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LOVE'S CONSUMMATIONS.
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401

LOVE'S CONSUMMATIONS.

[I.]

The summer passed, the autumn came;
The world swung over toward the night;
The forests robed themselves in flame,
Then faded slowly into white;
And set within a crystal frame
Of frozen streams, the shaggy boles
Of oak and elm, with leafless crowns,
Were painted stark upon the knolls;
And cots and villages and towns
On virgin canvas glowed like coals
In tawny red, or strove in vain
To shame the white in which they stood.
The fairest tint was but a stain
Upon the snow, that quenched the wood,
And paved the street, and draped the plain!

II.

Oh! Southern cheeks are quick to feel
The magic finger of the frost;
And Mildred heard but one long peal
From the fierce Arctic, which embossed
Her window-panes, and set the seal

402

Of cold on all her eye beheld,
When through her veins there swept new fire,
And, in her answering bosom, swelled
New purposes and new desire,
And force to higher deeds impelled.
Ah! well for her the languor cast
That followed from her Southern clime!
The time would come—was coming fast,—
Love's consummated, crowning time—
Of which her heart had antepast!
A strange new life was in her breast;
Her eyes were full of wondrous dreams;
She sailed all whiles from crest to crest
Of a broad ocean, through whose gleams
She saw an island wrapped in rest!
And as she drove across the sea,
Toward the fair port that fixed her gaze,
Her life was like a rosary,
Whose slowly counted beads were days
Of prayer for one that was to be!

III.

Oh roses, roses! Who shall sing
The beauty of the flowers of God!
Or thank the angel from whose wing
The seeds are scattered on the sod
From which such bloom and perfume spring!
Sure they have heavenly genesis
Which make a heaven of every place;
Which company our bale and bliss,

403

And never to our sinning race
Speak aught unhallowed, or amiss!
When love is grieved, their buds atone;
When love is wed, their forms are near;
They blend their breathing with the moan
Of love when dying, and the bier
Is white with them in every zone.
No spot is mean that they begem;
No nosegay fair that holds them not;
They melt the pride and stir the phlegm
Of lord and churl, in court and cot,
And weave a common diadem
For human brows where'er they grow.
They write all languages of red,
They speak all dialects of snow,
And all the words of gold are said
With fragrant meanings where they blow!
Oh sweetest flowers! Oh flowers divine!
In which God comes so closely down,
We gather from his chosen sign
The tints that cluster in his crown—
The perfume of his breath benign!
Oh, sweetest flowers! Oh, flowers that hold
The fragrant life of Paradise
For a brief day, shut fold in fold,
That we may drink it in a trice,
And drop the empty pink and gold!
Oh sweetest flowers, that have a breath
For every passion that we feel!

404

That tell us what the Master saith
Of blessing, in our woe and weal,
And all events of life and death!

IV.

The time of roses came again;
And one had bloomed within the manse,—
Bloomed in a burst of midnight pain,
And plumed its life in fair expanse,
Beneath love's nursing sun and rain.
Such tendance ne'er had flower before!
Such beauty ne'er had flower returned!
Found on that distant island-shore,
Whose secret she at last had learned,
And made her own for evermore,
Mildred consigned it to her breast;
And though she knew it took its hue
From her, it seemed the Lord's bequest,—
Still sparkling with the heavenly dew,
And still with heavenly beauty dressed.
Oh, roses! ye were wondrous fair
That summer by the river side!
For hearts were blooming everywhere,
In sympathy of love and pride,
With that which came to Mildred's care.
And rose as red as rose could be
Was Philip's heart with joy abloom,
That cast its fragrance far and free,
And filled his lonely, silent room
With rapture of paternity!

405

V.

