 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
(Summer, 1865.)
Dead is the roll of the drums,
And the distant thunders die,
They fade in the far-off sky;
And a lovely summer comes,
Like the smile of Him on high.
And the distant thunders die,
They fade in the far-off sky;
And a lovely summer comes,
Like the smile of Him on high.
Lulled, the storm and the onset.
Earth lies in a sunny swoon;
Stiller splendor of noon,
Softer glory of sunset,
Milder starlight and moon!
Earth lies in a sunny swoon;
Stiller splendor of noon,
Softer glory of sunset,
Milder starlight and moon!
For the kindly Seasons love us;
They smile over trench and clod,
(Where we left the bravest of us,)—
There's a brighter green of the sod,
And a holier calm above us
In the blesséd Blue of God.
They smile over trench and clod,
(Where we left the bravest of us,)—
There's a brighter green of the sod,
And a holier calm above us
In the blesséd Blue of God.
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The roar and ravage were vain;
And Nature, that never yields,
Is busy with sun and rain
At her old sweet work again
On the lonely battle-fields.
And Nature, that never yields,
Is busy with sun and rain
At her old sweet work again
On the lonely battle-fields.
How the tall white daisies grow,
Where the grim artillery rolled!
(Was it only a moon ago?
It seems a century old,)—
Where the grim artillery rolled!
(Was it only a moon ago?
It seems a century old,)—
And the bee hums in the clover,
As the pleasant June comes on;
Aye, the wars are all over,—
But our good Father is gone.
As the pleasant June comes on;
Aye, the wars are all over,—
But our good Father is gone.
There was tumbling of traitor fort,
Flaming of traitor fleet—
Lighting of city and port,
Clasping in square and street.
Flaming of traitor fleet—
Lighting of city and port,
Clasping in square and street.
There was thunder of mine and gun,
Cheering by mast and tent,—
When—his dread work all done,
And his high fame full won—
Died the Good President.
Cheering by mast and tent,—
When—his dread work all done,
And his high fame full won—
Died the Good President.
In his quiet chair he sate,
Pure of malice or guile,
Stainless of fear or hate,—
And there played a pleasant smile
On the rough and careworn face;
For his heart was all the while
On means of mercy and grace.
Pure of malice or guile,
Stainless of fear or hate,—
And there played a pleasant smile
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For his heart was all the while
On means of mercy and grace.
The brave old Flag drooped o'er him,
(A fold in the hard hand lay,)—
He looked, perchance, on the play,—
But the scene was a shadow before him,
For his thoughts were far away.
(A fold in the hard hand lay,)—
He looked, perchance, on the play,—
But the scene was a shadow before him,
For his thoughts were far away.
'Twas but the morn, (yon fearful
Death-shade, gloomy and vast,
Lifting slowly at last,)
His household heard him say,
“'Tis long since I've been so cheerful,
So light of heart as to-day.”
Death-shade, gloomy and vast,
Lifting slowly at last,)
His household heard him say,
“'Tis long since I've been so cheerful,
So light of heart as to-day.”
'Twas dying, the long dread clang,—
But, or ever the blesséd ray
Of peace could brighten to day,
Murder stood by the way—
Treason struck home his fang!
One throb—and, without a pang,
That pure soul passed away.
But, or ever the blesséd ray
Of peace could brighten to day,
Murder stood by the way—
Treason struck home his fang!
One throb—and, without a pang,
That pure soul passed away.
Idle, in this our blindness,
To marvel we cannot see
Wherefore such things should be;
Or to question Infinite Kindness
Of this or of that Decree.
To marvel we cannot see
Wherefore such things should be;
Or to question Infinite Kindness
Of this or of that Decree.
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Or to fear lest Nature bungle,
That in certain ways she errs,—
The cobra in the jungle,
The crotalus in the sod,
Evil and good are hers,—
Murderers and torturers!
Ye, too, were made by God.
That in certain ways she errs,—
The cobra in the jungle,
The crotalus in the sod,
Evil and good are hers,—
Murderers and torturers!
