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169
FIVE YEARS.
171
THE BRONZE STATUE—APRIL, 1861.
Uplifted when the April sun was down,Gold-lighted by the tremulous, fluttering beam,
Touching his glimmering steed with spurs in gleam,
The Great Virginia Colonel into town
Rode, with the scabbard, emptied, on his thigh,
The Leader's hat upon his head, and lo!
The old still manhood in his face aglow,
And the old generalship up in his eye!
“O father!” said I, speaking in my heart,
“Though but thy bronzéd form is ours alone,
And marble lips here in thy chosen place,
Rides not thy spirit in to keep thine own,
Or weeps thy Land, an orphan in the mart?”
The twilight dying lit the deathless face.
Washington, D. C.
172
HONORS OF WAR.
Wails of slow music move along the street,
Before the slow march of a myriad feet
Whose mournful echoes come;
Banners are muffled, hiding all their sight
Of sacred stars—the century's dearest light—
And, muffled, throbs the drum.
Before the slow march of a myriad feet
Whose mournful echoes come;
Banners are muffled, hiding all their sight
Of sacred stars—the century's dearest light—
And, muffled, throbs the drum.
Proud is the hearse our Mother gives her son,
On the red altar laid her earliest one!
Wrapp'd in her holiest pall
He goes: her household guardians follow him,
Eyes with their new heroic tears are dim;
The stern to-morrows call!
On the red altar laid her earliest one!
Wrapp'd in her holiest pall
He goes: her household guardians follow him,
Eyes with their new heroic tears are dim;
The stern to-morrows call!
Well might the youth who saw his coffin'd face,
Lying in state within the proudest place,
Long for a lot so high:
He was the first to leap the treacherous wall;
First in the arms of Death and Fame to fall—
To live because to die!
Lying in state within the proudest place,
Long for a lot so high:
He was the first to leap the treacherous wall;
First in the arms of Death and Fame to fall—
To live because to die!
173
Pass on, with wails of music, moving slow,
Thy dark dead-march, O Mother dress'd in woe!
Lo, many another way
Shall blacken after, many a sacred head
Brightly thy stars shall fold, alive though dead,
From many a funeral day!
Thy dark dead-march, O Mother dress'd in woe!
Lo, many another way
Shall blacken after, many a sacred head
Brightly thy stars shall fold, alive though dead,
From many a funeral day!
Weep, but grow stronger in thy suffering:
From their dead brothers' graves thy sons shall bring
New life of love for thee:
The long death-marches herald, slow or fast,
The resurrection-hour of men at last
New-born in Liberty!
From their dead brothers' graves thy sons shall bring
New life of love for thee:
The long death-marches herald, slow or fast,
The resurrection-hour of men at last
New-born in Liberty!
Washington, May, 1861.
174
A SABBATH IN JULY.
A year ago to-day, the Sabbath hoursWere sweet to us, wandering together, here
In these green woods. The skies were soft and clear,
And the sun wrought his miracles in flowers.
Sweet was the Sabbath stillness of these bowers;
The birds sang in the tender atmosphere,
And God's own voice seem'd whispering low and near
To His hush'd children in those hearts of ours.
Lo! scarcely mingling with the real day,
Far thunders beat in the heart of solitude,
Echoes of Hell to Heaven's divine repose:
For, while we breathed the breathless Sabbath wood,
The cannon's awful monotone arose
Where the dread Sabbath-breaking Preacher stood!
July 21, 1862.
175
THE NESTS AT WASHINGTON.
Before the White House portals,
The careless eyes behold
Three iron bombs uplifted,
Adusk in summer gold.
The careless eyes behold
Three iron bombs uplifted,
Adusk in summer gold.
In dreamy mood I wander'd
At Sabbath sunset there,
While the wide city's murmur
Hummed vaguely everywhere:
At Sabbath sunset there,
While the wide city's murmur
Hummed vaguely everywhere:
“Black seeds of desolation,”
I said, “by War's red hand
Sown in the fierce sirocco
Over the wasted Land!