The evening fell on field and street;
The glow-worm lit his phosphor lamp,
For fairy forms and fairy feet,
That gathered for their nightly tramp
Where grass was green and flowers were sweet.
In devious circles, round and round,
The night-hawk coursed the twilight sky,
Or shot like lightning the profound,
With breezy thunder in the cry
That marked his furious rebound!
The zephyrs breathed through elm and ash,
From new-mown hay and heliotrope,
And came through Philip's open sash
With sheen of stars that lit the cope,
And twinkling of the fire-fly's flash.
He heard the baby's weary plaint;
He heard the mother's soothing words;
And sitting in his hushed restraint,
One voice was murmur of the birds,
And one the hymning of a saint!
And as he sat alone, immersed
In the fond fancies of the time,
Her voice in mellow music burst,
And by a rhythmic stair of rhyme
Led down to sleep the child she nursed.
“Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover!—
Crooning so drowsily, crying so low—
Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!

406

Down into wonderland—
Down to the under-land—
Go, oh go!
Down into wonderland go!
“Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover!
Tears on the eyelids that struggle and weep!
Rockaby, lullaby—bending it over!
Down on the mother world,
Down on the other world!
Sleep, oh sleep!
Down on the mother-world sleep!
“Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!
Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn!
Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!
Into the stilly world!
Into the lily world,
Gone! oh gone!
Into the lily world, gone!”

VI.

They sprouted like the prophet's gourd;
They grew within a single night;
So swift his busy years were scored
That, ere he knew, his hope was white
With harvest bending round his board!
And eyes were black and eyes were blue,
And blood of mother and of sire,
Each to its native humor true,
Blent Northern force with Southern fire
In strength and beauty, strange and new.

407

The Gallic brown, the Saxon snow,
The raven locks, the flaxen curls,
Were so commingled in the flow
Of the new blood of boys and girls,
That Puritan and Huguenot
In love's alembic were advanced
To higher types and finer forms;
And ardent humors thrilled and danced
Through veins that tempered all their storms,
Or held them in restraint entranced.
Oh! many times, as flew the years,
The dainty cradle-song was sung;
And bore its balm to restless ears,
As one by one the nested young
Slept in their willows and their tears.
To each within the reedy glade,
Hid from some tyrant's cruel schemes,
It was a princess, or her maid,
Who bore him to the realm of dreams,
And made him seer by accolade
Of flaming bush and parted deep,
Of gushing rocks and raining corn,
And fire and cloud, and lengthened sweep
Of thousands toward the promised morn,
Across the wilderness of sleep!

VII.

The years rolled on in grand routine
Of useful toil and chastening care,

408

Till Philip, grown to heights serene
Of conscious power, and ripe with prayer,
Took on the strong and stately mien
Of one on whom had been conferred
The doing of a knightly deed;
And waited till it bade him gird
The harness on him and his steed,
For man and for his Master's word.
His name was spoken far and near,
And sounded sweet on every tongue;
Men knew him only to revere,
And those who knew him nearest, flung
Their hearts before his grand career,
And paved his way with loyal trust.
He was their strongest, noblest man,—
Sworn foe of every selfish lust,
And brave to do as wise to plan,
And swift to judge as pure and just.

VIII.

Against such foil the mistress stood—
A pearl upon a cross of gold—
White with consistent womanhood,
And fixed with unrelaxing hold
Upon the centre of the rood!
Through all those years of loving thrift,
Nor blame nor discord marred their lot;
Each to the lover-life was gift;
And each was free from blur or blot
That called for silence or for shrift.

409

Both bore the burden they upheld
With patient hands along the road;
And though, with passing years, it swelled
Until it grew a weary load,
Nor tongue complained, nor heart rebelled.
At length the time of trial came,
And they were tried as gold is tried.
Their peace of life went up in flame,
And what was good was vilified,
And what was blameless came to blame.

IX.