Ye, too, were made by God.
All slowly heaven is nighing,
Needs that offence must come;
Ever the Old Wrong dying
Will sting, in the death-coil lying,
And hiss till its fork be dumb.
Needs that offence must come;
Ever the Old Wrong dying
Will sting, in the death-coil lying,
And hiss till its fork be dumb.
But dare deny no further,
Black-hearted, brazen-cheeked!
Ye on whose lips yon murther
These fifty moons hath reeked,—
Black-hearted, brazen-cheeked!
Ye on whose lips yon murther
These fifty moons hath reeked,—
From the wretched scenic dunce,
Long a-hungered to rouse
A Nation's heart for the nonce,—
(Hugging his hell, so that once
He might yet bring down the house!)—
Long a-hungered to rouse
A Nation's heart for the nonce,—
(Hugging his hell, so that once
He might yet bring down the house!)—
From the commons, gross and simple,
Of a blind and bloody land,
(Long fed on venomous lies!)—
To the horrid heart and hand
That sumless murder dyes—
The hand that drew the wimple
Over those cruel eyes.
Of a blind and bloody land,
(Long fed on venomous lies!)—
To the horrid heart and hand
That sumless murder dyes—
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Over those cruel eyes.
Pass on,—your deeds are done,
Forever sets your sun;
Vainly ye lived or died,
'Gainst Freedom and the Laws,—
And your memory and your cause
Shall haunt o'er the trophied tide
Forever sets your sun;
Vainly ye lived or died,
'Gainst Freedom and the Laws,—
And your memory and your cause
Shall haunt o'er the trophied tide
Like some Pirate Caravel floating
Dreadful, adrift—whose crew
From her yard-arms dangle rotting—
The old Horror of the blue.
Dreadful, adrift—whose crew
From her yard-arms dangle rotting—
The old Horror of the blue.
Avoid ye,—let the morrow
Sentence or mercy see.
Pass to your place: our sorrow
Is all too dark to borrow
One shade from such as ye.
Sentence or mercy see.
Pass to your place: our sorrow
Is all too dark to borrow
One shade from such as ye.
But if one, with merciful eyes,
From the forgiving skies
Looks, 'mid our gloom, to see
Yonder where Murder lies,
Stripped of the woman guise,
And waiting the doom—'tis he.
From the forgiving skies
Looks, 'mid our gloom, to see
Yonder where Murder lies,
Stripped of the woman guise,
And waiting the doom—'tis he.
Kindly Spirit!—Ah, when did treason
Bid such a generous nature cease,
Mild by temper and strong by reason,
But ever leaning to love and peace?
Bid such a generous nature cease,
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But ever leaning to love and peace?
A head how sober; a heart how spacious;
A manner equal with high or low;
Rough but gentle, uncouth but gracious,
And still inclining to lips of woe.
A manner equal with high or low;
Rough but gentle, uncouth but gracious,
And still inclining to lips of woe.
Patient when saddest, calm when sternest,
Grieved when rigid for justice' sake;
Given to jest, yet ever in earnest
If aught of right or truth were at stake.
Grieved when rigid for justice' sake;
Given to jest, yet ever in earnest
If aught of right or truth were at stake.
Simple of heart, yet shrewd therewith,
Slow to resolve, but firm to hold;
Still with parable and with myth
Seasoning truth, like Them of old;
Aptest humor and quaintest pith!
(Still we smile o'er the tales he told.)
Slow to resolve, but firm to hold;
Still with parable and with myth
Seasoning truth, like Them of old;
Aptest humor and quaintest pith!
(Still we smile o'er the tales he told.)
And if, sometimes, in saddest stress,
That mind, over-meshed by fate,
(Ringed round with treason and hate,
And guiding the State by guess,)
Could doubt and could hesitate—
Who, alas, had done less
In the world's most deadly strait?
That mind, over-meshed by fate,
(Ringed round with treason and hate,
And guiding the State by guess,)
Could doubt and could hesitate—
Who, alas, had done less
In the world's most deadly strait?