I said, “by War's red hand
Sown in the fierce sirocco
Over the wasted Land!
“Unholy with the holy,
What do ye here to-day,
Symbols of awful battle,
In Sabbath's peaceful ray?”
What do ye here to-day,
Symbols of awful battle,
In Sabbath's peaceful ray?”
176
Angel of Dust and Darkness!
I heard thy woeful breath,
With noise of all earth's battles,
Answer: “Let there be Death!”
I heard thy woeful breath,
With noise of all earth's battles,
Answer: “Let there be Death!”
I thought of many a midnight,
Where sprang terrific light
Over wide woods and marshes;
Fierce fire-flies lit the night.
Where sprang terrific light
Over wide woods and marshes;
Fierce fire-flies lit the night.
I saw beleaguer'd bastions
Leap up in red dismay,
Wide rivers all transfigured
Awake in dreadful day.
Leap up in red dismay,
Wide rivers all transfigured
Awake in dreadful day.
Asleep in peaceful sunshine
Glimmer'd the warlike things:
Into their hollow horror
Flew tenderest summer wings!
Glimmer'd the warlike things:
Into their hollow horror
Flew tenderest summer wings!
Deep in the awful chambers
Of the gigantic Death,
The wrens their nests had builded
And dwelt with loving breath.
Of the gigantic Death,
The wrens their nests had builded
And dwelt with loving breath.
177
Angel of Resurrection!
Over all buried strife
I heard thy bird-song whisper,
Sweetly, “Let there be Life!”
Over all buried strife
I heard thy bird-song whisper,
Sweetly, “Let there be Life!”
Washington, D. C., June, 1862.
178
SONNET—IN 1862.
Stern be the Pilot in the dreadful hourWhen a great nation, like a ship at sea
With the wroth breakers whitening at her lee,
Feels her last shudder if her Helmsman cower;
A godlike manhood be his mighty dower!
Such and so gifted, Lincoln, may'st thou be
With thy high wisdom's low simplicity
And awful tenderness of voted power:
From our hot records then thy name shall stand
On Time's calm ledger out of passionate days—
With the pure debt of gratitude begun
And only paid in never-ending praise—
One of the many of a mighty Land
Made by God's providence the Anointed One.
179
THE BALLAD OF A ROSE.
My folded flower last Summer grew
Sweetly in a glad Southern place;
Its heart was filled with peaceful dew,
The peaceful sunshine kiss'd its face.
Sweetly in a glad Southern place;
Its heart was filled with peaceful dew,
The peaceful sunshine kiss'd its face.
Beside the threshold of a cot
It knew familiar household ties,
The May's beloved forget-me-not
To maiden's lips and children's eyes.
It knew familiar household ties,
The May's beloved forget-me-not
To maiden's lips and children's eyes.
Bees climb'd about it; birds above
Sang in the flush'd year of the rose:
“Our new millennium of Love
Begins with every May it blows.”
Sang in the flush'd year of the rose:
“Our new millennium of Love
Begins with every May it blows.”
Warm cottage-windows murmur'd near
All music making home so sweet—
The mother's voice divinely dear,
The lisping tongues, the pattering feet.
All music making home so sweet—
The mother's voice divinely dear,
The lisping tongues, the pattering feet.
180
Ah, little rose, another tale
On your dumb lips has waited long
(Since then your tender lips grew pale)—
Speak, darling; make your speech my song!
On your dumb lips has waited long
(Since then your tender lips grew pale)—
Speak, darling; make your speech my song!
Another tale than cottage peace,
Than balmy quiet, hovering wings
Of humming-birds and honey-bees,
And Summer's breath of shining things.
Than balmy quiet, hovering wings
Of humming-birds and honey-bees,
And Summer's breath of shining things.
Ah, little rose, your lips are mute:
Could Fancy give them words to-day,
Such histories would but sadly suit
Those lips that knew but Love and May!