The Southern sky was dun with cloud;
And looming lurid o'er its edge
The brows of awful forms were bowed,
That forged in flame the fateful wedge
Which waited in the angry shroud
The banner of the storm unfurled,
And all the powers of death arrayed
In black battalions, to be hurled
Down through the rack—a blazing blade—
To cleave the realm, and shake the world!
The North was full of nameless dread;
Wild portents flamed from out the pole;
Old scars on Freedom's bosom bled,
And sick at heart and vexed of soul
She tossed in fever on her bed!
Pale Commerce hid her face and whined;
The arms of Toil were paralyzed;

410

The wise were of divided mind,
And they who counselled and advised
Were sightless leaders of the blind.
Men lost their faith in good and great;
No captain sprang, or prophet-bard,
To win their trust, and save the state
From the wild storm that, like a pard,
On quivering haunches lay in wait!
The loyal only were not brave;
E'en Peace became a cringing dog;
The patriot paltered like a knave,
And partisan and demagogue
Quarrelled o'er Freedom's waiting grave.

X.

Amid the turmoil and disgrace,
The voice was clear, from first to last,
Of one who, in the desert place
Of barren counsels, held him fast
His shepherd's crook, and made it mace
To bear before the Great Event
Whose harbinger he chose to be,
And called on all men to repent,
And build a way from sea to sea,
For Freedom's full enfranchisement.
For Philip, to his conscience leal,
Conceived that God had chosen him
With Treason's sophistries to deal,
And grapple with the Anakim
Whose menace shook the commonweal.

411

His pulpit smoked beneath his blows;
His voice was heard in hall and street;
A thousand friends became his foes,
And pews were empty or replete,
With passion's ebbs and overflows.
They trailed his good name in the mire;
They spat their venom in his eyes;
They taunted him with mad desire
For power, and gathered his replies
In braver words and fiercer fire.
He was a wolf, disguised in wool;
He was a viper in the breast;
He was a villain, or the tool
Of greater villains; at the best,
A blind enthusiast and fool!
As swelled the tempest, rose the man;
He turned to sport their brutal spleen;
And none could choose be slow to span
The difference that lay between
A Prospero and a Caliban!

XI.

She would not move him otherwise,
Although her heart was sad and sore.
That which was venal in his eyes
To her a lovely aspect wore,
And helped to weave the thousand ties
Which bound her to her youth, and all
The loves that she had left behind
When, from her father's stately hall,

412

She came, her Northern home to find,
With him who held her heart in thrall.
In the dark pictures which he drew
Of instituted shame and wrong,
She saw no figures that she knew,
But a confused and hateful throng
Of forms that in his fancy grew.
Her father's rule, benign and mild,
Was all of slavery she had known;
To her, an Afric was a child—
A charge in other ages thrown
On Christian honor, from the wild
Of savagery in which the Fates
Had given him birth and dwelling-place—
And so, descending through estates
Of gentle vassalage, his race
Had come to men of later dates.
Black hands her baby form had dressed;
Black hands her blacker hair had curled;
And she had found a dusky breast
The sweetest breast in all the world
When she was thirsty or at rest.
There was no touch of memory's chords—
No picture on her blooming wall,—
Of life upon the sunny swards
They reproduced,—but brought recall
Of happy slaves and gentle lords.
And Philip charged a deadly sin
Upon that beautiful domain,

413

Condemning all who dwelt therein,
And branding with the awful stain
Her friends, and all her dearest kin.
Yet still she knew his conscience clear,—
That he believed his voice was God's;
And listened with a voiceless fear
To the portentous periods
In which he preached the chosen year
Of expiation and release,
And prophesied that Slavery's power,
Grown great apace with crime's increase,
Before the front of Right should cower,
And bid God's people go in peace!

XII.

The fierce invectives of his tongue
Frayed every day her wounds afresh,
And with new pain her bosom wrung,
For they envenomed kindred flesh,
To which in sympathy she clung.
Yet not a finger did she lift
To hold him from his fateful task,
Though Satan oft essayed to sift
Her soul as wheat, and bade her ask
Somewhat from conscience as a gift.
And when a serpent in his slime
Crept to her ear with phrase polite,
Prating of duty to her time
And to her people—swift and white
She turned and cursed him for his crime!