But how true to the Common Cause!
Of his task how unweary!
How hard he worked, how good he was,
How kindly and cheery!
Of his task how unweary!
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How kindly and cheery!
How, while it marked redouble
The howls and hisses and sneers,
That great heart bore our trouble
Through all these terrible years;
The howls and hisses and sneers,
That great heart bore our trouble
Through all these terrible years;
And, cooling passion with state,
And ever counting the cost,
Kept the Twin World-Robbers in wait
Till the time for their clutch was lost.
And ever counting the cost,
Kept the Twin World-Robbers in wait
Till the time for their clutch was lost.
How much he cared for the State,
How little for praise or pelf!
A man too simply great
To scheme for his proper self.
How little for praise or pelf!
A man too simply great
To scheme for his proper self.
But in mirth that strong heart rested
From its strife with the false and violent,—
A jester!—So Henry jested,
So jested William the Silent.
From its strife with the false and violent,—
A jester!—So Henry jested,
So jested William the Silent.
Orange, shocking the dull
With careless conceit and quip,
Yet holding the dumb heart full
With Holland's life on his lip!
With careless conceit and quip,
Yet holding the dumb heart full
With Holland's life on his lip!
“His temperament was cheerful. At table, the pleasures of which in moderation were his only relaxation, he was always animated and merry; and this jocoseness was partly natural, partly intentional. In the darkest hours of his country's trial, he affected a serenity he was far from feeling; so that his apparent gayety at momentous epochs was even censured by dullards, who could not comprehend its philosophy, nor applaud the flippancy of William the Silent. He went through life bearing the load of a people's sorrows with a smiling face.”
—Motley's Rise of the Dutch Republic.Perhaps a lively national sense of humor is one of the surest exponents of advanced civilization. Certainly a grim sullenness and fierceness have been the leading traits of the Rebellion for Slavery; while Freedom, like a Brave at the stake, has gone through her long agony with a smile and a jest ever on her lips.
Navarre, bonhomme and pleasant,
Pitying the poor man's lot,
Wishing that every peasant
A chicken had in his pot;
Pitying the poor man's lot,
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A chicken had in his pot;
Feeding the stubborn bourgeois,
Though Paris still held out;
Holding the League in awe,
But jolly with all about.
Though Paris still held out;
Holding the League in awe,
But jolly with all about.
Out of an o'erflowed fulness
Those deep hearts seemed too light,—
(And so 'twas, murder's dulness
Was set with sullener spite.)
Those deep hearts seemed too light,—
(And so 'twas, murder's dulness
Was set with sullener spite.)
Yet whoso might pierce the guise
Of mirth in the man we mourn,
Would mark, and with grieved surprise,
All the great soul had borne,
In the piteous lines, and the kind, sad eyes
So dreadfully wearied and worn.
Of mirth in the man we mourn,
Would mark, and with grieved surprise,
All the great soul had borne,
In the piteous lines, and the kind, sad eyes
So dreadfully wearied and worn.
And we trusted, (the last dread page
Once turned, of our Dooms-day Scroll,)
To have seen him, sunny of soul,
In a cheery, grand old age.
Once turned, of our Dooms-day Scroll,)
To have seen him, sunny of soul,
In a cheery, grand old age.
But, Father, 'tis well with thee!
And since ever, when God draws nigh,
Some grief for the good must be,
'Twas well, even so to die,—
And since ever, when God draws nigh,
Some grief for the good must be,
'Twas well, even so to die,—
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'Mid the thunder of Treason's fall,
The yielding of haughty town,
The crashing of cruel wall,
The trembling of tyrant crown!
The yielding of haughty town,
The crashing of cruel wall,
The trembling of tyrant crown!
The ringing of hearth and pavement
To the clash of falling chains,—
The centuries of enslavement
Dead, with their blood-bought gains!
To the clash of falling chains,—
The centuries of enslavement
Dead, with their blood-bought gains!