Could Fancy give them words to-day,
Such histories would but sadly suit
Those lips that knew but Love and May!
You woke, one Sabbath, warm and sweet:
The fields were bright with dewy glow;
The sun smiled o'er the springing wheat,
And spake, “Let all things lovelier grow!”
The fields were bright with dewy glow;
The sun smiled o'er the springing wheat,
And spake, “Let all things lovelier grow!”
What answer rock'd the awaken'd earth,
Strange echo to that voice divine!
Before the battle's awful birth
The earth and heaven gave no sign.
Strange echo to that voice divine!
Before the battle's awful birth
The earth and heaven gave no sign.
181
The cannon thunder'd every-where;
The bomb sprang howling from afar,
A coming earthquake born in air,
A wingéd hell, a bursting star!
The bomb sprang howling from afar,
A coming earthquake born in air,
A wingéd hell, a bursting star!
And lo! about the sacred spot
Where late the doves of home would 'light.
Men red with battle falter'd not
Though others lay with faces white.
Where late the doves of home would 'light.
Men red with battle falter'd not
Though others lay with faces white.
The lowly roof of Love, behold!
Is rent by shell and cannon-ball;
The rifles flame from casements old;
By bullets torn the roses fall!
Is rent by shell and cannon-ball;
The rifles flame from casements old;
By bullets torn the roses fall!
Under the rose-tree where you grew,
A soldier, dying, look'd and saw
Your face, that only Sabbath knew,
With Nature's love and Heaven's law.
A soldier, dying, look'd and saw
Your face, that only Sabbath knew,
With Nature's love and Heaven's law.
He heard with ebbing blood and breath,
At your sweet charm, the thunder cease,
And in that earthquake-hour of Death
The cannon jarr'd the bells of Peace.
At your sweet charm, the thunder cease,
And in that earthquake-hour of Death
The cannon jarr'd the bells of Peace.
182
For while he saw you, tender flower!
So peaceful in that troubled place,
A tenderer vision touch'd the hour
And left its halo on his face.
So peaceful in that troubled place,
A tenderer vision touch'd the hour
And left its halo on his face.
A captain pluck'd you, in the roar
Of battle, o'er his comrade slain,
And through the fight your beauty bore
Bloodless upon the bloody plain.
Of battle, o'er his comrade slain,
And through the fight your beauty bore
Bloodless upon the bloody plain.
Dear rose, within your folded leaves
I know what other memory lies;
I hear (or else my ear deceives)
Your wail of homesick longing rise
I know what other memory lies;
I hear (or else my ear deceives)
Your wail of homesick longing rise
“O happy Summer, lost to me!
O threshold, mine to guard no more!”
You yearn for visits of the bee
To rose's heart and cottage-door.
O threshold, mine to guard no more!”
You yearn for visits of the bee
To rose's heart and cottage-door.
Rest in my book, O precious flower!
And seem—a whitening face above—
The witness in the battle hour
Of Peace and Home, of God and Love!
And seem—a whitening face above—
The witness in the battle hour
Of Peace and Home, of God and Love!
1862.
183
THE OPEN SLAVE-PEN.
We start from sleep in morning's buoyant dawn,
And find the horror which our sleep oppress'd
A vanish'd darkness, in the daylight gone—
The nightmare's burthen leaves the stifled breast.
And find the horror which our sleep oppress'd
A vanish'd darkness, in the daylight gone—
The nightmare's burthen leaves the stifled breast.
Yet still a presence moves about the brain,
Some frightful shadow lost in hazy light,
And in the noonday highway comes again.
The loathsome phantom of the breathless night.
Some frightful shadow lost in hazy light,
And in the noonday highway comes again.
The loathsome phantom of the breathless night.
So, while before these hateful doors I stand,
I feel the burdening darkness which is pass'd,
Or passing surely from the awaken'd land:
The nightmare clutches me and holds me fast.