414

She would have naught of all the brood
Of temporizing, driveling shows
Of men who Philip's words withstood:
Against them all her love uprose,
And all her pride of womanhood.
She loved her kindred none the less,
She loved her husband still the more,
For well she knew that with distress
He saw the heavy cross she bore
With steadfast faith and tenderness.
No strife of jarring policies,
No conflict of embittered states,
No chart, defining by degrees
Of latitude her country's hates,
Could change her friends to enemies.
The motives ranged on either hand,
Behind the war of word and will,
Were such as she could understand
And, with respect to all, fulfill
Love's broad and beautiful command.
So, with all questions hushed to sleep,
And all opinions put aside,
She gave her loved ones to the keep
Of God, whatever should betide,
To bear her joy or bid her weep!

XIII.

Though Philip knew he wounded her,
His faith to God and faith to man
Bade him go forward, and incur

415

Such cost as, since the world began,
Has burdened Freedom's harbinger.
No heart or hand was his to flinch
From case or reputation lost;
Nor waste of gold, nor hunger-pinch,
Nor e'en his home's black holocaust,
Could stay his arm. Though inch by inch,
The maddened hosts of scorn and scath
Should crowd him backward to defeat,
He would but strive with sterner wrath,
And bless the hand that, soft and sweet,
Withheld its hinderance from his path!

XIV.

Still darker loomed the Southern cloud,
While o'er its black and billowed face
In furrowed fire the lightning ploughed,
And ramping from his hiding-place
Roared the wild Thunder, fierce and loud!
And still men chattered of their trade,
And strove to banish their alarms;
And some were puzzled, some afraid,
And some held up their feeble arms
In indignation while they prayed!
And others weakly talked of schism
As boon of God in place of war,
And bared their foreheads for its chrism!
While direr than the mace of Thor,
In mid-air hung the cataclysm

416

Which waited but some chance, or act,
To shiver the electric spell,
And pour in one fierce cataract
A rain of blood and fire of hell
On Freedom's temple spoiled and sacked.
The politician plied his craft;
The demagogue still schemed and lied;
The patriot wept, the traitor laughed;
The coward to his covert hied,
And statesmen went distract or daft.
Contention raged in Senate halls;
Confusion reigned in field and town;
High conclaves flattened into brawls,
And till and hammer, smock and gown,
Nor duty knew nor heard its calls!

XV.

At last, incontinent of fire,
The cloud of menace belched its brand;
And every state and every shire
And town and hamlet in the land,
Shook with the smiting of its ire!
Men looked each other in the eyes,
And beat their burning breasts and cursed!
At last the silliest were wise;
And swift to flash and thunder-burst
Fashioned in anger their replies.
The smoke of Sumter filled the air.
Men breathed it in in one long breath;

417

And straight upspringing everywhere,
Life burgeoned on the mounds of death,
And bloomed in valleys of despair.
The fire of Sumter, fierce and hot,
Welded their purpose into one;
And discord hushed, and strife forgot,
They swore that what had thus begun
With sacrilegious cannon-shot,
Should find in analogue of flame
Such answer of the nation's host,
That the old flag, washed clean from shame
In blood, should wave from coast to coast,
Over one realm in heart and name!

XVI.

Pale doubters, scourged by countless whips,
Fled to their refuge, or obeyed
The motives and the masterships
That time and circumstance betrayed
Through Patriotism's apocalypse,
And, sympathetic with the spasm
Of loyal life that thrilled the clime,
Lost in the swift enthusiasm
The loose intention of their crime;
Then leaped in swarms the awful chasm
That held them parted from the mass.
The North was one in heart and thought,
And that which could not come to pass
Through loyal eloquence, was wrought
By one hot word from lips of brass!

418

XVII.