And through trouble weary and long
Well hadst thou seen the way,
Leaving the State so strong
It did not reel for a day;
Well hadst thou seen the way,
Leaving the State so strong
It did not reel for a day;
And even in death couldst give
A token for Freedom's strife—
A proof how republics live,
And not by a single life,
A token for Freedom's strife—
A proof how republics live,
And not by a single life,
But the Right Divine of man,
And the many, trained to be free,—
And none, since the world began,
Ever was mourned like thee.
And the many, trained to be free,—
And none, since the world began,
Ever was mourned like thee.
Dost thou feel it, O noble Heart!
(So grieved and so wronged below,)
From the rest wherein thou art?
Do they see it, those patient eyes?
Is there heed in the happy skies
For tokens of world-wide woe?
(So grieved and so wronged below,)
From the rest wherein thou art?
Do they see it, those patient eyes?
Is there heed in the happy skies
For tokens of world-wide woe?
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The Land's great lamentations,
The mighty mourning of cannon,
The myriad flags half-mast—
The late remorse of the nations,
Grief from Volga to Shannon!
(Now they know thee at last.)
The mighty mourning of cannon,
The myriad flags half-mast—
The late remorse of the nations,
Grief from Volga to Shannon!
(Now they know thee at last.)
How, from gray Niagara's shore
To Canaveral's surfy shoal—
From the rough Atlantic roar
To the long Pacific roll—
For bereavement and for dole,
Every cottage wears its weed,
White as thine own pure soul,
And black as the traitor deed.
To Canaveral's surfy shoal—
From the rough Atlantic roar
To the long Pacific roll—
For bereavement and for dole,
Every cottage wears its weed,
White as thine own pure soul,
And black as the traitor deed.
How, under a nation's pall,
The dust so dear in our sight
To its home on the prairie past,—
The leagues of funeral,
The myriads, morn and night,
Pressing to look their last.
The dust so dear in our sight
To its home on the prairie past,—
The leagues of funeral,
The myriads, morn and night,
Pressing to look their last.
Nor alone the State's Eclipse;
But how tears in hard eyes gather—
And on rough and bearded lips,
Of the regiments and the ships—
“Oh, our dear Father!”
But how tears in hard eyes gather—
And on rough and bearded lips,
Of the regiments and the ships—
“Oh, our dear Father!”
And methinks of all the million
That looked on the dark dead face,
'Neath its sable-plumed pavilion,
The crone of a humbler race
Is saddest of all to think on,
And the old swart lips that said,
Sobbing, “Abraham Lincoln!
Oh, he is dead, he is dead!”
That looked on the dark dead face,
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The crone of a humbler race
Is saddest of all to think on,
And the old swart lips that said,
Sobbing, “Abraham Lincoln!
Oh, he is dead, he is dead!”
Hush! let our heavy souls
To-day be glad; for agen
The stormy music swells and rolls,
Stirring the hearts of men.
To-day be glad; for agen
The stormy music swells and rolls,
Stirring the hearts of men.
And under the Nation's Dome,
They've guarded so well and long,
Our boys come marching home,
Two hundred thousand strong.
They've guarded so well and long,
Our boys come marching home,
Two hundred thousand strong.
All in the pleasant month of May,
With war-worn colors and drums,
Still, through the livelong summer's day,
Regiment, regiment comes.
With war-worn colors and drums,
Still, through the livelong summer's day,
Regiment, regiment comes.
Like the tide, yesty and barmy,
That sets on a wild lee-shore,
Surge the ranks of an army
Never reviewed before!
That sets on a wild lee-shore,
Surge the ranks of an army
Never reviewed before!
Who shall look on the like agen,
Or see such host of the brave?
A mighty River of marching men
Rolls the Capital through—
Rank on rank, and wave on wave,
Of bayonet-crested blue!
Or see such host of the brave?
A mighty River of marching men
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Rank on rank, and wave on wave,
Of bayonet-crested blue!
How the chargers neigh and champ,
(Their riders weary of camp,)
With curvet and with caracole!—
The cavalry comes with thundrous tramp,
And the cannons heavily roll.