I feel the burdening darkness which is pass'd,
Or passing surely from the awaken'd land:
The nightmare clutches me and holds me fast.
Back from the years that seem so long ago
Return the dark processions which have been;
Lifting again lost manacles of woe
They enter here—they vanish, going in.
Return the dark processions which have been;
Lifting again lost manacles of woe
They enter here—they vanish, going in.
184
Hark to the smother'd murmur of a race
Within these walls—its helpless wail and moan—
Which, for the ancient shadow on its face,
Call'd not the morning's new-born light its own!
Within these walls—its helpless wail and moan—
Which, for the ancient shadow on its face,
Call'd not the morning's new-born light its own!
Imprison'd here, what unforgotten cries
Of hopeless torture and what sights of woe,
From cotton-field and rice-plantation rise!—
These walls have heard, and seen, and witness show.
Of hopeless torture and what sights of woe,
From cotton-field and rice-plantation rise!—
These walls have heard, and seen, and witness show.
The human drove, the human driver, see!
Hark, the dread bloodhound in the swamp at bay!
The whipping-post reëchoes agony;
The slave-mart blackens all the shameful day.
Hark, the dread bloodhound in the swamp at bay!
The whipping-post reëchoes agony;
The slave-mart blackens all the shameful day.
The wife and husband, see, asunder thrust;
The mother dragg'd from her far children's wail;
The maiden torn from love and given to lust—
The Human Family in a bill of sale!
The mother dragg'd from her far children's wail;
The maiden torn from love and given to lust—
The Human Family in a bill of sale!
All sounds reëcho, all sights reäppear:
(O blindness, deafness! that ye can not be!)
All sounds of woe, that have been heard, I hear;
All sights of shame, that have been seen, I see!
(O blindness, deafness! that ye can not be!)
All sounds of woe, that have been heard, I hear;
All sights of shame, that have been seen, I see!
185
O sounds, be still! O visions, leave the day!—
What thunder trembled on the sultry air?
What lightnings went upon their breathless way?
Behold the stricken gates of old despair!
What thunder trembled on the sultry air?
What lightnings went upon their breathless way?
Behold the stricken gates of old despair!
The writing on these barbarous walls was plain;
The curse has fallen none would understand:
God's deluge ere another happier rain;
His plow of fire before the reaper's land!
The curse has fallen none would understand:
God's deluge ere another happier rain;
His plow of fire before the reaper's land!
The awful nightmare slips into its night,
With cannon-flash and noise of hurrying shell:
O prisons, open for returning light,
The sun is in the world, and all is well!
With cannon-flash and noise of hurrying shell:
O prisons, open for returning light,
The sun is in the world, and all is well!
186
THE DEAR PRESIDENT.
Abraham Lincoln, the Dear President,
Lay in the Round Hall at the Capitol,
And there the people came to look their last.
Lay in the Round Hall at the Capitol,
And there the people came to look their last.
There came the widow, weeded for her mate;
There came the mother, sorrowing for her son;
There came the orphan moaning for its sire.
There came the mother, sorrowing for her son;
There came the orphan moaning for its sire.
There came the soldier, bearing home his wound;
There came the slave, who felt his broken chain;
There came the mourners of a blacken'd Land.
There came the slave, who felt his broken chain;
There came the mourners of a blacken'd Land.
Through the dark April day, a ceaseless throng,
They pass'd the coffin, saw the sleeping face,
And, blessing it, in silence moved away.
They pass'd the coffin, saw the sleeping face,
And, blessing it, in silence moved away.
And one, a poet, spake within his heart:
“It harm'd him not to praise him when alive,
And me it can not harm to praise him dead.
“It harm'd him not to praise him when alive,
And me it can not harm to praise him dead.
187
“Too oft the muse has blush'd to speak of men—
No muse shall blush to speak her best of him,
And still to speak her best of him is dumb.
No muse shall blush to speak her best of him,
And still to speak her best of him is dumb.