The cry sprang upward and sped on:
“To arms! for freedom and the flag!”
And swift, from Maine to Oregon,
O'er glebe and lake and mountain-crag,
Hurtled the fierce Euroclydon.
Men dropped their mallets on the bench,
Forsook their ploughs on hill and plain,
And tore themselves, with piteous wrench
Of heart and hope, from love and gain,
And trooped in throngs to tent and trench.
“To arms!” and Philip heard the cry.
Not his the valor cheap and small
To bluster with brave phrase, and fly
When trumpet blare and rifle-ball
Proclaimed the time for words gone by!
Men knew their chieftain. He had borne
Their insolence through struggling years,
And they—the dastards, the forsworn—
Who had ransacked the hemispheres
For instruments to wreak their scorn
On him and all of kindred speech,
Gathered around him with his friends,
And with stern plaudits heard him preach
A gospel whose stupendous ends
Their martyred blood could only reach.
They gave him honor far and wide,
As one who backed his word by deed;

419

And he whose task had been to guide,
Was chosen by acclaim to lead
The men who gathered at his side.
The crook was banished for the glave;
The churchman's black for soldier-blue;
The man of peace became a brave;
And, in the dawn of conflict, drew
His sword his country's life to save.

XIX.

They came from mead and mountain-top;
They came from factory and forge;
And one by one, from farm and shop—
Still gravel to the Northman's gorge—
Followed the servile Ethiop.
Gaunt, grimy men, whose ways had been
Among the shadows and the slums,
With pedagogue and paladin,
Rushed, at the rolling of the drums,
To Philip, and were mustered in!
The beat of drum and scream of fife,
Commingling with the thundering tramp
Of trooping throngs, so changed the life
Of the calm village that the camp,
And what it prophesied of strife,
And hap of loss and hap of gain,
Became of every tongue the theme;
Till burning heart and throbbing brain
Could waking think, and sleeping dream,
Of naught but battles and the slain.

420

XX.

With eager eyes and helpful hands
The women met in solemn crowds,
And shred the linen into bands
That had been better saved for shrouds,
Or want's imperious demands.
And with them all sad Mildred walked,
The bearer of a heavy cross;
For at her side the phantom stalked—
Nor left her for an hour—of loss
Which by no fortune might be balked.
For one or all she loved must fall;
One cause must perish in defeat;
Success of either would appall,
And victory, however sweet
To others, would to her be gall.
To each, with equal heart allied,
Her love was like the love of God,
That wraps the country in its tide,
And o'er its hosts, benign and broad,
Broods with its pity and its pride!
A thousand chances of the feud
She wove and raveled one by one,—
Of hands in kindred blood imbrued,—
Of father, face to face with son,
And friends turned foemen fierce and rude.
And in her dreams two forms were met,
Of friends as leal as ever breathed—

421

Her husband and her brother—wet
With priceless blood from swords ensheathed
In hearts that loved each other yet!
But itching ears her language scanned,
And jealous eyes were on her steps;
And fancies into rumors fanned
By loyal shrews and demireps
Proclaimed her traitress to the land.
They knew her blood, but could not know
That mighty passion of her heart
Which, reaching widely in its woe,
Grasped all she loved on either part,
And could not, would not let it go!

XXI.

The time of gathering came and went—
Of noisy zeal and hasty drill—
And everywhere, in field and tent,—
A constant presence,—Philip's will
Moulded the callow regiment.
And then there fell a gala day,
When all the mighty, motley swarm
Appeared in beautiful display
Of burnished arms and uniform,
And gloried in their brave array!—
And, later still, the hour of dread
To all the simple country round,
When forth, with Philip at their head,
They marched from the familiar ground,
And drained its life, and left it dead;—

422

Dead but for those who pined with grief;
Dead but for fears that could not die;
Dead as the world when flower and leaf
Are still beneath a gathering sky,
And ocean sleeps on reach and reef.
The weary waiting time had come,
When only apprehension waked;
And lonely wives sat chill and dumb
Among their broods, with hearts that ached
And echoed the retreating drum.
Teachers forgot to preach their creeds,
And trade forsook its merchandise;
The fallow fields grew rank with weeds,
And none had interest or eyes
For aught but war's ensanguined deeds.
As one who lingered by a bier
Where all she loved lay dead and cold,
Sad Mildred sat without a tear,
Living again the days of old,
Or, with the vision of a seer,
Forecasting the disastrous end.
Whate'er might come, she did not dare
Believe that fortune would defend
The noble life she could not spare,
And save her lover and her friend.
Her blooming girls and stalwart boys
Could never comprehend the woe
Which dropped its measure of their joys,
And felt but horror in the show,
And heard but murder in the noise,

423

And dreamed of death when stillness fell
Behind the gay and shouting corps.
They saw her haunted by the spell
Of a great sorrow, and forebore
To question griefs they could not quell.
Small time she gave to vain regret;
Brief space to thought of that adieu
Which crushed her breast, when last they met,
And in love's baptism bathed anew
Cheeks, lips, and eyes, and left them wet!
In deeds of sympathy and grace,
She moved among the homes forlorn,
Ailke to beautiful and base
And to the stricken and the shorn,
The guardian angel of the place.

XXII.

Oh piteous waste of hopes and fears!
Oh cruel stretch of long delay!
Oh homes bereft! Oh useless tears!
Oh war! that ravened on its prey
Through Pain's immeasurable years!
The town was mourning for its dead;
The streets were black with widowhood;
While orphaned children begged for bread,
And Rachel, for the brave and good,
Mourned, and would not be comforted.
The regiment that, straight and crisp,
Shone like a wheat-field in the sun,

424

Its swift voice deafened to a lisp,
Fell, ere the war was well begun,
And waned and withered to a wisp.
And Philip, grown to higher rank,
Crowned with the bays of splendid deeds
Of the full cup of glory drank,
And lived, though all his reeking steeds
In the red front of conflict sank.
The star of conquest waxed or waned,
Yet still the call came back for men;
Still the lamenting town was drained,
And still again, and still again,
Till only impotence remained!

XXIII.

There came at length an eve of gloom—
Dread Gettysburg's eventful eve—
When all the gathering clouds of doom
Hung low, the breathless air to cleave
With scream of shell and cannon-boom!
Man knew too well, and woman felt
That when the next wild morn should rise,
A blow of battle would be dealt
Before whose fire ten thousand eyes—
As in a furnace flame—would melt.
And on this eve—her flock asleep—
Knelt Mildred at her lonely bed.
She could not pray, she did not weep,
But only moaned, and, moaning, said:
“Oh God! he sows what I must reap!

425

“He will not live: he must not die!
But oh, my poor, prophetic heart!
It warns me that there lingers nigh
The hour when love and I must part!”
And then she startled with a cry,
For, from beneath her lattice, came
A low and once repeated call!
She knew the voice that spoke her name,
And swiftly through the midnight hall
She fluttered noiseless as a flame,
And on its unresisting hinge
Threw wide her hospitable door,
To one whose spirit could not cringe
Though he was shelterless, and bore
No right her freedom to infringe.
She wildly clasped his neck of bronze;
She rained her kisses on his face,
Grown tawny with a thousand suns,
And holding him in her embrace,
She led him to her little ones,
Who, reckless of his coming, slept.
Then down the stair with silent feet
And through the shadowy hall she swept,
And saw, between her and the street,
A form that into darkness crept.
She closed the door with speechless dread;
She fixed the bolt with trembling hand;
Then led the rebel to his bed,
Whom love and safety had unmanned,
And left him less alive than dead.

426

Through nights and days of fear and grief,
She kept her faithful watch and ward,
But love and rest brought no relief;
And all he begged for of his Lord
Was death, with passion faint and brief.

XXIV.

Around the house were prying eyes,
And gossips hiding under trees;
And Mildred heard the steps of spies
At midnight, when, upon her knees,
She sought the comfort of the skies.
Strange voices rose upon the night;
Strange errands entered at the gate;
Her hours were months of pale affright;
Though still her prisoner of state
Was shielded from their eager sight.
And there were hirelings in pursuit,
Who thirsted for his golden price;
And, swift allied with pimp and brute,
And quick to purchase and entice,
They found the tree that held their fruit.

XXV.

The day of Gettysburg had set;
The smoke had drifted from the scene,
And burnished sword and bayonet
Lay rusting where, but yestere'en,
They dropped with life-blood red and wet!

427

The swift invader had retraced
His march, and left his fallen braves,
Covered at night in voiceless haste,
To sleep in memorable graves,
But knew that all his loss was waste.
The nation's legions, stretching wide,
Too sore to chase, too weak to cheer,
Gave sepulture to those who died,
And saw their foemen disappear
Without the loss of power or pride.
And then, swift-sweeping like a gale,
Through all the land, from end to end,
Grief poured its wild, untempered wail,
And father, mother, wife, and friend
Forgot their country in their bale.
And Philip, with his fatal wound,
Was borne beyond the battle's blaze,
Across the torn and quaking ground,
His ear too dull to heed the praise,
That spoke him hero, robed and crowned.
They bent above his blackened face,
And questioned of his last desire;
And with his old, familiar grace,
And smiling mouth, and eye of fire,
He answered them: “My wife's embrace!”
They wiped his forehead of its stain,
They bore him tenderly away,
Through teeming mart and wide champaign,
Till on a twilight, cool and gray,
And wet with weeping of the rain,

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They gave him to a silent crowd
That waited at the river's marge,
Of men with age and sorrow bowed,
Who raised and bore their precious charge,
Through groups that watched and wailed aloud.

XXVI.

The hounds of power were at her gate;
And at their heels, a yelping pack
Of graceless mongrels stood in wait,
To mark the issue of attack,
With lips that slavered with their hate.
With window raised and portal barred,
The mistress scanned the darkening space,
And with a visage hot and hard—
At bay before the cruel chase—
She held them in her fierce regard.
“What would ye—spies and hirelings—what?”
She asked with accent, stern and brave;
“Why come ye to this sacred spot,
Led by the counsel of a knave,
And flanked by slanderer and sot?
“You have my husband: has he earned
No meed of courtesy for me?
Is this the recompense returned,
That she he loved the best should be
Suspected, persecuted, spurned?
“My home is wrecked: what would ye more?
My life is ruined—what new boon?
My children's hearts are sad and sore

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With weeping for the wounds that soon
Will plead for healing at my door!
“I hold your prisoner—stand assured:
Safe from his foes: aye, safe from you!—
Safe in a sister's love immured,
And by a warden kept as true
As e'er the test of faith endured.
“Why, men, he was my brother born!
My hero, all my youthful years!
My counsellor, to guide and warn!
My shield alike from foes and fears!
And when he came to me, forlorn,
“What could I do but hail him guest,
And bind his cruel wounds with balm,
And give him on his sister's breast
That which he asked, the humble alm
Of a safe pillow where to rest?
“Come, then, and dare the wrath of fate!
Come, if you must, or if you will!
But know that I am desperate;
And shafts that wound, and wounds that kill
Your deed of dastardy await!”
A murmur swept through all the mob;
The base informer slunk afar;
And lusty cheer and stifled sob
Rose to her at the window-bar,
While those whose hands were come to rob
Her dwelling of its treasure, cursed;
For round their heads the menace flew

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That he who dared adventure first,
Or first an arm of murder drew,
Should taste of vengeance at its worst.

XXVII.

A heavy tramp, a murmuring sound,
Low mingling with the murmuring rain,—
Heard in the wind and in the ground,—
Came up the street—a tide of pain,
In which the angry din was drowned.
The leaders of the tumult fled;
The door flew open with a crash;
And down the street wild Mildred sped,
Piercing the darkness like a flash,
And walked beside her husband's bed.
Slowly the solemn train advanced;
The crowd fell back with parted ranks;
And like a giant, half entranced,
Sailing between strange, spectral banks,
From side to side the soldier glanced.
The sobbing rain, the evening dim,
The dusky forms that pushed and peered,
The swaying couch, the aching limb,
The lights and shadows, sharp and weird,
Were but a troubled dream to him.
He knew his love—all else unknown,
Or seen through reason's sad eclipse—
And with her hand within his own,
Or fondly pressed upon his lips,
He clung to it, as if alone

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It had the power to stay his feet
Yet longer on the verge of life;
And thus they vanished from the street—
The shepherd-warrior and his wife
Within the manse's closed retreat.

XXVIII.

Embraced by home, his soul grew light;
And though he moaned: “My head! my head!”
His life turned back its outward flight,
Like his, who, from the prophet's bed,
Startled the wondering Shunammite.
He greeted all with tender speech;
He told his children he should die;
He gave his fond farewell to each,
With messages, and fond good-by
To all he loved beyond his reach.
And then he spoke her brother's name:
“Tell him,” he said, “that, in my death,
I cherished his untarnished fame,
And, to my life's expiring breath,
Held his brave spirit free from blame.
“We strove alike for truth's behoof,
With honest faith and love sincere,—
For God and country, right and roof,
And issues that do not appear,
But wait with Heaven the awful proof.”
A tottering figure reached the door;
The brother fell upon the bed,
And, in each other's arms once more,

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With breast to breast, and head to head,—
Twin barks, they drifted from the shore;
And backward on the sobbing air
Came the same words from warring lips:
“God save my country!” and the prayer
Still wailing from the drifting ships,
Returned in measures of despair;
Till far, at the horizon's verge
They passed beyond the tearful eyes
That could not know if in the surge
They sank at last, or in the skies
Forgot the burden of their dirge!

XXIX.

In Northern blue and Southern brown,
Twin coffins and a single grave,
They laid the weary warriors down;
And hands that strove to slay and save
Had equal rest and like renown.
For in the graveyard's hallowed close
A woman's love made neutral soil,
Where it might lay the forms of those
Who, resting from their fateful broil,
Had ceased forever to be foes.
To her and those who clung to her—
From manly eldest down to least—
The obsequies, the sepulchre,
The chanting choir, the weeping priest,
And all the throng and all the stir

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Of sympathetic country-folk,
And all the signs of death and dole,
Were but a dream that beat and broke
In chilling waves on heart and soul,
Till in the silence they awoke.
She was a widow, and she wept;
She was a mother, and she smiled;
Her faith with those she loved was kept,
Though still the war-cry, fierce and wild,
Around the harried country swept.
No more with this had she to do;
God and her little ones were left;
And unto these, serene and true,
She gave the life so soon bereft
Of its first gifts, and rose anew
At duty's call to make amends
For all her loss of loves and lands;
And found, to speed her noble ends,
The succor of uplifting hands,
And solace of a thousand friends
And o'er her precious graves she built
A stone whereon the yellow boss
Of sword on sword with naked hilt
Lay as the symbol of her cross,
In mournful meaning, carved and gilt.
And underneath were graved the lines:—
“They did the duty that they saw;
Both wrought at God's supreme designs
And, under love's eternal law,
Each life with equal beauty shines.”

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XXX.

Peace, with its large and lilied calms,
Like moonlight sleeps on land and lake,
With healing in its dewy balms,
For pride that pines and hearts that ache,
From Huron to the land of palms!
From rock-bound Massachusetts Bay
To California's Golden Gate;
From where Itasca's waters play,
To those which plunge or palpitate
A thousand happy leagues away,
And drink, among her dunes and bars,
The Mississippi's boiling tide,
Still floating from a million spars,
The nation's ensign, undefied,
Blazons its galaxy of stars.
No more to party strife the slave,
And freed from Hate's infernal spells,
Love pays her tribute to the brave,
And snows her holy immortelles
O'er friend and foe, where'er his grave.
On every Decoration Day
Each pilgrim to her hallowed grounds
Brings tribute of a flower or spray;
And white-haired Mildred finds her mounds
Decked with the garnered bloom of May.

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And Philip's first-born, strong and sage,
(Through Heaven's design or happy chance)
Finds the old church his heritage;
And still, The Mistress of the Manse,
Sits Mildred, in her silver age!