(Their riders weary of camp,)
With curvet and with caracole!—
The cavalry comes with thundrous tramp,
And the cannons heavily roll.
And ever; flowery and gay,
The Staff sweeps on in a spray
Of tossing forelocks and manes;
But each bridle-arm has a weed
Of funeral, black as the steed
That fiery Sheridan reins.
The Staff sweeps on in a spray
Of tossing forelocks and manes;
But each bridle-arm has a weed
Of funeral, black as the steed
That fiery Sheridan reins.
Grandest of mortal sights
The sun-browned ranks to view—
The Colors ragg'd in a hundred fights,
And the dusty Frocks of Blue!
The sun-browned ranks to view—
The Colors ragg'd in a hundred fights,
And the dusty Frocks of Blue!
And all day, mile on mile,
With cheer, and waving, and smile,
The war-worn legions defile
Where the nation's noblest stand;
And the Great Lieutenant looks on,
With the Flower of a rescued Land,—
For the terrible work is done,
And the Good Fight is won
For God and for Fatherland.
With cheer, and waving, and smile,
The war-worn legions defile
Where the nation's noblest stand;
And the Great Lieutenant looks on,
With the Flower of a rescued Land,—
For the terrible work is done,
And the Good Fight is won
For God and for Fatherland.
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So, from the fields they win,
Our men are marching home,
A million are marching home!
To the cannon's thundering din,
And banners on mast and dome,—
And the ships come sailing in
With all their ensigns dight,
As erst for a great sea-fight.
Our men are marching home,
A million are marching home!
To the cannon's thundering din,
And banners on mast and dome,—
And the ships come sailing in
With all their ensigns dight,
As erst for a great sea-fight.
Let every color fly,
Every pennon flaunt in pride;
Wave, Starry Flag, on high!
Float in the sunny sky,
Stream o'er the stormy tide!
For every stripe of stainless hue,
And every star in the field of blue,
Ten thousand of the brave and true
Have laid them down and died.
Every pennon flaunt in pride;
Wave, Starry Flag, on high!
Float in the sunny sky,
Stream o'er the stormy tide!
For every stripe of stainless hue,
And every star in the field of blue,
Ten thousand of the brave and true
Have laid them down and died.
And in all our pride to-day
We think, with a tender pain,
Of those so far away
They will not come home again.
We think, with a tender pain,
Of those so far away
They will not come home again.
And our boys had fondly thought,
To-day, in marching by,
From the ground so dearly bought,
And the fields so bravely fought,
To have met their Father's eye.
To-day, in marching by,
From the ground so dearly bought,
And the fields so bravely fought,
To have met their Father's eye.
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But they may not see him in place,
Nor their ranks be seen of him;
We look for the well-known face,
And the splendor is strangely dim.
Nor their ranks be seen of him;
We look for the well-known face,
And the splendor is strangely dim.
Perished?—who was it said
Our Leader had passed away?
Dead? Our President dead?
He has not died for a day!
Our Leader had passed away?
Dead? Our President dead?
He has not died for a day!
We mourn for a little breath
Such as, late or soon, dust yields;
But the Dark Flower of Death
Blooms in the fadeless fields.
Such as, late or soon, dust yields;
But the Dark Flower of Death
Blooms in the fadeless fields.
We looked on a cold, still brow,
But Lincoln could yet survive;
He never was more alive,
Never nearer than now.
But Lincoln could yet survive;
He never was more alive,
Never nearer than now.
For the pleasant season found him,
Guarded by faithful hands,
In the fairest of Summer Lands;
With his own brave Staff around him,
There our President stands.
Guarded by faithful hands,
In the fairest of Summer Lands;
With his own brave Staff around him,
There our President stands.
There they are all at his side,
The noble hearts and true,
That did all men might do—
Then slept, with their swords, and died.
The noble hearts and true,
That did all men might do—
Then slept, with their swords, and died.
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Of little the storm has reft us
But the brave and kindly clay—
('Tis but dust where Lander left us,
And but turf where Lyon lay.)
But the brave and kindly clay—
('Tis but dust where Lander left us,
And but turf where Lyon lay.)
There's Winthrop, true to the end,
And Ellsworth of long ago,
(First fair young head laid low!)
There's Baker, the brave old friend,
And Douglas, the friendly foe.
And Ellsworth of long ago,
(First fair young head laid low!)
There's Baker, the brave old friend,
And Douglas, the friendly foe.
(Baker, that still stood up
When 'twas death on either hand;
“'Tis a soldier's part to stoop,
But the Senator must stand.”)
When 'twas death on either hand;
“'Tis a soldier's part to stoop,
But the Senator must stand.”)
The heroes gather and form,—
There's Cameron, with his scars,
Sedgwick, of siege and storm,
And Mitchell, that joined his stars.
There's Cameron, with his scars,
Sedgwick, of siege and storm,
And Mitchell, that joined his stars.
Winthrop, of sword and pen,
Wadsworth, with silver hair,
Mansfield, ruler of men,
And brave McPherson are there.
Wadsworth, with silver hair,
Mansfield, ruler of men,
And brave McPherson are there.
Birney, who led so long,
Abbott, born to command,
Elliott the bold, and Strong,
Who fell on the hard-fought strand.
Abbott, born to command,
Elliott the bold, and Strong,
Who fell on the hard-fought strand.
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Lytle, soldier and bard,
And the Ellets, sire and son—
Ransom, all grandly scarred,
And Redfield, no more on guard,
(But Alatoona is won!)
And the Ellets, sire and son—
Ransom, all grandly scarred,
And Redfield, no more on guard,
(But Alatoona is won!)
Reno, of pure desert,
Kearney, with heart of flame,
And Russell, that hid his hurt
Till the final death-bolt came;
Kearney, with heart of flame,
And Russell, that hid his hurt
Till the final death-bolt came;
Terrill, dead where he fought,
Wallace, that would not yield,
And Sumner, who vainly sought
A grave on the foughten field,
Wallace, that would not yield,
And Sumner, who vainly sought
A grave on the foughten field,
(But died ere the end he saw,
With years and battles outworn.)
There's Harmon of Kenesaw,
And Ulric Dahlgren, and Shaw,
That slept with his Hope Forlorn.
With years and battles outworn.)
There's Harmon of Kenesaw,
And Ulric Dahlgren, and Shaw,
That slept with his Hope Forlorn.
Bayard, that knew not fear,
(True as the knight of yore,)
And Putnam, and Paul Revere,
Worthy the names they bore.
(True as the knight of yore,)
And Putnam, and Paul Revere,
Worthy the names they bore.
Allen, who died for others,
Bryan, of gentle fame,
And the brave New England brothers
That have left us Lowell's name.
Bryan, of gentle fame,
And the brave New England brothers
That have left us Lowell's name.
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Home, at last, from the wars,—
Stedman, the staunch and mild,
And Janeway, our hero-child,
Home, with his fifteen-scars!
Stedman, the staunch and mild,
And Janeway, our hero-child,
Home, with his fifteen-scars!
There's Porter, ever in front,
True son of a sea-king sire,
And Christian Foote, and Dupont,
(Dupont, who led his ships
Rounding the first Ellipse
Of thunder and of fire.)
True son of a sea-king sire,
And Christian Foote, and Dupont,
(Dupont, who led his ships
Rounding the first Ellipse
Of thunder and of fire.)
There's Ward, with his brave death-wounds,
And Cummings, of spotless name,
And Smith, who hurtled his rounds
When deck and hatch were aflame;
And Cummings, of spotless name,
And Smith, who hurtled his rounds
When deck and hatch were aflame;
Wainwright, steadfast and true,
Rodgers, of brave sea-blood,
And Craven, with ship and crew
Sunk in the salt sea flood.
Rodgers, of brave sea-blood,
And Craven, with ship and crew
Sunk in the salt sea flood.
And, a little later to part,
Our Captain, noble and dear—
(Did they deem thee, then, austere?
Drayton!—O pure and kindly heart!
Thine is the seaman's tear.)
Our Captain, noble and dear—
(Did they deem thee, then, austere?
Drayton!—O pure and kindly heart!
Thine is the seaman's tear.)
All such,—and many another,
(Ah, list how long to name!)
That stood like brother by brother,
And died on the field of fame.
(Ah, list how long to name!)
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And died on the field of fame.
And around—(for there can cease
This earthly trouble)—they throng,
The friends that had passed in peace,
The foes that have seen their wrong.
This earthly trouble)—they throng,
The friends that had passed in peace,
The foes that have seen their wrong.
(But, a little from the rest,
With sad eyes looking down,
And brows of softened frown,
With stern arms on the chest,
Are two, standing abreast—
Stonewall and Old John Brown.)
With sad eyes looking down,
And brows of softened frown,
With stern arms on the chest,
Are two, standing abreast—
Stonewall and Old John Brown.)
But the stainless and the true,
These by their President stand,
To look on his last review,
Or march with the old command.
These by their President stand,
To look on his last review,
Or march with the old command.
And lo, from a thousand fields,
From all the old battle-haunts,
A greater Army than Sherman wields,
A grander Review than Grant's!
From all the old battle-haunts,
A greater Army than Sherman wields,
A grander Review than Grant's!
Gathered home from the grave,
Risen from sun and rain—
Rescued from wind and wave
Out of the stormy main—
The Legions of our Brave
Are all in their lines again!
Risen from sun and rain—
Rescued from wind and wave
Out of the stormy main—
The Legions of our Brave
Are all in their lines again!
134
Many a stout Corps that went,
Full-ranked, from camp and tent,
And brought back a brigade;
Many a brave regiment,
That mustered only a squad.
Full-ranked, from camp and tent,
And brought back a brigade;
Many a brave regiment,
That mustered only a squad.
The lost battalions,
That, when the fight went wrong,
Stood and died at their guns,—
The stormers steady and strong,
That, when the fight went wrong,
Stood and died at their guns,—
The stormers steady and strong,
With their best blood that bought
Scarp, and ravelin, and wall,—
The companies that fought
Till a corporal's guard was all.
Scarp, and ravelin, and wall,—
The companies that fought
Till a corporal's guard was all.
Many a valiant crew,
That passed in battle and wreck,—
Ah, so faithful and true!
They died on the bloody deck,
They sank in the soundless blue.
That passed in battle and wreck,—
Ah, so faithful and true!
They died on the bloody deck,
They sank in the soundless blue.
All the loyal and bold
That lay on a soldier's bier,—
The stretchers borne to the rear,
The hammocks lowered to the hold.
That lay on a soldier's bier,—
The stretchers borne to the rear,
The hammocks lowered to the hold.
The shattered wreck we hurried,
In death-fight, from deck and port,—
The Blacks that Wagner buried—
That died in the Bloody Fort!
In death-fight, from deck and port,—
The Blacks that Wagner buried—
That died in the Bloody Fort!
135
Comrades of camp and mess,
Left, as they lay, to die,
In the battle's sorest stress,
When the storm of fight swept by,—
They lay in the Wilderness,
Ah, where did they not lie?
Left, as they lay, to die,
In the battle's sorest stress,
When the storm of fight swept by,—
They lay in the Wilderness,
Ah, where did they not lie?
In the tangled swamp they lay,
They lay so still on the sward!—
They rolled in the sick-bay,
Moaning their lives away—
They flushed in the fevered ward.
They lay so still on the sward!—
They rolled in the sick-bay,
Moaning their lives away—
They flushed in the fevered ward.
They rotted in Libby yonder,
They starved in the foul stockade—
Hearing afar the thunder
Of the Union cannonade!
They starved in the foul stockade—
Hearing afar the thunder
Of the Union cannonade!
But the old wounds all are healed,
And the dungeoned limbs are free,—
The Blue Frocks rise from the field,
The Blue Jackets out of the sea.
And the dungeoned limbs are free,—
The Blue Frocks rise from the field,
The Blue Jackets out of the sea.
They've 'scaped from the torture-den,
They've broken the bloody sod,
They're all come to life agen!—
The Third of a Million men
That died for Thee and for God!
They've broken the bloody sod,
They're all come to life agen!—
The Third of a Million men
That died for Thee and for God!
A tenderer green than May
The Eternal Season wears,—
The blue of our summer's day
Is dim and pallid to theirs,—
The Horror faded away,
And 'twas heaven all unawares!
The Eternal Season wears,—
136
Is dim and pallid to theirs,—
The Horror faded away,
And 'twas heaven all unawares!
Tents on the Infinite Shore!
Flags in the azuline sky,
Sails on the seas once more!
To-day, in the heaven on high,
All under arms once more!
Flags in the azuline sky,
Sails on the seas once more!
To-day, in the heaven on high,
All under arms once more!
The troops are all in their lines,
The guidons flutter and play;
But every bayonet shines,
For all must march to-day.
The guidons flutter and play;
But every bayonet shines,
For all must march to-day.
What lofty pennons flaunt?
What mighty echoes haunt,
As of great guns, o'er the main?
Hark to the sound again—
The Congress is all a-taunt!
The Cumberland's manned again!
What mighty echoes haunt,
As of great guns, o'er the main?
Hark to the sound again—
The Congress is all a-taunt!
The Cumberland's manned again!
All the ships and their men
Are in line of battle to-day,—
All at quarters, as when
Their last roll thundered away,—
All at their guns, as then,
For the Fleet salutes to-day.
Are in line of battle to-day,—
All at quarters, as when
Their last roll thundered away,—
All at their guns, as then,
For the Fleet salutes to-day.
137
The armies have broken camp
On the vast and sunny plain,
The drums are rolling again;
With steady, measured tramp,
They're marching all again.
On the vast and sunny plain,
The drums are rolling again;
With steady, measured tramp,
They're marching all again.
With alignment firm and solemn,
Once again they form
In mighty square and column,—
But never for charge and storm.
Once again they form
In mighty square and column,—
But never for charge and storm.
The Old Flag they died under
Floats above them on the shore,
And on the great ships yonder
The ensigns dip once more—
And once again the thunder
Of the thirty guns and four!
Floats above them on the shore,
And on the great ships yonder
The ensigns dip once more—
And once again the thunder
Of the thirty guns and four!
In solid platoons of steel,
Under heaven's triumphal arch,
The long lines break and wheel—
And the word is, “Forward, march!”
Under heaven's triumphal arch,
The long lines break and wheel—
And the word is, “Forward, march!”
The Colors ripple o'erhead,
The drums roll up to the sky,
And with martial time and tread
The regiments all pass by—
The ranks of our faithful Dead,
Meeting their President's eye.
The drums roll up to the sky,
And with martial time and tread
The regiments all pass by—
The ranks of our faithful Dead,
Meeting their President's eye.
138
With a soldier's quiet pride
They smile o'er the perished pain,
For their anguish was not vain—
For thee, O Father, we died!
And we did not die in vain.
They smile o'er the perished pain,
For their anguish was not vain—
For thee, O Father, we died!
And we did not die in vain.
March on, your last brave mile!
Salute him, Star and Lace,
Form round him, rank and file,
And look on the kind, rough face;
But the quaint and homely smile
Has a glory and a grace
It never had known erewhile—
Never, in time and space.
Salute him, Star and Lace,
Form round him, rank and file,
And look on the kind, rough face;
But the quaint and homely smile
Has a glory and a grace
It never had known erewhile—
Never, in time and space.
Close round him, hearts of pride!
Press near him, side by side,—
Our Father is not alone!
For the Holy Right ye died,
And Christ, the Crucified,
Waits to welcome his own
Press near him, side by side,—
Our Father is not alone!
For the Holy Right ye died,
And Christ, the Crucified,
Waits to welcome his own
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