“O lofty wisdom's low simplicity!
O awful tenderness of voted power!—
No man e'er held so much of power so meek.
O awful tenderness of voted power!—
No man e'er held so much of power so meek.
“He was the husband of the husbandless,
He was the father of the fatherless:
Within his heart he weigh'd the common woe.
He was the father of the fatherless:
Within his heart he weigh'd the common woe.
“His call was like a father's to his sons:
As to a father's voice, they, hearing, came—
Eager to offer, strive, and bear, and die.
As to a father's voice, they, hearing, came—
Eager to offer, strive, and bear, and die.
“The mild bond-breaker, servant of his Lord,
He took the sword, but in the name of Peace,
And touched the fetter, and the bound was free.
He took the sword, but in the name of Peace,
And touched the fetter, and the bound was free.
“Oh, place him not among the historic kings,
Strong, barbarous chiefs and bloody conquerors,
But with the great and pure Republicans:
Strong, barbarous chiefs and bloody conquerors,
But with the great and pure Republicans:
188
“Those who have been unselfish, wise, and good,
Bringers of Light and Pilots in the dark,
Bearers of Crosses, Servants of the World.
Bringers of Light and Pilots in the dark,
Bearers of Crosses, Servants of the World.
“And always, in his Land of birth and death,
Be his fond name—warm'd in the people's hearts—
Abraham Lincoln, the Dear President.”
Be his fond name—warm'd in the people's hearts—
Abraham Lincoln, the Dear President.”
189
TO R. C. S.
Dear General, in the Age of Chivalry—That Golden Age of Manhood, whose lost seed
Blossom'd in you—true men of loyal breed
Bow'd under kingly swords, on bended knee,
And rose with Knighthood holy, sworn to be
Champions of Right and guardians at her need,
Their life the errand of some noble deed
Halo'd by History, crown'd by Poesy.
But Nature, first Knight-maker then as now,
(For Kings were but her servants and are still,)
Put her great seal of Knighthood on your brow,
And we behold you sacred to her will,
Knowing why on your thigh the sword is seen
And on your hair the civic wreath is green.
190
THE UNBENDED BOW.
In some old realm, we read, when war had come,
The bended bow, a warlike sign, was sent
Across the land—a summoner fierce but dumb;
When peace return'd the bow was pass'd unbent.
The bended bow, a warlike sign, was sent
Across the land—a summoner fierce but dumb;
When peace return'd the bow was pass'd unbent.
Oh, sacred Land! not many years ago
(The symbol breathes its meaning evermore),
Thy holy summons, came the bended bow—
Thy fiery bearers moved from door to door.
(The symbol breathes its meaning evermore),
Thy holy summons, came the bended bow—
Thy fiery bearers moved from door to door.
Then sprang thy brave from threshold and from hearth;
Their angry footsteps sounded, moving far,
As when an earthquake moves across the earth;
Shone on thy hills the flame-lit tents of war.
Their angry footsteps sounded, moving far,
As when an earthquake moves across the earth;
Shone on thy hills the flame-lit tents of war.
O tender wife, in all thy weakness stern
With the great purpose which thy husband drew;
O mother dreaming of thy son's return,
Strong with the arm whose strength thy country knew;
With the great purpose which thy husband drew;
O mother dreaming of thy son's return,
Strong with the arm whose strength thy country knew;
191
O maiden, proud to hold a hero's name
Close in thy prayerful silence, blameless: lo,
Transfigured in the light of love and fame,
They come, the bearers of the unbended bow!
Close in thy prayerful silence, blameless: lo,
Transfigured in the light of love and fame,
They come, the bearers of the unbended bow!
“The strife is hush'd, O Land!”—this voice is plain—
“The bow of Peace is borne from door to door:
May thy dread power be never tried again;
But let thine arrows shine for evermore.”
“The bow of Peace is borne from door to door:
May thy dread power be never tried again;
But let thine arrows shine for evermore.”
1865.
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