's scene.
To day's bright imagery unknown,
When, gliding to the memory's sight,
The visions of the past are shown.
O, never from my mind will be
Erased the memory of that hour,
When dreams of glory's pageantry
Gave place to thoughts of softer power.
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Youth's golden hour! when fancy cast
Her sun-bright radiance on my way,
When hope, too, lent its powerful ray.
I thought of her I left behind
When, to her fond affection blind,
I hastened to the scene of death,
To win a name in slaughter's path!
O, these were thoughts which well might wean
A heart like mine from battle's scene.
Haverhill Gazette, February 3, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |