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 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ; 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
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AN IDYL OF THE WAR 
 
 THE GERMAN EXILES 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 ELLWOOD L. KEMP, A.B. 
 
 Professor of Ancient Languages in Keystone State Normal Schooi. 
 
 JUiN 9 1883 \ 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 JOHN E. POTTER & COMPANY 
 
 1883 
 
.Kb 
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 By E. L. KEMP 
 
Wie konnt' ich dein vergessen I 
 Ich weiss, was du mir bist, 
 Wenn audi die Welt ilir Liebstes 
 Und Bestes bald vergisst. 
 Ich sing es hell und ruf es laut : 
 Mein Vaterland ist meine Braut ! 
 Wie konnt' ich dein vergessen ! 
 
 Ich weiss, was du mir bist. 
 
 * ^ -i^, -x- * 
 
 Wie konnt' ich dein vergessen ! 
 
 Ich weiss, was du mir bist. 
 
 So lang' ein Hauch von Liebe 
 
 Und Leben in mir ist. 
 
 Ich suche nichts als dich allein, 
 
 Als deiner Liebe werth zu sein. 
 
 Wie konnt' ich dein vergessen ! 
 
 Ich weiss, was du mir bist. 
 
 Hoffman von Fallersleben. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The author of this little volume brings two offerings, with 
 equal love : one to the altar of his country, the other to the 
 altar of his people. 
 
 The late conflict between the North and the South was the most 
 remarkable period in our national history. It was productive of 
 results which all the years that have since elapsed have not 
 enabled us to comprehend in all their depth and fullness. The 
 Union was not only preserved, but regenerated; and this consum- 
 mation, so devoutly to be wished for, was brought about by the 
 sacrifice of the peace of quiet households and of the hopes of 
 bright young lives, as well as by the wisdom and skill of those 
 who guided our affairs during that trying time. It is not fitting 
 that the patriotic sentiments which animated and sustained our 
 people through those years of struggle and bloodshed should be 
 forgotten, or that the tragedy of the war and the price of its im- 
 measurable blessings should be lost sight of. One factor of the 
 great struggle is especially worthy of the best effort of historian 
 and poet, and that is the indefatigable labors of our women in the 
 cause oi the Union. Their patriotism did much to keep up the 
 spirit of the North and relieve the horrors of the war, and con- 
 tributed not a little to the final success of the Union arms. "An 
 Idyl of the War" is an effort to depict these elements of the 
 conflict. It is an effort at once to represent certain phases of it^ 
 and to perpetuate those lofty sentiments of patriotic love on which 
 rest the best hopes of our country's future. If the effort is un- 
 worthy of its theme, it has for its apology a love of country as 
 ardent as ever was a lover's passion for his mistress. 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 "The German Exiles" is based upon the incidents which attended 
 tlie expulsion of the Germans from the Rhenish Palatinate, and the 
 subsequent settlement of a great number of them in Pennsylvania. 
 From them a large majority of the Pennsylvania Germans are 
 descended. The story of their migrations and settlement has been 
 undeservedly neglected. Pennsylvania is not the land of Penn. 
 The German settlers and their descendants have contributed more 
 to the formation of what is good and honorable in the State char- 
 acter than all the other elements combined. From them have 
 come some of her best governors and legislators, and many of her 
 most distinguished citizens, not least among whom is that Governor 
 Ritner, of whom the poet Whittier speaks so highly in one of the 
 poems in his "Voices of Freedom." 
 
 Though the Quakers, who, according to our average historians, 
 were so generous in their treatment of the Indians, acted very 
 ungenerously towards the Germans; though these were wretched 
 and poverty-stricken beyond degree when they came; yet now most 
 of the broad and fertile acres, and many of the populous towns and 
 cities, of the State, are almost entirely in the possession of their 
 descendants. Even in the "City of Brotherly Love" a large num- 
 ber of the prominent business men and leading citizens are Penn- 
 sylvania Germans, or of Pennsylvania German origin ; a far greater 
 number, in fact, than most people imagine. The poem was sug- 
 gested by the enthusiastic and instructive talks on the subject by 
 Dr. Joseph H. Dubbs, of Franklin and Marshall College, in the 
 course of his lectures in the class-room. The author, with many 
 others, hopes that the day will come when he, as the one pre- 
 eminently fitted by his minute and extensive knowledge, enthu- 
 f*iasm, and literary ability, will give to the world the full and true 
 history of the Pennsylvania Germans. The shorter poems were 
 written mostly in the course of college life, and that may account 
 for many defects and peculiarities. 
 
 E. L. KEMP. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 An Idyl of the War 9 
 
 The German Exiles 79 
 
 Spirit-Chorus Ho 
 
 The Color-Sergeant 117 
 
 Cupid and the Parson 121 
 
 A Night of Prayer 128 
 
 Soliloquy on a Leaf 125 
 
 The Prisoner's Eelease 128 
 
 The Minstrel's Curse 129 
 
 Death of Louis XV 133 
 
 Bridge of Lodi . 138 
 
 The Maidkn and her Lover 141 
 
 Lines on the Death of a Friend 142 
 
 The Poet Ever Restless 144 
 
 Ulric and Wendelgarde 161 
 
 Der Pennsylvania Dettscher 165 
 
 M'r GaCKST BeSSEE net BIS ES Oiis gelegt .166 
 
An Idyl of the War. 
 
 Upon the porch before the parsonage 
 
 Sat Pastor Goodman. Eound his locks of white 
 
 There played the setting sun's last shimmering rays, 
 
 And crowned his noble head with light. His face 
 
 Wore that benign and placid look those wear, 
 
 And those alone, who long have passed life's storms, 
 
 Its joys, and dark vicissitudes, seen much. 
 
 And much endured, yet made their own the good, 
 
 And left the rest to Him who yet the ill 
 
 Will conquer and subdue; who wait in hope 
 
 The joys beyond, which flesh's dissolving veil 
 
 Scarce hides. Long time had self and passion been 
 
10 AN IDYL OF THE WAE. 
 
 Subdued, and of the conflict scarce a trace 
 Was left. But lightly time had touched his frame, 
 Its bloom and freshness just began to fade, and yet 
 His silvered locks seemed like the crown of snow 
 That rests on topic peak, above the slopes. 
 All clad in green and blossom. With him sat 
 His daughter Mary, and a manly youth, 
 Named William, from the village nestling in 
 The hills beyond. They had been playmates since 
 The world began to first unfold to them 
 Delights and wonders. William had been left 
 An orphan early, and a fairy strain 
 Of mother's love, still faintly ringing through 
 His life, awoke and nourished in his heart 
 A longing sweet and tender, nameless pain 
 And sense of loss, that bound him all the more 
 To Mary. Mary loved the youth. Her henrt 
 AVent out to him with all the strength and trust 
 Of maidens' first, absorbing love. In him 
 She found her all. His presence filled her life 
 With ecstasy. Her thoughts were all of him. 
 A something higher than herself she felt 
 In him, that yet did not make her seem less. 
 But therefore prized the more. Her life was all 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 11 
 
 Absorbed in liis, and his in hers, and they 
 
 Were happy in each other. On her face 
 
 That evening there was mingled joy with pride 
 
 And sadness sore. Each beaming look of joy 
 
 Was put to flight by one as sad, and there 
 
 Was feeling manifest on every face. 
 
 For many years, since death had summoned soft 
 
 The pastor's wife to grace the courts of Love, 
 
 And filled his soul with grieving, hallowed by 
 
 Increasing faith and love for Him who gives 
 
 And Him who takes the life of man, he lived 
 
 Retired from the busy world, in peace 
 
 And patient hope, and left the cares of State 
 
 To younger men, in sympathy with things 
 
 Of time, and better able, too, to bear 
 
 The weight of their responsibility. 
 
 But these were troublous times, and deep within 
 
 His soul was stirred with keen solicitude. 
 
 Portentously for many days was heard 
 
 The sullen murmur of a coming storm, 
 
 And darkly o'er the South-land heavy clouds 
 
 Were hanging, and the great heart of the North 
 
 Nigh stopped its beating, in suspense and dread 
 
 Anticipation. Then there came the boom 
 
12 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Of cannon, and tlie news of Sumter's fall 
 
 Was flashed throughout the country. Then was all 
 
 The pent-up energy, which grew through all 
 
 That long suspense, and all the nation's love 
 
 Made manifest. At once the North was roused 
 
 To mighty action, and the trustful call 
 
 Of our now martyred President found prompt 
 
 Our young and gallant men to gird their arms 
 
 For dreadful conflict in the land's defense. 
 
 That day it was that William came to talk 
 
 With Mary, following the second call. 
 
 Which made the North-land conscious of its great 
 
 Responsibility 'fore God and man, 
 
 And of the fateful strife that was at hand. 
 
 Not unexpected, then, was William's visit. 
 
 He was still young. Scarce had he passed the bourn 
 
 That separates the youth from manhood's rights. 
 
 And had not yet fulfilled the bond of his 
 
 Apprenticeship. E'er since the first appeal 
 
 For patriot hearts and hands, her woman's wit 
 
 And heart, made sympathetic by the touch 
 
 Of love, had marked the struggle going on 
 
 Within the young man's breast between his sense 
 
 Of duty to his master and his love 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 13 
 
 Of right and love of father-land. She knew 
 
 Full well which must at last prevail. She long 
 
 Looked forward to the declaration, which 
 
 She knew must come, with mingled dread and pride. 
 
 Hers was a noble nature. Now were all 
 
 Its lofty, patriotic impulses 
 
 Aroused to glowing life. She almost longed 
 
 That she could also take up arms and march 
 
 With warriors brave to battle, that the land 
 
 Might live. That afternoon, wdien William came. 
 
 She met him at the gate, and heartfelt was [the lane. 
 
 Her greeting. Straight they strolled down through 
 
 The maid clung closely to his arm, and scarce 
 
 Could she conceal her deep emotion. Not 
 
 A word they spoke, but silently they passed 
 
 The oak and rustic seat beneath its shade, 
 
 Their long-accustomed trysting-place. Here, when 
 
 They met in childhood, they were wont to pass 
 
 The time in play, and afterwards in far 
 
 More serious occupations of the years 
 
 Maturer. Here together had they read 
 
 Their favorite books, together sought the paths 
 
 Of lore or feasted on the poet's truths 
 
 And beauties, and together had their souls 
 
14 AN IDYL OF THE WAE. 
 
 Awakened and refreshed. And here he had 
 
 Unveiled his plans of life, designed for good 
 
 And usefulness, and all his heart's intense 
 
 And noble aspirations. But no words 
 
 Of love had ever passed the lover's lips. 
 
 Almost unconsciously they cherished it. 
 
 As if it were a thing too hallowed far 
 
 To clothe in words that may associate 
 
 With meaner things. Until this time the thought 
 
 Of separation had not shadowed them 
 
 And forced confessions from them. But it now 
 
 Awoke emotions and anxieties 
 
 Security had never let them know. 
 
 They turned them to the grove, and threaded slow 
 
 The well-known pathway to the spring. The first 
 
 Fair flowers of spring-time smiled about their feet, 
 
 And early warblers piped their sweetest notes ; 
 
 But these they heeded not, and side by side, 
 
 On moss-grown rocks before the fount, they sat 
 
 Them down. He gently took her hand in his, 
 
 And as they gazed into the crystal waters 
 
 And saw themselves reflected there, they bowed 
 
 Their heads awhile, then turned away and sighed. 
 
 Then William turned to Mary, clasping still 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 15 
 
 Her hand, and said : " Mary, mother died 
 
 Long since, but I remember how, the year 
 
 She died, she often sat alone and wept, 
 
 And when I went and round her neck my arms 
 
 I threw and kissed away her tears, she smiled, 
 
 And told me of the letters father sent. 
 
 And of the deeds he and the rest performed 
 
 Way off in Mexico. She told me how 
 
 They fought beneath the stars and stripes, and how 
 
 Our noble youth were slain beneath its folds. 
 
 Far, far away from home and kin and friends. 
 
 And I remember how her cheeks would glow 
 
 Whene'er she talked to me of father's death. 
 
 He was a captain, and had oft been praised 
 
 For prudence and for courage. When at last 
 
 The army stormed Chapultepec, his men 
 
 Were chosen as the color-guard, and led 
 
 The grand assault. The color-bearers fell 
 
 In quick succession, and the charging troops 
 
 Were almost quailing from the rapid fire, 
 
 When father took the fallen standard up. 
 
 And, with a shout of victory, led on 
 
 The charge. And when the soldiers gave a cheer 
 
 Of triumph, he was killed. My mother loved 
 
16 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 The soldier, and was proud to be the wife 
 
 And e'en the widow of a soldier. When 
 
 She told such things, my youthful heart swelled up 
 
 Within me, and I longed to emulate 
 
 My father's valor. Of her father, then, 
 
 She told me, and his father, in the days. 
 
 The glorious days, when rose our liberty ; 
 
 And of her ancestry beyond the seas. 
 
 And how they dared the wintry waves in search 
 
 Of freedom, leaving wealth and friends and home 
 
 To find man's highest gifts, and these among 
 
 The western wilds ; and how the mother-land. 
 
 Instead of fostering and loving them. 
 
 Imposed oppressive bonds, that harshly galled 
 
 Their lofty, free-born spirits; and how they rose 
 
 To fight for human right and liberty. 
 
 And then she told me how her father, how 
 
 Her father's father, took up arms and won 
 
 Distinction in the cause of freedom ; how 
 
 The sturdy yeomen gathered on the green 
 
 At Lexington ; of Bunker Hill, and those 
 
 Eventful victories at Saratoga; 
 
 Of Brandywine and Valley Forge, and all 
 
 Th' immortalizing sufferings endured 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 17 
 
 Heroically there. And she would not 
 
 Forget our sainted Washington. Though I 
 
 Was 3'oung, I worshiped him, and ranked him far 
 
 Above the kings of earth. 'Twas long ago, 
 
 But I remember how my eyes flashed fire, 
 
 And how I clinched my little fists until 
 
 The warm blood started when she told the tales 
 
 Of wrong, and how my spirit glowed to hear 
 
 The story of the sires of Seventy -six. 
 
 At mother's knee I learned to love our flag, 
 
 The emblem of the richest legacy 
 
 Our fathers left us. The very heavens, methought, 
 
 Had yielded up their deepest blue and all 
 
 Their brightest stars to give it origin 
 
 Above all other flags of earth. The bars 
 
 Upon its folds of purest white, it seemed, 
 
 Were streams of martyrs' blood to make it holy. 
 
 But, Mary, when our President appealed 
 
 For loyal men to keep inviolate 
 
 The priceless heritage bequeathed to us, 
 
 And duty seemed to hold me here, I bowed 
 
 My head and blushed for shame whene'er 
 
 I passed beneath its folds. Its stars were dimmed, 
 
 And sternly they rebuked me, recreant 
 
18 AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 
 
 They called me, and the white and crimson stripes 
 
 Were torn and stained, and mutely they 
 
 Entreated me to purge and make them whole. 
 
 And fierce, then, was the struggle in my heart. 
 
 I thought of friends that I must leave, and all 
 
 My old associations, ne'er, perhaps, 
 
 To see them more, and it seemed hard to go. 
 
 But now the struggle's o'er. I enrolled 
 
 Myself to-day, to-morrow I must leave." 
 
 And Mary sobbed, and tear-drops trickled down 
 
 Her cheeks; but William, clasping close her hand,. 
 
 Continued : " Mary, almost since our life 
 
 Began we've lived and played together. We 
 
 Were never happy one without the other. 
 
 When riper years unveiled more serious thoughts 
 
 And lover's fancies, scarce did we confess 
 
 Them to ourselves, and never once by word 
 
 Did we reveal them ; for there came no thought 
 
 Of parting, and we felt secure. But now 
 
 Have circumstances given to our lives 
 
 A fuller, sterner meaning. 1 must go. 
 
 Unnumbered are the dangers of the soldier. 
 
 Uncertainty attends him. Lonely are 
 
 His vigils, and his camp-life tedious. We 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 19 
 
 Know not the length of this disastrous war. 
 
 Montlis will not see it end, and years may pass 
 
 Away before the anxious world receives 
 
 The verdict of this dread arbitrament 
 
 Of arms. The gallant youths it summons forth 
 
 From firesides, will, if e'er they do, return 
 
 Accustomed to the stirring scenes of war, 
 
 And strangers to the ways of peace. Their old 
 
 Employments will be gone, and change will meet 
 
 Them everywhere ; familiar friends will be 
 
 No more, and restless, then, will be their lives. 
 
 Life must begin anew, and fortunate 
 
 Are they for whom a certain hope and aim 
 
 Have been preserved, and sure abiding-place. 
 
 And, therefore, Mary, I request of you 
 
 A promise that will e'er inspire my life 
 
 Through loneliness and dangers and the toils 
 
 And turmoils of my army life, and bind 
 
 Me closely to this lovely spot where we 
 
 Have been so happy. Promise, Mary, that 
 
 If God preserves me till the country will 
 
 No longer need my service, you will be 
 
 My wife." And Mary's pale face crimsoned. Tears 
 
 Of joy were added to her tears of pain, 
 
20 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Already coursing down her cheeks. She hid 
 
 Her face in William's bosom, warmly clasped 
 
 In his embrace ; and when she raised to him 
 
 Her tear-stained face, he kissed her, and their love 
 
 Was sealed forever. Long she sobbed ; then, 'mid 
 
 Her tears, she spoke to him : " 0, William, strange 
 
 Emotions master me, and pain. I knew 
 
 That this must come. I nerved myself to meet 
 
 It, but I could not think it would be this." 
 
 She paused ; but then her eyes grew bright, her voice 
 
 Grew stronger. " I have w^oman's weakness, too. 
 
 But go; 'tis very hard, but, William, yet 
 
 I would not bid you stay. The land has need 
 
 Of such as you, and almost I regret 
 
 That sex compels me stay at home ; but what 
 
 A woman can, that will I do, and it 
 
 Is much in such eventful times as these. 
 
 I know that God will bless our cause, for it 
 
 Is right, and naught but noble action will 
 
 Be yours. Go, and if God preserves you till 
 
 The end, I will be yours, and we wdll then 
 
 Be happy. I will pray for you and all 
 
 Our lo3^al men and for our cause, and God 
 
 Will surely bless us." Closely William pressed 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 21 
 
 Her to his heart and kissed her. Then they rose, 
 And long they stood in close embrace, and not 
 A word was spoken till the lengthening shades 
 Of even bade them to return ; and soft 
 He called her to herself, and silently 
 They wended back their way along the path. 
 The goodman met them at the cottage door 
 And kindly greeted them. 
 
 The young man shared the evening meal with them, 
 
 And when the household tasks were o'er, and all 
 
 Were seated on the porch before the house, 
 
 He told the pastor of his brave resolve 
 
 And Mary's promise, and he asked for his 
 
 Consent and blessing. "It is always thus," 
 
 The old man sighed ; " there's nothing certain here. 
 
 I had far other plans for you and me. 
 
 I watched your course wdth pride, and called you son, 
 
 And so I e'er regarded you ; and I 
 
 Was pleased to see that 3^ou and Mary loved 
 
 Each other. Then I thought that you should be 
 
 My near successor, for you ever loved 
 
 Humanity, and have been studious. I 
 
 Was happy when I thought that I could die 
 
22 ^-^V- IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 And leave my darling and my all to yoii. 
 
 I fondly hoped and dreamed that we could live 
 
 Awhile in peace together, but the Lord 
 
 Has willed it otherwise to carry out 
 
 His vast designs, and we will bow in meek 
 
 Submission to his will. I know that you 
 
 Have thought well over this. I would not bid 
 
 You stay. So go, my son, and if you e'er 
 
 Return to us, then Mary shall be yours." 
 
 The young man thanked him, and the maiden. "Age," 
 
 The pastor said, " has laid his hand on me. 
 
 Far eastward now the long shades fall, and soon 
 
 I'll rest. My limbs no longer could support 
 
 The weight of arms, the weary march they could 
 
 No more endure, nor this weak frame the toils 
 
 And dangers and exposures of the camp 
 
 And field of battle, else should I, too, throw off 
 
 The gown and take the sword ; for these are times 
 
 When neither rank nor station should be questioned, 
 
 Alone the nation's safety." Kindly, then, 
 
 The young man said : "The country, father, now 
 
 Will not require that age shall leave the peace 
 
 Of home, as once she did. Enough young men 
 
 Are ready now to guard her honor well. 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 23 
 
 And, father, those who stay at home may do 
 
 More good for her than those who take up arms." 
 
 '' 'Tis true," the good old man replied, " my tongue 
 
 And pen shall speak her cause, and every day 
 
 Shall Heaven record my prayers. They will avail. 
 
 We, like the Psalmist, e'er had cause, and will 
 
 Have cause, to say in faith : ' The Lord our rock 
 
 And fortress is, and great deliverer. 
 
 In our distress we called upon the Lord, 
 
 And to our God we cried, and he did hear 
 
 Our voice from out his temple. He has brought 
 
 Us forth into a large place. He delivered us, 
 
 Because he was delighted in us ;' so 
 
 It has been, so it will be while we yet 
 
 Remain his people." Thus he spoke. Then joined 
 
 Them farmer Greene, who lived beyond the hill. 
 
 And with him came his nearest neighbor, both 
 
 To hear the news. The youth made known to them 
 
 The second call for troops, and how the band 
 
 Was forming in the village. And the good 
 
 And loyal-hearted farmer gave his thoughts 
 
 Expression. He approved of William's course. 
 
 ^' These times," he said, " to me look somewhat like 
 
 The days of eighteen-twelve. At that time I 
 
24 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Was but a lad. As soon as news of war 
 
 Came round, the sturdy hunters and the sons 
 
 Of farmers promptly joined the army, though, 
 
 I've since been told, some parts were hard against 
 
 The war. I'm glad that still our young men show 
 
 The spirit of those days, and of the men 
 
 Who founded our Republic. It is God's 
 
 Own land, I tell you, neighbor, and I would 
 
 Not like to see it go to pieces yet. 
 
 I see our love of country has not died, 
 
 And God will soon restore to us a land 
 
 United. Peace is near." But then the kind 
 
 And learned pastor spoke : " I hope as you. 
 
 And gladly would I so believe. I fear 
 
 It cannot be. The Southern men are brave. 
 
 And think they're right. With them ' States' Rights^ 
 
 Has been a faith deep-rooted in their hearts, 
 
 Since first our constitution took its form. 
 
 It lived a potent, though a latent force. 
 
 Till recent troubles called it into strong 
 
 And active energy. Then, many years 
 
 Of slavery have laid their moral curse 
 
 Upon them, and have dulled their judgment. They 
 
 Conceive the slave essential to their social life 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 25 
 
 And progress. They have wise and skillful heads, 
 
 And well will they defend what they think right, 
 
 Long, long will be the war, and bloody." Thus 
 
 The pastor spoke, and wisely. He had weighed 
 
 The subject calmly and with care. Then spoke 
 
 The neighbor, shallow were his sympathies. 
 
 His mind was narrow and his heart loved not 
 
 The nation. " Terrible is war," said he, 
 
 " And doubly so, when carried on at home 
 
 Among the people of one country. God 
 
 Can never bless it. Brave and daring are 
 
 The Southrons, and we cannot conquer them. 
 
 Our young men must be sacrificed and all 
 
 Our hard-earned treasure, and no good can come 
 
 Of it. This war is wrong, and forced on us 
 
 By several scheming politicians." Then 
 
 The pastor mildly answered : " Terrible, 
 
 Indeed, is war, and this more so, perhaps. 
 
 Than any other. It will cost the wealth 
 
 Of many years, and much good blood will drain 
 
 The very heart's core of the nation. But the end 
 
 Is very sure. The signal-gun is fired. 
 
 And from the East to farthest West, and from 
 
 The farthest border of the North, from hill 
 
26 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 And plain, and every quiet vale, the drum 
 
 And fife now summon forth the men of war. 
 
 We have but seen events begin, but we 
 
 Can plainly see the spirit of the North. 
 
 There will be cravens found wdiose hearts are not 
 
 With us, but they can never stop the tide. 
 
 As fast as dangers thicken, will increase 
 
 Our ardor to o'ercome them. Not the young 
 
 Alone, but aged men will rally round 
 
 The standard, and the days of old will be 
 
 Repeated with a ten-fold energy." 
 
 " It may be so," the neighbor added then, 
 
 " But I do not believe it. Many men, 
 
 I know, are set against the war, and much 
 
 Of all this noise and bluster soon w^ill die 
 
 Away." " My friend, you are mistaken," then 
 
 With warmth replied the pastor; " I am sure 
 
 Already we have seen great things begin. 
 
 The farmers leave their plows ; mechanics throw 
 
 Their tools aside ; the eager student leaves 
 
 His books ; the judge his bench ; the advocate 
 
 His client; busy merchants leave their trade ; 
 
 And e'en the peaceful sanctuary gives 
 
 Its servants up to gird the carnal sword 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 27 
 
 For war. Such armies of intelligence 
 
 And spirit as our land will have to keep 
 
 Inviolate its unity the world 
 
 Has not yet seen, and God will surely crown 
 
 Their valor with success, for they uphold 
 
 A righteous cause. The war will purify 
 
 The land from all the curse of slavery. 
 
 And make us more united than before. 
 
 Humanity will be exalted, and 
 
 Our progress much enhanced." And sadly said 
 
 The farmer : " If it will be so, we all 
 
 Should wish for it; but great, indeed, will be 
 
 Our desolation, and our loss not soon 
 
 Repaired." Then were they silent for awhile. 
 
 They seemed to search the vista of the years 
 
 To come. Awhile they sat in silence, then 
 
 The pastor said, in tones subdued and full 
 
 Of deep emotion : " Yes, our losses will "^ 
 
 Be great, and many homes be desolate. 
 
 Much of the best blood of the nation will 
 
 Be sacrificed. But not on us will fall 
 
 The sorest burden of affliction. Great 
 
 Became the sin of slavery, and great 
 
 Is our reproach before the outside world. 
 
28 AN IDYL OF THE WAh\ 
 
 But now has come the time of retribution, 
 
 And terrible will be the penalty 
 
 Exacted. Mainly to the South-land is 
 
 The guilt attributed, for they alone 
 
 Have fostered servitude and tried to wide 
 
 Extend its borders. There will be confined 
 
 The ravages of war, for stronger is 
 
 The North, and armed with right. My heart weeps for 
 
 The South. Dark ruin soon will desolate 
 
 Her sunny fields, and death will fill 
 
 Her homes with lamentation. Still, some day. 
 
 The South will learn to bless the issue. Then 
 
 The fruits of perfect freedom, and of rights 
 
 Extended equally to all, will make 
 
 Her prosperous and nobler than before." 
 
 Thus spoke the good old man prophetic words 
 
 Imbued with kindness. Here the neighbor took 
 
 The word, and quickly added, " I do not 
 
 Agree with you. The South will not by us 
 
 Be humbled, and it is unholy war 
 
 That we begin. Their fathers made with ours 
 
 A contract. Now they wish to cancel it, 
 
 Because it binds them to a yoke. They came 
 
 Like men, requesting us to free them from 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 29 
 
 Their pledge, and we have now no right to take 
 
 Up arms and try to force them do what they 
 
 No longer please. 'Tis no concern of ours [right 
 
 That they keep slaves. They purchased them. The 
 
 To rob them of their property has not 
 
 Been given us." While thus he spoke, the young 
 
 Man's eyes flashed fire, his fists were tightly clenched, 
 
 And scarce could he contain his wrath. He left 
 
 The group, and strolled into the garden, where 
 
 The maiden followed him., her fair cheeks flushed 
 
 With shame and anger. But the pastor, good 
 
 And pious, reasoned patiently with his 
 
 Disloyal neighbor. " Friend," he said, " 'tis no 
 
 Unholy war for us, and wrath must fall 
 
 On those alone at whose door lies the guilt. 
 
 Secession strikes a deeper thing by far 
 
 Than verbal contract. It attacks a life, — 
 
 A nation's life, — a unity begot 
 
 Of spirit ; woe to him who dares to lay 
 
 His hand upon it violently. 'Tis 
 
 More precious far than individual life, 
 
 And e'en the body shrinks with dread from loss 
 
 Of but the smallest fraction of itself. 
 
 Our country is the fruitage of the hopes 
 
30 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 And upward struggles of mankind through all 
 
 The ages of the past. For this, and more 
 
 Than this, have longed the wisest and the best 
 
 Of all the sons of earth. To separate 
 
 These States would be to render vain their hopes 
 
 And labors and heroic sacrifice, 
 
 And turn the progress of humanity. 
 
 " Oh, well," the neighbor said, " it would, I'm sure, 
 
 Have mattered little, even if a few 
 
 Had torn themselves aw^ay. Our land is large 
 
 Enough ; w^e would not miss them very much." 
 
 " No," answered then the pastor ; " now 
 
 A fragment, then a fragment; would it cease? 
 
 Oh, God forbid that ever it commence! 
 
 Unhappy country then ! In fragments, each 
 
 Suspicious of its neighbors, like the lands 
 
 Abroad ; forts and standing armies, then, 
 
 To sap the substance of the people. May 
 
 We never see it! No, my friend, the war 
 
 Could not have been averted. Conflict must 
 
 Be ours. Two forms of social life opposed 
 
 By nature, could not live in harniony 
 
 Beneath a form of government instinct 
 
 With liberty and human brotherhood. 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Almighty God has so designed that men 
 
 And nations shall by constant conflict rise 
 
 To nobler selves. The land has not been true 
 
 To its profession : precious blood alone 
 
 Will expiate the wrong. The war is here. 
 
 To sue for peace were now a coward's part. 
 
 It has been thrust on us. Our property 
 
 Is seized, our flag is fired upon. The eyes 
 
 Of nations and of ages are on us, 
 
 And great is now our trust. Let us fulfill 
 
 The mission which our sires commenced, and prove 
 
 That we are worthy of them." So he spoke. 
 
 The wise old pastor, calmly spoke ; but yet, 
 
 At times, the fire of youth seemed all to have 
 
 Returned to him again. The farmer's ej-es 
 
 Glowed with a flashing light ; but coldly said 
 
 The neighbor : " It may be as you say, but I 
 
 Do not believe it. War will do us naught 
 
 But harm, and make our young men dissolute, 
 
 And low the morals of the nation. None 
 
 Of mine shall take a part in it. Five sons 
 
 Have I, but they shall stay at home with me." 
 
 The pastor answered him, while up and down 
 
 The farmer strode, restraining ill his wrath : 
 
32 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 " The evils which you fear would come, indeed, 
 Upon the nation, if her sons refused 
 The high demands of God and men now made 
 Upon us. Craven spirits only fall 
 A prey to evil. All the virtues claim 
 A common origin. Love of country knows 
 No higher. Round it cluster all things true 
 And manly, things that find no dwelling-place 
 Within the craven's soul. God's special care 
 And blessing keep the patriot. This war 
 Will rouse to full and active life each high 
 And noble impulse of our people. 'Twill 
 Call forth heroic deeds and sympathies." 
 And scarcely had he finished speaking, when 
 The farmer said with spirit : " Neighbor, we 
 Have long been friends, but I detest the words 
 You uttered, and the spirit that could form 
 Such words. You are unworthy of your birth 
 And country. Seven sons have I, and I 
 Love every one. The youngest stays with me, 
 The rest shall join the army. Two have gone 
 Already, and to-morrow go the rest. 
 'Tis hard to give them up, but gladly do 
 I make the sacrifice ; and if they all, 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 33 
 
 Or some, should fall, I'll bow to Heaven's will, 
 'For they'll have done so in a righteous cause." 
 Almost before he ceased the neighbor walked 
 Away, and soon the farmer bade good-night; 
 But William lingered yet awhile to talk 
 With ]\Iary. 
 
 The morrow came, and with it came the stir 
 And bustle of departure. W^illiam came 
 At early morn for Mary, ready then 
 To follow him. The village folks had sent 
 For Mary. When the first call spread its dread 
 Alarm throughout the land, the village maids 
 Had zealously begun a silken flag, 
 To show their loyalty and lead their loved 
 Ones and their neighbors into battle. Now 
 Had come the time to consecrate the flag 
 To holy use, and to their worthiest 
 Entrust its honor. It was nearly finished. 
 They summoned Mary, for she had proposed 
 The plan, and was regarded as their head. 
 The old man stood within the cottage door» 
 His eyes were fixed upon the zealous pair, 
 Until the sound of rattling wheels was lost 
 
34 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Amid the hills beyond ; and as he looked 
 
 Upon the two, so joined in heart and mind 
 
 And deeds of good, he smiled with pride ; but, when 
 
 They passed from view, he sighed and shook his head 
 
 As he anticipated changes that 
 
 Might come through war's vicissitudes, and he 
 
 Felt lone at heart. The village maids, with skill, 
 
 Completed soon the task imposed by love. 
 
 And soon the clatt'ring sound of wheel and hoof 
 
 Upon the roadway called the pastor out 
 
 To greet his children, and receive what news 
 
 They brought. " 0, father !" Mary cried in haste, 
 
 " The young men of the village have enrolled 
 
 Themselves, and many older, and the strong 
 
 And sturdy farmers, and their hearts are all 
 
 Aglow. It seems just like those early days 
 
 Of our short history, of which you've told 
 
 Me much. The aged mothers bless their sons 
 
 And bid them go, and wdves their husbands. Glad 
 
 Am I that I have seen these things, fornow 
 
 I know our land is safe. This afternoon 
 
 They leave, and you are to address them when 
 
 I give to them the flag that is to lead 
 
 Them and their comrades on to victory ; 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 35 
 
 And William has been chosen to protect 
 
 And bear it." Then the pastor's heart was glad, 
 
 For he was proud to take what part he could. 
 
 Their midday meal was scanty, and the horse, 
 
 Grown old in faithful service, as if he 
 
 Imbibed the spirit of the time, conveyed 
 
 Them quickly to the village. "William had 
 
 Preceded them. The streets were crowded. Up 
 
 And down resounded tread of marching feet. 
 
 The village band made live the air with strains 
 
 Of music. Youthful cheeks glowed warmer; eyes 
 
 Flashed brighter ; blood coursed with a quicker flow, 
 
 To martial notes of drum and fife. 
 
 The pastor and his daughter, as they passed 
 
 Along, were greeted with uncovered heads 
 
 And loud huzzas. The glory of great deeds 
 
 And duty done inspired all. Tears and fears 
 
 Were banished by the time's enthusiasm; 
 
 Misgivings rising in the young wife's heart 
 
 Were lost in pride ; the maiden's spirit rose 
 
 In emulation of her lover's. Times 
 
 Like this reveal the nation's life. The throng 
 
 Collected round the little monument 
 
 Of former deeds of glory, now entwined 
 
36 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 With ivies, till the village square was filled. 
 
 A choir of village youth sang national airs. 
 
 Then came the orators ; the doctor, bald 
 
 And kind ; the jolly squire ; the blacksmith, John, 
 
 Of brawny arm and sterling sense ; and then 
 
 The young expounder of the village law, 
 
 With rounded college phrase ; each speaking well 
 
 Brave words that stirred men's souls. And when the 
 
 That well repaid their efforts died away, [cheers 
 
 The choir, with hearts enkindled, sang that hymn, 
 
 The grandest hymn of all to us, save those 
 
 We raise to God alone, " My country 'tis 
 
 Of thee, Sweet land of Liberty." And when 
 
 The pastor's reverend form before them rose, 
 
 Sublime and holy awe filled every heart. 
 
 And every head was bared. "Almighty God," 
 
 He said, " brought forth a country after his 
 
 Own heart, amid the waters of the sea. 
 
 He fashioned it upon the grandest scale 
 
 Of beauty and munificence. The hands 
 
 Of nature's giants piled up wonders which 
 
 No other country knows. High mountain peaks 
 
 Support the floor of heaven. Mighty streams 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 37 
 
 Wash boundless plains, and hill and vale 
 
 In richest garbs of nature are arrayed. 
 
 All teems with wealth. Resources never told 
 
 Invite a nation's growth-. The angels smile 
 
 And linger here. Our God reserved this land 
 
 Until the travail of the ages had 
 
 Produced a race of men who well deserved 
 
 So good a heritage. His counsels e'er 
 
 Have guided them, and e'er his strong right arm 
 
 Protected them." The pastor's heart grew warm, 
 
 His features glowed as he continued thus 
 
 To tell the glories of our nation's growth, 
 
 Our early ancestors' unselfish toil 
 
 And sacrifice, the grand significance 
 
 Of all their struggles, and the noble names 
 
 They had produced. And then he strongly spoke 
 
 About the dreadful crisis come upon them. How 
 
 Sad dissolution threatened now the grand 
 
 Results of past endeavors of mankind. 
 
 He seemed to be some saintly prophet come 
 
 From olden times, as then he told in faith 
 
 The issue of the conflict. " In suspense," 
 
 He said, " the nations of the earth look on. 
 
 The spirits of heroic ages gaze on us. 
 
38 AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 
 
 The generations yet unborn appeal 
 
 To us, and we will not prove recreant to 
 
 Our trust. The God of battles, who preserved 
 
 Our fathers, will sustain our cause and see 
 
 Us safely through. In Him will be our trust." 
 
 And lustily the people cheered, and tears 
 
 Of deep emotion moistened many cheeks. 
 
 ^' My friends," the good man still went on, " we send 
 
 You forth to battle. All our hopes and prayers 
 
 Are with you. Twice the President has called. 
 
 Your comrades are already in the field 
 
 Or on the march. From every Northern hill 
 
 And plain they swell the ranks, and many more 
 
 Will follow. We present to you this flag 
 
 To lead you on through battle, toil, and death 
 
 To glorious victory. Fair hands have woven 
 
 Its heavenly hues together. Brave hearts' hopes 
 
 Are there. Its glories are obscured. The hands 
 
 Of brothers trail it in the dust. But they 
 
 Shall not prevail. A million freemen will 
 
 Not let one fold be torn. To you we give 
 
 This up, and trust that when you bring it back 
 
 It may again, without one star erased 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 39 
 
 Or streamer stained, wave o'er a country joined 
 
 In heart and mind. Your mission is one full 
 
 Of glory and of danger ; may the God 
 
 Of Jacob keep you in it." Then he gave 
 
 It o'er to William, and the hearc-stirred choir 
 
 Sang " The Star-Spangled Banner." And the throng 
 
 No longer could contain itself. The young 
 
 Men waved their hats and cheered. The old men wept 
 
 And shouted till their throats were hoarse. Young girls 
 
 Waved little flags and handkerchiefs and joined 
 
 The singing of the choir, and mothers raised 
 
 Their babes on high to have them look upon 
 
 That sacred banner of our liberty. 
 
 A short time was allowed for parting words. 
 
 Young maidens, wives, and mothers closely clung 
 
 To loved ones, weeping all as if their hearts 
 
 Were breaking. Even strangers' cheeks were moist, 
 
 And many a brave man's eyes grew dim, as once 
 
 Again he kissed his weeping boys and girls 
 
 And infant smiling in its mother's arms. 
 
 William had time to place on Mary's hand 
 
 The ring of promise, and to whisper words 
 
 Of hope and courage ; then the drums announced 
 
 The march. 'Mid ringing cheers and farewell shouts 
 
40 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 The new-made soldiers gayly marched away 
 To lively music, — many never to return. 
 Beyond the village, from the hill-top, Mary 
 Watched the stars and stripes recede and pale, 
 Until the stars set in the forest shade. 
 Then silently the}^ turned them to their home. 
 She had kept bravely up, but when alone 
 Within her little room, she realized 
 Her loss, and bitterly she w^pt. That night 
 Within the village there were sleepless ey.es 
 And heavy hearts. 
 
 The days passed quickly at the parsonage. 
 
 For much of Mary's time was spent in deeds 
 
 Of charity and love. There Avas much need 
 
 Of this among the villagers, for one 
 
 By one the war made widows there, and left 
 
 Poor children fatherless. And yet, at times. 
 
 The hours dragged wearily, and tears would moist 
 
 Her eyes, and ages seemingly had passed 
 
 Away since William left them, and her heart 
 
 Was filled with dread and longing. Then the good 
 
 Old father sought to fill the painful void 
 
 Produced by William's absence. Often he 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 41 
 
 Enlisted Mary's taste and skill to make 
 
 Their little cottage more attractive. Vines 
 
 Were trained upon its walls, and flowers rare 
 
 And precious soon adorned the garden which 
 
 Surrounded it. He planned excursions made 
 
 To distant friends, with cheerful company, 
 
 Through lovely scenes, in order to divert 
 
 Her mind. Their promise, made when William left, 
 
 Was not forgotten. For the patriots who 
 
 Remained at home the w^ar hrought work enough 
 
 To do ; more often than to those who fought 
 
 Upon the field. Just as the battle wrecks 
 
 Were not the saddest victims which the war 
 
 Demanded, but the heroes of the hearth, 
 
 The patient ones, whose lives were worn by pain 
 
 Of loss and heart-ache and anxiety. 
 
 The daughter shared the pastor's plans to aid 
 
 The cause with glowing heart and woman's tact. 
 
 They formed societies to sew and knit. 
 
 And gather lint and tea, jellies, these 
 
 And other sweets of home, w^hich most our sick 
 
 And wounded heroes needed. Every day 
 
 Brought new demands. The cry for more increased. 
 
 New troops w^ere called and ordered to the front, 
 
42 AN IDYL OF THE WAli. 
 
 And heavy battles fought. All knew that peace 
 
 Was distant. Mary corresponded much 
 
 With various soldiers' aid societies, 
 
 The better to direct her zealous efforts. 
 
 Unceasingly she labored. Aided well 
 
 By friends, she sometimes planned great fairs, or gave 
 
 Some entertainment in the village. This 
 
 Was always well attended. Mary would 
 
 At such times sing the nation's songs and hymns 
 
 With warm enthusiasm, that kindled hearts. 
 
 Then would she read some parts of letters sent 
 
 By William, or the noble women who 
 
 Were toiling in the hospitals, agents of 
 
 The aid societies. These narratives 
 
 Of patriotic valor and of death, 
 
 Of patient suffering and glorious death, 
 
 Ne'er failed to bring the tears to eyes that wept 
 
 But seldom ; never failed to open wide 
 
 The purse-strings of the audience. Thus she strove 
 
 To do her duty. Nearly every w^eek 
 
 A letter came from William. Eagerly 
 
 And anxiously for them she watched and waited. 
 
 Each one was filled with words of hope and love 
 
 And courage, with tales of camp-life, of the march 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAK 43 
 
 And conflict. Modestly he always told 
 
 The part he took, and only when the truth 
 
 Demanded it in his recital ; but it thrilled 
 
 Her bosom deep wdthin whene'er he told 
 
 Her how his comrades bravely charged the foe, 
 
 In spite of shot and shell, while in their path 
 
 The ground was strewn with slain, and w^ounded men 
 
 Still cheering, as they lay, for union and 
 
 The starry flag ; or how they stood their ground 
 
 'Gainst whelming hosts ; for very well her heart 
 
 Told her that wdiere most glory was to win, 
 
 And dangers thickest gathered, William was. 
 
 With heartfelt prayers of praise upon her lips, 
 
 She opened every one, because it brought her news 
 
 That William still was spared ; but who can tell 
 
 The pain and sleepless fear with w^hich she was 
 
 Oppressed wdiene'er the letters were delayed ? 
 
 With working and with watching, one year passed 
 
 Aw-ay. Another came. Its golden grain 
 
 Bowed to the reaper; orchards yielded up 
 
 Their luscious burden, and the robin took 
 
 His flight; the battle-shaken earth w^as veiled 
 
 In snowy mantle. Sweetly on the air 
 
 The Christmas bells w^ere ringing notes of peace. 
 
44 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Then William came. The Southern sun had browned 
 
 His face. A captain's uniform enwrapped 
 
 His sturdy frame. It was conferred on him 
 
 For merit on the field of action. In 
 
 The pastor's home the Christmas fires flared up 
 
 Right cheerily then, and happy hearts beat there. 
 
 Devoutly, then, they thanked their gracious God. 
 
 Their friends were called, rich feasts were spread, and 
 
 Were caroled, and the peaceful pastor's house [songs 
 
 Made merry for the son that was returned. 
 
 Two weeks of jo}^, and then 'twas o'er. Such is 
 
 The soldier's life : a w^eek of happiness, 
 
 A w^eek of rest, then comes the march and strife. 
 
 The winter passed away, and each week brought 
 
 Its missive. Here and there the flowers of ^lay 
 
 Began to bloom. It was the second time 
 
 Since William left. Then Northward came the news 
 
 Of battle and defeat. Two weary days 
 
 The Union leader hurled his columns on 
 
 The Southern hosts without avail. They pressed 
 
 Him back in sullen march across the river. 
 
 And then the letters ceased. With anxious heart 
 
 She watched and waited, but no tidings came 
 
AN TDYL OF THE WAR. 45 
 
 From William. Well nigh ceased her heart to beat, 
 
 And from her cheeks the rose-bloom faded ; day 
 
 By day she sat beside the window, looked 
 
 Adown the post-road with a wistful eye. 
 
 Day after day her heart grew heavy ; still 
 
 No tidings came, and grieving friends thought he 
 
 Was dead. And when a month had glided by, 
 
 The pastor held memorial service in 
 
 The church. AVith heavy hearts the youthful choir 
 
 Sang solemn strains of death and life, and Him 
 
 Who knows his own, and many eyes were dim 
 
 With weeping, for they all loved William well. 
 
 The gray-haired pastor's eyelids trembled, tears 
 
 Rolled down his cheeks, and oft his lips refused 
 
 Their office, as he spoke about his friend, 
 
 Perhaps upon that far-off battle-field, 
 
 Unburied and unknown. But yet his eyes 
 
 Slione brightly, and a saintly look came o'er 
 
 His face when he repeated from the Word 
 
 Sweet thoughts of hope and immortalityj 
 
 For here a noble life was fled. " We rear 
 
 Up hopeful lives," he said, " and part from them. 
 
 AVith pain w^e give them up, but God has rest 
 
 For such as these, and everlasting joy. 
 
40 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 And these are they that purchase peace and life 
 
 For us. Our country needs such sacrifice. 
 
 We would not take them back, for she is worth 
 
 Them all and more. For her integrity 
 
 And glory we will gladly suffer much, 
 
 Endure our loss in silence." Many friends 
 
 Sought Mary's side. Much their kindly words 
 
 Gave comfort to her heart, for still there dwelt 
 
 In it a hope, though faint it was, that time 
 
 Would bring her back her lover. Yet she grieved. 
 
 Her hope was seconded by William's aunt, 
 
 Or, rather, mother's aunt, an aged dame 
 
 To whom she often went before their loss 
 
 In order to relieve her loneliness. 
 
 And now that they might share their sympathies. 
 
 Through all the dreary days of winter time, 
 
 And lengthened night-shades, aunt was wont to knit 
 
 And sew, enthroned upon her rocking-chair. 
 
 And crowned with locks of gray, and tidy cap. 
 
 When summer came, she moved her chair beneath 
 
 A shady tree behind her cosy house. 
 
 Here Mary loved to sit and work with her, 
 
 And listen to her pleasant chat. She still 
 
 Was strong. Her mind was fresh, and richly stored 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 47 
 
 With incidents that happened through her long 
 
 And varied life. She loved to tell these. So 
 
 They sat, the aged gtandam and the maid, 
 
 And labored for their absent hero and 
 
 His comrades in the army. Often now 
 
 They sat together, weeping o'er their loss. 
 
 But in her heart the good aunt often said, 
 
 " My William is not dead." And she would say 
 
 To ^lary : " Do not mourn, my child, I feel 
 
 That AV^illiam is not dead, for something tells 
 
 Me so, and he may yet come ba-ck to us. 
 
 I have experienced this before. When I 
 
 Was young, not older, I suppose, than you 
 
 Are now, we lived up on the river where 
 
 The ferry is. Our nearest neighbors were 
 
 The Jameses, nigh a mile aw^ay. I was 
 
 Not married then, and John, the youngest son, 
 
 Then came to see me. He was brave and strong, 
 
 And knew well how to fight the Indians. He 
 
 Led settlers often out against the braves. 
 
 The settlers lived so far apart, and could 
 
 Not help each other well, unless they all moved to 
 
 The block-house, farther up the river, where 
 
 The Brady mansion stands. One day in fall. 
 
48 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Just as the Indian summer was about 
 
 To close, a house was burned, some three 
 
 Miles down the valley, where the road that leads 
 
 To Wilson's crosses over Beaver Creek. 
 
 The people in it all were killed. Right off 
 
 The settlers formed a band to follow up 
 
 The Indians and avenge their death. They came 
 
 For John to lead, — they always did at such 
 
 Times. None could follow up a trail as well 
 
 As he. John happened to be helping us 
 
 Take in our corn-shocks wdien they came for him. 
 
 He bade us all good-bye, and went away 
 
 With them at once. He had his rifle and 
 
 His ammunition with him when he came. 
 
 Those days men never thought of going out 
 
 Without them. Eight long days they followed up 
 
 The trail, because it was slow w^ork sometimes. 
 
 The ground was hard then, and the Indians took 
 
 Good care to hide their tracks. At last they found 
 
 Them in a hollow of the forest, joined 
 
 By others ; so the Indians w^ere too strong 
 
 For them. But yet the men attacked them when 
 
 They slept, and killed a few of them before 
 
 They knew that they were followed. In the fight 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 49 
 
 The whites were driven off. They said that John 
 Was shot just when the fight began. Three more 
 Were killed, but all the rest got home, though some 
 Were badly hurt. We all thought John was dead.'* 
 " But, aunty, did'nt they go to find the men 
 Who had been killed, and bury them ?" the maid 
 Inquired. " No, child, it was too late for that. 
 The men could not be spared to go so far ; 
 And wild beasts finished what the Indians left, 
 Too soon to get the bodies, that we knew. 
 November passed away, December came, 
 And one night, while a heavy snow-storm raged, 
 I heard a rap, and when I opened up 
 The door, John stood there, with his coat all torn 
 To shreds, and almost shoeless. Next day all 
 The neighbors were called in from many miles 
 Around. The logs Avere piled up high, a deer 
 The boys had killed was roasted, and we had 
 A grand feast of rejoicing, for the lost 
 Was found, the dead returned to life again. 
 The parson happened to be there, and John 
 And I were married then that day. You see 
 He had been wounded, and the Indians took 
 Him off with them. They all knew him, and they 
 
50 AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 
 
 Were almost wild because they had at last 
 
 Got hold of their most wily foe. They nursed 
 
 Him till his wound was healed, reserving him 
 
 For torture. But one night he got away 
 
 From them, way off upon a branch of this 
 
 Same river just below. He floated down 
 
 The stream upon a log, so that they could 
 
 Not find his trail, and in a swamp he hid, 
 
 Half-frozen, till they ceased to search for him. 
 
 And then he made his way straight through the woods 
 
 To our house. Such things might come to pass 
 
 Again ; in war there is much change and doubt. 
 
 And William may come back to us." The tale 
 
 Would strengthen Mary's hopes, but then grave doubts 
 
 Would rise and leave her sadder than before. 
 
 She mourned, but did not cease her labors. May 
 
 Had almost passed away. One day they met 
 
 To sew at William's aunt's ; all people called 
 
 Her aunt. The learned village magistrate's 
 
 Two daughters, Jennie and fair Marguerite, 
 
 Were there, and Alice, farmer Greene's sole stay, 
 
 Now that the boys were gone ; the youngest son 
 
 Had lately joined his brothers. Others, too. 
 
 Were there, all active in the cause. They took 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 51 
 
 Their seats beneath aunt's favorite tree, and she 
 
 Was made the center of the group of young 
 
 And busy workers. " Aunt, I don't suppose 
 
 You ever did such work as this before ?" 
 
 Said Jenny. " No, not quite like this, of course/' 
 
 Keplied the dame ; " I was a Httle girl 
 
 The time we had the second war against 
 
 The British. Near the border then we lived. 
 
 There were no Sanitary Commissions those 
 
 Days, but the women made up things for their 
 
 Own folks and friends that joined the army. My 
 
 Two brothers went, and many of the sons 
 
 And husbands of our neighbors. Father was 
 
 Too old to go, although he often said 
 
 How he would like to shoulder arms again 
 
 To fight the British. He had tried it once 
 
 Before, when he fought under Washington. 
 
 The women folks made home-spun clothing, thick 
 
 And warm, and other clothing for their men 
 
 Folks who had gone away, and oftentimes 
 
 They sowed and did the reaping. Mother taught 
 
 Me liow to knit, and many a day I sat 
 
 And knitted stockings for the boys and gloves 
 
 Until my fingers ached." And then the talk 
 
52 AN IDYL OF THE WAR, 
 
 Was taken up by Marguerite. " To-day, 
 
 Before I came out here, the widow Grey 
 
 Sent over her little daughter with a cup 
 
 Of jelly which she still had left, a pair 
 
 Of stockings, and a nice warm undershirt 
 
 Her husband used to wear. The tiny thing 
 
 Brushed back her straggling hair, and looked at me 
 
 With brightly-shining eyes, and asked me if 
 
 They could be sent off to the soldiers now, 
 
 And do them any good. ' Why, bless your heart. 
 
 Of course they can, my child !' I cried, and caught 
 
 Her up and kissed her, dirty as she was. 
 
 You should have seen how glad she was, and how 
 
 She scampered home to tell her ma, her bare 
 
 Feet bearing her away scarce fast enough." 
 
 " That isn't like our neighbor," Alice said, 
 
 While stooping to pick up the scissors she 
 
 Had dropped. " He is the richest farmer here, 
 
 But would not let his sons enlist, and curses 
 
 The taxes -and the government. Last week 
 
 His daughter Jane asked leave to come with me 
 
 And help us, and the brute just scolded her. 
 
 Refused to let her go." " That Jones should look 
 
^JV IDYL OF THE WAR. 53 
 
 At what things once were," aunty said, " or come 
 To me, and I would tell him. When his folks 
 Moved here, they occupied a cabin up 
 By yonder mill, and all our people helped 
 To build it for them. When the war broke out 
 They owned no foot of ground beyond that spot; 
 But in the war the Indians burned their house. 
 And then the government gave them nigh all 
 The land the family has to-day. That's just 
 The way with many of these Eebels here. 
 I feel as if I'd like to shoot a few 
 Of them myself." " Why, aunty, I believe 
 You'd make a soldier," Mary faintly smiled 
 And said. " Oh, I ! indeed when I was young 
 I shot at Indians more than once when we 
 Were in the block-house," she replied. " It is 
 A blessing," Jennie added, " that the rich 
 Are not each one disposed like farmer Jones. 
 The last time that we held our fair, the kind 
 Old gentleman who lives down by the creek 
 Gave more than sixty dollars to the fund." 
 In this like for a time the talk went on. 
 Then Mary chanced to mention, in their talk, 
 
54 AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 
 
 A recent letter, published by request 
 
 Of leading soldiers' aid societies ; 
 
 A lady correspondent near the front 
 
 Had written it. A well-known laborer 
 
 She was, and touchingly she had detailed 
 
 Experiences in camp and hospital. 
 
 " How nobly she has done !" exclaimed a bright 
 
 And busy worker ; " she, I'm sure, deserves 
 
 Much honor ; I am told she is a rich 
 
 And cultured lady. How she can endure 
 
 The life, I cannot see. She often is 
 
 Exposed to many inconveniences 
 
 And to inclement weather when fatigued. 
 
 It must be dreadful in the hospitals 
 
 To see the loads of wounded soldiers brought 
 
 In from a battle, with their bodies gashed 
 
 And limbs all torn and shattered ; I, for one, 
 
 Could not endure it." " A woman can 
 
 Do much when once her heart commands or when 
 
 Occasion urges," Mary warmly said, 
 
 " And she can make heroic sacrifice." 
 
 " I "heard this morning," added Marguerite, 
 
 While she arranged the garment which she now 
 
 Had nearly finished, "that a lady in 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 55 
 
 The city down the river volunteered 
 
 Last week to be a nurse. Our village has 
 
 Done much and suffered much, and we, have toiled 
 
 Quite faithfully ; but this not one of us 
 
 Has done, or mayhap thought of" " Yes, I think, 
 
 Perhaps, that some of us have thought of it," 
 
 The aunt said, taking off her spectacles 
 
 To wipe, " but I sincerely hope that none 
 
 Will go. We have already given up 
 
 Our sons and husbands, and it is enough. 
 
 Why, none of j^ou could stand it. It would soon 
 
 Wear out you dainty young folks, and your life 
 
 Would pay for it." " Oh, aunt ! what can we call 
 
 Enough in such a cause as this is?" flushed 
 
 With feeling, Mary cried, " and think 
 
 One moment of the many thousand brave 
 
 And loyal sons and husbands dying in 
 
 The swamps and forests of the South from sad 
 
 Exposure and neglect, and all for us ! 
 
 Then let us ask if one poor life should e'er 
 
 Be thought of that could yet bring life and hope 
 
 To many, and make glad so many hearts 
 
 And homes up North that otherwise would be 
 
 Forever dark and full of sorrow." To her work 
 
56 ^^ -T-Dri OF THE WAR, 
 
 She bent her face. The rest looked up surprised. 
 The aunt, full of emotion, laid her arm 
 On Mary's shoulder, and she gently drew 
 Her closer to her side, as if she feared 
 That her last comfort, too, would part from her. 
 She spoke. " But, Mary, such as you we can 
 Not spare." Then silence fell upon them all, 
 And soon they ended that day's labor. 
 
 The days passed slowly now. The flowers bloomed. 
 
 The woods were gay with life, and all the fields 
 
 Were clad in verdure. Roses bloomed, and pinks 
 
 And peonies around the parsonage ; 
 
 The orchard blossoms painted varied hues 
 
 O'er all the landscape, and the balmy airs 
 
 "Were richly laden with perfume. But each 
 
 Da}^ Mary grew more pale and thoughtful. She 
 
 Still grieved for William, but another pain 
 
 And longing filled her soul. The cries of pain 
 
 And sadness from the South-land wooed her. She 
 
 Had read about, and often in her mind 
 
 Had pictured, patient woman-heroes, day 
 
 By day and through the dreary hours of night, 
 
 Without a murmur, flitting there among 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR, 67 
 
 The wounded, tenderly and lovingly 
 
 As angels would, to ease their burning pain, 
 
 And whisper words of love and hope to faint 
 
 And dying men. It seemed to her that they ' 
 
 Were closely following the pathway which 
 
 The patient Healer trod among the hills 
 
 Of Galilee ; and she, too, longed to be 
 
 With them, and labor with them in a cause 
 
 So holy. But her father stood between 
 
 Her and her longing. When she looked upon 
 
 His saintly features, over which the light 
 
 Of heaven shone already, she would think 
 
 How lone would be his life without her. Then 
 
 She could not yet make up her mind to leave 
 
 Him. Often as she lay upon her couch 
 
 At night, awake, and listened to the rain 
 
 Descending on the roof, it seemed to her 
 
 That she could see her William, lying 'mid 
 
 The brush and bramble on the battle-field, 
 
 And with him thousands, wounded just as he. 
 
 They raised themselves to catch the drops of rain, 
 
 With parched and fevered lips, and wildly stretched 
 
 Their hands to her, imploring her to come 
 
 And help them, and it seemed to her that she must go. 
 
58 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 And sometimes, when she gazed upon the stars 
 
 That twinkled through her chamber-window, she 
 
 Would think of William and her mother, long 
 
 Her sainted mother, as already gone 
 
 And dwelling there amid the shining hosts 
 
 Of heaven. And o'er her spirit there would steal 
 
 A sad, sweet melancholy, and enfold 
 
 Her being. And she wondered whether they 
 
 Were looking down upon her, and she longed. 
 
 Oh ! how she longed, that she might fill her life 
 
 With noble deeds, and prove to them and all 
 
 The angels that she, too, was worthy of 
 
 Their company. And as she gazed, her heart 
 
 Would swell until it lost itself way off 
 
 Within that blue expanse, and sleep brought rest 
 
 And soothed her wearied mind. More tenderly 
 
 And constantly she now attended to 
 
 Her flowers, as if she found a sympathy 
 
 And consolation in their transient bloom 
 
 Of glories. More she now attended to 
 
 The poultry, and at eventide, whene'er 
 
 She brought them corn, the pigeons lighted on 
 
 Her shoulders, and they placed their downy heads 
 
 Close to her cheeks, as if they felt that she 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 59 
 
 Was sad ; and when she fondled them and gazed 
 Into their mild, soft eyes, the tears would fill 
 Her own. She often sought the oak-tree down 
 The lane, or wandered to the spring, to muse 
 Of William, and the hopes that now were dead, 
 Or of the longings which her heart had fed 
 In secret, till they filled her being. There 
 She often went to weep, and o'er and o'er 
 Again read William's letters. Sacred now, 
 And noble, were the sentiments which they 
 Contained. She lingered o'er each single thought 
 And lofty aspiration, and it made 
 Her sorrow sweeter, and it warmed her own 
 Ambition till it seemed that she must go. 
 But then again she thought about her good 
 Old father and his loneliness, and close 
 To him seemed still her duty. So the days 
 Passed on until July brought news 
 Of battle nearer home. Oh, how the dread 
 Suspense, extending through those anxious days 
 Of battle, stirred the people of the North ! 
 And oh ! how great was the rejoicing, when 
 The last guns of the battle were salutes 
 To herald in the nation's day of birth. 
 
60 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 The war seemed well-nigh over. But there rose 
 
 A cry for help and pity, touching all 
 
 The North-land, from the many thousands strewn 
 
 With wounds o'er all the hills and valleys round 
 
 That Pennsylvania village, which their fall 
 
 Had wreathed with fadeless glory. And that cry 
 
 Went straight to Mary's heart, and it appealed 
 
 For a decision of the conflict which 
 
 Was going on within her. Through that day 
 
 Of jubilee, the Independence day, 
 
 That knew two famous victories, she shared 
 
 The glad festivities with joy ; but when 
 
 The evening came, she stole away again 
 
 And sought her lonely seat beside the spring. 
 
 In that sequestered spot her father found 
 
 Her. Thither he had often seen her walk, 
 
 With head down-cast and lingering footstep ; and 
 
 His heart was wracked with all the silent griefs 
 
 And struggles of her youthful life. He stopped 
 
 And bowed his head when he beheld her there. 
 
 One arm was resting on the fountain's rock, 
 
 Moss-grown. Her pale, worn cheek, on which a tear 
 
 Still glistened, lay upon her folded hands. 
 
 She gazed far out towards the purpling heavens, 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 61 
 
 She seemed engaged in prayer, and o'er her face 
 
 There stole a holy glow. The father drew 
 
 Beside her silently and took his seat. 
 
 " My child," he said, " my heart has long been grieved 
 
 To see you pine and waste away. I thought 
 
 That you would soon bear William's death and loss 
 
 With Christian resignation, but I see 
 
 Your cheeks grow paler day by day, and day 
 
 By day your looks more thoughtful, and I know 
 
 That something else is gnawing at your life ; 
 
 I think I have discovered what it is. 
 
 You have been told how women, noble-souled, 
 
 Are toiling in the hospitals, and now 
 
 Your warm, young heart is fired by their 
 
 Example and you wish to do as they. 
 
 Have I not read the secret of your heart 
 
 Aright ?" " Oh, father, yes !" cried Mary. " Now 
 
 I can no longer hide it. Long ago 
 
 I felt that I should aid them in their work ; 
 
 It is a holy cause ; but, oh ! I could 
 
 Not leave you, father, in your loneliness. 
 
 And at a time when family and friends 
 
 Should cluster round you, and the days should pass 
 
 In peace. I fought against the yearnings of 
 
62 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 My soul, but all in vain. At night 
 
 I lie awake and hear the groans of agony 
 
 Arise from battle-fields; before me see 
 
 Weak arms, outstretched in mute appeal. And when 
 
 I wander out at evening, when the sun 
 
 Pours out his crimson streams as now he does, 
 
 It is not as it once w^as, but it seems 
 
 As if the blood of fallen heroes, deep 
 
 Had dyed the floor of heaven, and through it all 
 
 The angels poured a golden glory. Oh ! 
 
 They seem to call to me to labor in 
 
 The cause. Upon the field of Gettysburg, 
 
 Lie thousands who have helped to save our land. 
 
 They lie in agony and cry for help. 
 
 And, father, I can stay no longer." Thus she spoke 
 
 And threw her arms around his neck and wept 
 
 Upon his bosom. Scarcely could he calm 
 
 His voice, but yet he said to her : " My child, 
 
 I dread the dangers and the horrors of 
 
 The hospitals, but if you think it is 
 
 Your mission, I will not say nay. Perhaps 
 
 A kindly Providence is pointing out 
 
 The way to find our lost one. Go, my child, 
 
 And may the Lord of Heaven keep you ; I 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 63 
 
 Shall not be lonely. William's aunt will stay 
 With me and keep the house till you again 
 Return to us." So Mary went. 
 
 With patience and devotion Mary toiled 
 
 Two months at Gettysburg, and then she was 
 
 Transferred to Rosecrans' army, for ere long 
 
 He was expected to engage in long 
 
 And heavy conflict. Soon it came. Two days 
 
 The battle raged on Chickamauga Creek, 
 
 And she was there, and labored in the rear 
 
 Of our brave army. When the distant roar 
 
 Of cannon shook the earth, the stretchers soon, 
 
 And ambulances, slowly brought their loads 
 
 Of torn humanity, and shrieks went up. 
 
 And curses, from the surgeons' tables. Soon 
 
 There lay upon the trembling ground long rows 
 
 Of men, begrimed with smoke and powder, all 
 
 Bespattered with their life's blood. Many groaned 
 
 With agony and cursed the enemy 
 
 While nursing bleeding stumps, or gaping wounds 
 
 Of ball or sabre. Mary's heart bled when 
 
 She saw them. Courage nearly failed ; but as 
 
 She gazed upon the patient faces there 
 
64 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Of pain-wracked heroes, waiting quietly 
 
 The surgeon's care, she longed for many more 
 
 To help her, and she speedily did what 
 
 She could to ease their misery. She bent 
 
 O'er many a gallant form, and whispered words 
 
 Of cheer and sympathy while bandaging 
 
 A wound. And if the life-blood ebbed away 
 
 And told of dissolution, she would speak 
 
 Of life beyond, and of the Captain who 
 
 Commands the hosts above. Great, brawny hands, 
 
 Grown weak from loss of blood, grasped hers before 
 
 The pulses ceased, and manly eyes beamed thanks 
 
 To her before they closed in death. " My boy," 
 
 She often said to men all torn with shell 
 
 And left for hours without a taste of food 
 
 Or drink upon the field, " you have been called 
 
 Upon to suffer much to save the flag. 
 
 We never can repay you." " Yes," they said, 
 
 " It sure is hard to suffer so and die 
 
 So far away from home and those we love, 
 
 But yet we do it gladly for the stars 
 
 And stripes ;" or, " Never mind it, ma'am ; we'd do 
 
 It all again." And Mary felt it was 
 
 A blessed thing to work for such as they. 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 65 
 
 With overflowing heart she heard from all 
 
 The parting messages to parents, wives, 
 
 Or sweethearts in the North, and cut the locks 
 
 From noble brows, on which the death-damp stood, 
 
 To send to them the last mementos of 
 
 Their soldier-dead. " Tell Jane," they'd say (or Anne), 
 
 " To teach the boys to fear the Lord and love 
 
 The flag for which their father died. I hope 
 
 To meet them all above." Next day the fight 
 
 Drew nearer. Mary saw our army fall 
 
 Back, step by step, and feared that all was lost. 
 
 And then she prayed that God would shield the cause 
 
 Of right. She often turned to watch the tide 
 
 Of battle. Nearer rolled its surges. From 
 
 The hillock where she stood, she plainly saw 
 
 The regiments rush up and take their place 
 
 With loud hurrahs. A few loud volleys, then 
 
 They disappeared in smoke, and she could tell 
 
 Them only by the flashes of their guns. 
 
 And helplessly she trembled for the brave 
 
 Young lives so soon to meet their end. The great 
 
 Guns roared, and threw their iron load far out 
 
 Beyond our army into struggling lines 
 
 Of grey. Their thunder grew more deafening. 
 
66 • AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 
 
 New batteries came up, the horses lashed 
 To foam, and were unlimbered near to her. 
 Long lines of wounded soldiers painfully 
 Emerged from out the battle-smoke, and dragged 
 Themselves away from danger. Many fell 
 At almost every step, and now and then 
 A fatal ball would crash through some poor man 
 Almost within the reach of safety. Crowds 
 Of stragglers hurried by, worn out by toil 
 And fighting, or disheartened, and they called 
 To her to tiee ; but still she staid. Intense 
 Became the noise and heat of battle, and 
 Confusion. Every moment bullets whizzed 
 And whistled past her, and the great shot struck 
 The limbs of trees and scattered fragments all 
 Around. Right through the hospital of tents 
 The balls flew constantly, or struck some man 
 Already wounded. Surgeons laid aside 
 Their instruments to help re-form the men 
 Who straggled back. Artillery-men, with sleeves 
 Rolled up, all black with sweat and powder-smoke, 
 Stood by their guns, and grimly dealt out death 
 As fast as mortals could. The foe pressed on ; 
 The long suspense grew dreadful. All around, 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 67 
 
 The wounded privates ceased their groans and cries 
 
 To listen to the fray ; and officers, 
 
 Delirious with excitement and their hurts, 
 
 Imagined legions led with noisy shouts 
 
 Of courage. Mary knelt upon the ground 
 
 To pray. Then came a cheer that shook the earth, 
 
 And slowly our men drove back the foe. 
 
 How grand it seemed to Mary when she saw 
 
 The stars and stripes move on triumphantly, 
 
 En wreathed in battle-smoke. Right on she saw 
 
 It go, as regiment by regiment 
 
 Our boys pressed on the foe. Forward they went, 
 
 On down the vale, and parting sunbeams caught 
 
 Its stripes whene'er they shone above the mists. 
 
 She waved her apron o'er her head, and cried 
 
 And shouted till the tears rolled down her cheeks ; 
 
 And all around her caught the shout and took 
 
 It up, and dying soldiers waved their hands 
 
 And cheered with their last breath. But far away 
 
 Upon the left she saw blue lines retreat. 
 
 And soon superior numbers forced the men 
 
 In front to take a new position. Then, 
 
 When night closed o'er, the hospital was held 
 
 By foes, and Mary was a prisoner. 
 
68 AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 
 
 Within her lieart had Mary ofttimes said, 
 
 " I know that AVilliam is not dead ; 
 
 I feel, — I know, — I yet shall see him." And she longed 
 
 To search through Southern prisons, for she thought 
 
 He was confined there. When her captors wished 
 
 To send her back to Union lines, she asked 
 
 Permission to attend some officers 
 
 Who had been wounded in the fight and were 
 
 To go to Richmond. There, it seemed to her, 
 
 She mio-ht find William. So she went and nursed 
 
 Her patients in the hospital. She was 
 
 To them a light from heaven in that dark 
 
 And dreary place. She daily looked around 
 
 For faces that she knew, but none appeared. 
 
 Her spirits sunk, and Mary often wept ; 
 
 For William, after all, might be at rest 
 
 Beneath the ground. The sights around her made 
 
 Her sick at heart, and now she often wished 
 
 She were beneath the flag again and breathed 
 
 The pure, free air of heaven ; but her charge 
 
 Detained her. One by one, in spite of all 
 
 Her care, they dropped away, for sore indeed 
 
 Had been their wounds, and there no woman's care 
 
 Could bring them back to life. She grew more lone 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 69 
 
 And worn. But three were left, and if they, too. 
 
 Should die, she would request a safe return 
 
 To Union lines. At times she was allowed 
 
 To go about to see the patients in 
 
 The hospital, and talk to them and do 
 
 What then she could to make those wasted men 
 
 More comfortable. One day she visited 
 
 A room she had not seen before. There lay 
 
 Upon a pallet in the farther corner, 
 
 The noble figure of a captain, clad 
 
 In blue. Confinement and disease and lack 
 
 Of wholesome food had worn away his flesh. 
 
 A colonel knelt beside him, and he bathed 
 
 A wound upon the captain's breast. He did 
 
 It with a look of care, and tenderly 
 
 As woman could. He evidently was 
 
 The sick man's friend. Her heart was struck 
 
 With pity, and she touched the colonel on 
 
 His shoulder and requested to relieve 
 
 Him. When he turned, he long time gazed at her, 
 
 As if a being from a world unknown. 
 
 He stammered pardon, and he asked her how 
 
 She came there, for he saw her sympathy, 
 
 And knew she was a lady and a friend, 
 
70 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 Way off there in that dismal place. And then 
 
 He stepped aside and let her end the task 
 
 He had begun. She knew such work. Three months' 
 
 Experience taught her much, and skillfully 
 
 She did it. Then she looked upon the face 
 
 Of him so sorely hurt. A beard concealed 
 
 The lower part, but when she brushed aside 
 
 The straggling locks upon his brow, she gave 
 
 A shriek that rang through all that place and hushed 
 
 Its groans, and then she fainted by the side 
 
 Of William. It was he. The colonel dashed 
 
 Some water on her face, and Mary soon 
 
 Revived. She bent o'er William, but he knew 
 
 Her not, for he was very sick and faint. 
 
 Then Mary laid her hand upon his face, 
 
 And sobbed and prayed o'er him, and gently called 
 
 His name, but still he knew her- not. Long time 
 
 She wept and gazed upon him ; then she calmed 
 
 Herself, for well she knew how weak he was, 
 
 And how much care he needed, if he yet 
 
 Could be recovered. Softly, then, she watched 
 
 And waited there. The colonel asked her whence 
 
 She was, for his surprise was great. For months 
 
 No lady's voice had sounded in his ears ; 
 
AN WYL OF THE WAR. 71 
 
 Naught else but groans, and curses of the guards, 
 
 And she he knew was from the North. She told 
 
 Him who she was, and then he knew her well, 
 
 For he was William's friend, and William oft 
 
 Had told him of the parsonage and friends 
 
 And prospects. In his fever he would call 
 
 For Mary, and would speak of her alone. 
 
 And Mary told the colonel how she came 
 
 There, for she saw that he was William's friend, 
 
 And trusted him. Together they now imrsed 
 
 Their patient. But the maiden scarcely could 
 
 Be taken from him. Day by day she sat 
 
 Beside her lover, and her soul w^as wrung 
 
 With anguish when she looked upon his wan 
 
 And wasted features and his sunken eyes. 
 
 Upon tlie shadow of the form that once 
 
 AVas stout and manly. Earnestly she prayed 
 
 That God would spare him in his goodness, let 
 
 Her take him back again, home to his aunt 
 
 And to the good old father waiting there 
 
 To bless them. Eagerly upon each breath 
 
 She hung, and motion. Carefully she weighed 
 
 Its strength or weakness. Sometimes he would come 
 
 To consciousness, and grasp her hand and smile, 
 
72 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 As if he knew her. Then again the heat 
 
 Of fever caused his cheeks to glow and eyes 
 
 To glisten, and he spoke of her and home, 
 
 And of the oak-tree and the woodland fount. 
 
 She wept in silence as she sat and listened. 
 
 The days passed slowly by, and William grew 
 
 But little better. In his cell the air 
 
 Was noisome, and she longed to take him out 
 
 Beneath the light of heaven, where again 
 
 He might behold green fields and breathe pure air. 
 
 One day her wish was granted. They were there 
 
 Beside their patient, whispering of him 
 
 And home, and of the horrors of the war, 
 
 She and the colonel, and there came to them 
 
 A Southern general, a courtly man, 
 
 Deputed to inspect the hospital. 
 
 He raised his hat, and gallantly he bowed 
 
 To Mary. Turning to the colonel, he 
 
 Seemed struck. He looked awhile, and then he grasped 
 
 His hand. They had been friends at college; now 
 
 They recognized each other. Long they talked, 
 
 And Mary and the colonel begged that they 
 
 Might take their'patient to some better place. 
 
 He listened thoughtfully, but shook his head 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 7a 
 
 In doubt, and soon he left. Next day he came, 
 
 And handed them paroles for signature. 
 
 " Old friend," he said, ^' we fight on different sides, 
 
 And on the field we'd meet as foes ; but I 
 
 Have not forgotten yet the friendship which 
 
 Was once between us. For the sake of it, 
 
 And for the lady's, I have done this. Up 
 
 The river I possess a home which now 
 
 I seldom see. I have employed six men 
 
 To take yon there upon a boat; there you 
 
 May stay in quiet till your patient has 
 
 Recovered. Then you must return again, 
 
 Except the lady. She is free ; the South 
 
 Detains no lady. I can do no more 
 
 For you. Some day, 1 hope, we all may meet 
 
 In better circumstances." From their hearts 
 
 They thanked him for his generosity. 
 
 With care they took the sick man up and placed 
 
 Him in the boat, and carefully they sailed. 
 
 They slowly left the war-worn city back. 
 
 With all its frowning guns and battlements. 
 
 It was the middle of October. In 
 
 That sunny Southern land no leaves had yet 
 
 Begun to turn. Where still the forests stood 
 
74 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 They were alive with songs of birds, and fields 
 Were green. How Mary's heart rejoiced to see 
 Again the sunlight free, and feel the cool, 
 Fresh breezes o'er the river ! On they sailed. 
 How far she cared not. All her soul was lost 
 In rapture. On they sailed; she asked not where; 
 A noble heart had sent them royally 
 Upon their voyage. " Was there not," she said, 
 *'■ A hope of life for him she loved, in all 
 These cooling winds that gently wafted songs 
 And smells of sweetness over him ? — in all 
 This freshness of the landscape?" Gleefully 
 She dipped her faded hands into the waves, 
 And with the laughing waters laved his brow. 
 Then William smiled. The change seemed to revive 
 Him. Soon he murmured Mary's name, the first 
 Time yet with reason since she found him sick 
 In prison. Oh, how light her heart was ! On 
 They sailed, until the shades fell eastward ; then 
 They reached their destination. On the bank 
 The house stood, bosomed in a wood. A broad 
 ' Veranda swept around it. Home-like it 
 Appeared, and cheerful. Far remote it stood 
 From all the desolation and the noise 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAB. 75 
 
 Of war. They thanked their God with all their hearts 
 
 When they beheld it. They had come to it 
 
 Like travelers from a dreary land of death 
 
 And horrors into paradise. They sent 
 
 A message from the master. Soon there came 
 
 A colored servant to assist them. Soft 
 
 They took the sick man up, and gently they 
 
 Conveyed him through the gateway, up the drive, 
 
 Through fragrant evergreens and blooming beds 
 
 Of asters. At the door the mistress met 
 
 And kindly welcomed them ; and soon they had 
 
 Their patient nicely placed upon a bed 
 
 Of snowy white, and looking o'er the wood 
 
 And river. Very comfortable he looked 
 
 There, after all the darkness and the filth 
 
 And want of prison ; and he seemed so pleased 
 
 And happy, Mary thought he could not die. 
 
 The journey had fatigued him. Soon he fell 
 
 Asl&ep. She waited by his bedside. Long 
 
 He slept and soundl}^, and the mistress begged 
 
 Of lier to seek repose, and she at lengtli 
 
 Consented, for she, too, was weary. All 
 
 Night long she slept and dreamt of home and peace 
 
 And happiness. It was her first sweet sleep 
 
76 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 For many days — no roar of guns disturbed, 
 No groan of weary sufferer. The day 
 Had fairly dawned when she awoke, and straight 
 She went to William's couch, but still he slept. 
 When he awoke from sleep the day had sped 
 Far on its way. He was refreshed and spoke. 
 He murmured happy words and thanks to her, 
 And Mary's heart was very glad. The days 
 Brought strength to him, and never did she leave 
 His side. He soon began to speak of home 
 And of familiar scenes, and often asked 
 Her how^ she came to him ; but she enjoined 
 On him to wait until his health should be 
 Still better. So the days passed on, and hope 
 Grew strong in Mary's bosom. Then there came 
 A sudden change. The poison of his wound 
 Had eaten deep into the vital springs. 
 'Twas not for mortal life to fight against 
 It and prevail. The burning heat returned, 
 And soon he sank into a stupor. Once 
 He rallied, and he spoke of home and heaven, 
 And of the cause for which he died, and blessed 
 It ; softly whispered Mary's name, and then 
 He passed away. They laid him down to rest 
 
AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 77 
 
 Without a dirge or service of the church, 
 Beneath a willow, where the river's waves 
 Low murmur, in that far-off Southern land, 
 And Mary and the colonel knelt and prayed 
 Upon his grave. A week they tarried there. 
 And by the river's rolling waters oft 
 They sat together, and together sighed 
 For love that now was lost, and for the life 
 Before them both. A week they tarried there,. 
 And then there came a day when Mary could 
 Be taken to the Union lines, and he 
 Returned to prison. 
 
 A letter had preceded Mary, and 
 
 The pastor waited at the station. When 
 
 He saw her pale, worn face, his heart was full 
 
 And tears coursed freely down his furrowed cheeks. 
 
 She threw herself into his waiting arms, 
 
 And nature granted what it had withheld 
 
 Since William died ; she wept as if her heart 
 
 Were breaking. Tenderly, so tenderly, 
 
 He placed her in the carriage and conveyed 
 
 Her to their cottage. William's aunt was there 
 
 To welcome her, but Mary knew her not. 
 
78 AN IDYL OF THE WAR. 
 
 They laid her on her couch, and there she lay 
 
 For many weeks, just on the border-land 
 
 Of life. At last the danger passed away, 
 
 And Mary took her wonted place again 
 
 Among the living ; but the roses did 
 
 Not bloom again upon her cheeks, nor light 
 
 Flash brightly in her eyes. A deeper light 
 
 Was there, and sadly sweet her life flowed on. 
 
 The war was ended and a winter gone. 
 
 And o'er the silent armies of the dead 
 
 The lilies blossomed. Then they brought all that 
 
 Was left of William back to lie at rest 
 
 At home beside his mother. Loving hands 
 
 Made beautiful his sepulcher and raised 
 
 A monument upon it. 
 
The German Exiles. 
 
 Fair Pennsylvania ! my people's home 1 
 
 O'er thy green hills and plains I love to roam ; 
 
 I love to linger in thy lovely vales, 
 
 Where mountain peak the roseate morning hails, 
 
 Or where thy rivers hold their ceaseless flow, 
 
 And streamlets babble and sweet lilies blow. 
 
 A Switzerland, a France, within thee lies, 
 
 High over-vaulted by Italian skies. 
 
 Peace and prosperity within thee reign, 
 
 Thy happy people sing but freedom's strain ; 
 
 Their thrift has turned thee to a garden fair, 
 
 And busy noises lade thy balmy air. 
 
80 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 'Twas here, exiled across the ocean's foam, 
 
 My weeping people sought a peaceful home ; 
 
 And here, through painful toil, that home they found, 
 
 Here still their hearty German accents sound. 
 
 My heart pulsates in sympathy with theirs, 
 
 I love their virtues and regret their cares. 
 
 By adverse fortunes have their souls been tried, 
 
 By cruel, bitter trials purified. 
 
 The conquered sons of Erin's lovely isle 
 Were dastardly retained in bondage vile. 
 Deprived of all held sacred, all held dear, 
 Their spoil sustained the victor's wild career ; 
 The race profusely bled at ev'ry pore. 
 And Erin's songs and wit were heard no more. 
 
 Again, when Persecution's stern decrees 
 
 Drove England's exiles o'er the wintry seas, 
 
 By bitter hate the fondest ties were riven. 
 
 And mournful hearts petitioned help from Heaven. 
 
 Acadia's children sang the same sad strain 
 As captive Israel on Shinar's plain, 
 When England's strong, relentless hand 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 81 
 
 Porced them to leave their homes and well-loved land, 
 And seek, 'mid strangers on a foreign shore. 
 More kindly fortunes than were theirs before. 
 
 Eut far more ruthless was the cruel fate 
 When fierce Ambition joined with deadly Hate 
 And swept our honored German ancestry 
 Away, from land to land, from sea to sea. 
 To wander homeless on, through weary years, 
 And eat the crumbs which pity gave, in tears. 
 
 When gazing on their towns and cities, where 
 High, slender church-spires cleave the limpid air, 
 Where generous Wealth and Comfort free unite 
 With Taste to render home a rare delight; 
 And far away, o'er large and well-tilled farms 
 And cozy homes, half-hid in rural charms, 
 My mind, elated, soars. in willing flight 
 To scenes which all my song, my love invite. 
 When still along the banks of German Rhine 
 Our fathers praised their God in notes divine. 
 I see again the humble, sturdy throng 
 Engaged in toil the purple vines among. 
 Nobility of labor they enjoy, 
 
82 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Contentment poverty cannot destroy ; 
 Their songs are echoed through the vme-clad hills 
 More sweet and clear than music of their rills. 
 I mingle with the merry, laughing troop 
 * Upon the village green, a joyous group ; 
 I join the lively dance, the hearty song, 
 Forgetting all my tears, all toil and wrong. 
 Or climb the hill-side with rejoicing friends 
 When April sad the varied circle ends. 
 To greet the rising sun with joyful mirth, 
 The herald of the new year's gladd'ning birth, 
 To toast the new, lambent the old's decay. 
 With op'ning flowers of the month of May. 
 I follow with the laughing wedding-train 
 The bride with flowers crowned and happy swain. 
 And wish, 'mid toasts of wine and pleasant cheer, 
 Unnumbered blessings, faithful friends and dear, 
 And fruitful wedlock to the happy pair. 
 
 How sacred is the rite that binds to share 
 An humble life of toil two simple hearts 
 Unusecl to guile, and false, deceptive arts. 
 The glitter, pomp, and ceremonial show, 
 The brilliant jewels, vestments like the snow, 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 83 
 
 Of those united in a high estate, 
 Inspire not reverence so pure and great 
 Towards the holy, heaven-exalted rite. 
 
 I join the family when shades of night 
 
 Convene it round the genial evening fire ; 
 
 With pleasure hear the tales the loving sire 
 
 Eecites to ears attentive gathered round ; 
 
 And ere the evening's o'er, the love profound 
 
 That low^ered heaven to earth, raised earth to heaven; 
 
 And wise instruction from the Gospel leaven, 
 
 Condensed in simple, catechisraal form, 
 
 A lore that steeled the heart 'gainst many a storm. 
 
 Nor Greece nor Rome, nor France nor England proud^ 
 Though cultured and by virtues rare endowed. 
 Had seen such homes as these. Here virtue, love, 
 And truth, and piety that seeks above 
 Its highest aim, its richest theme, its hope. 
 Were first implanted, and here first found scope. 
 And hence proceeded all that goodly cheer, 
 That stern integrity, that god-like fear. 
 The pure devotion that each Sabbath morn. 
 From cot and palace and from farthest bourn, 
 
84 TKE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Assembled worshipers to hear the Word 
 And thanks return for blessings God conferred ; 
 All, all that makes the German name revered, 
 And patriot courage, too, that makes it feared. 
 
 Such was the land where Beauty's richest dress 
 
 Enwrapped the fruitful earth with loveliness; 
 
 Still over which the tourist loves to roam. 
 
 The scholar's pride, the artist's favored home. 
 
 Such were its sons, a noble, sturdy race. 
 
 Untrammeled by the bonds which man disgrace, 
 
 In free-born majesty and strength they rose 
 
 'Gainst lovely Freedom's Pope-appointed foes. 
 
 Imbibing truth as doth the thirsty sod 
 
 Eefreshing dews sent by a gracious God, 
 
 Their lofty spirits could no more support 
 
 The abject slavery of the priestly court, 
 
 The degradation of perverted truth, 
 
 Of God-bought mercy sold as wares, forsooth. 
 
 Not flaming stake, not noisome dungeon-cell, 
 
 Not torments worthy of the prince of hell, 
 
 Invented by fanatic hate, could crush 
 
 The brave defenders of the truth, nor hush 
 
 Their fervent prayers, and grand old hymns of praise. 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 85 
 
 Nor cruelty, nor time, could quench the blaze 
 That set their hearts aglow ; but fierce and fleet, 
 Like raging fire repressed, its gen'rous heat 
 Consumed the barriers of humanity. 
 The swelling tides, once free and unconfined, 
 Leaped on in mighty flow, as one combined. 
 The crumbling ruins of Error's mighty towers 
 Were swept away by its o'erwhelming powers ; 
 The Avorld of heart and mind was glad with birth 
 New and luxuriant o'er the blood-drenched earth, 
 Of Freedom's verdant offspring, fresh and strong, 
 Whose fruits mature throughout the ages long, 
 And multiply the hopes and joys of man. 
 
 Eeligion sweetly wove her garlands fair. 
 
 And Learning bound them in the victor's hair; 
 
 She set her fountains' gates wide, wide ajar. 
 
 And Learning kept them in their course afar, 
 
 And freely cast into their limpid streams 
 
 Her richest jewels, which the sunlight's beams 
 
 Make bright with glory. Men rejoicing sing 
 
 Eternal praise to heaven's gracious King; 
 
 The human heart, long, long oppressed with wTong, 
 
 When freed burst forth in glad, triumphant song. 
 
g6 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Whose notes will echo with a mellow ring, 
 Till freed mankind, at last, will greet its King. 
 
 Long was the fight 'gainst cruelty, and ban. 
 Two centuries beheld, firm in the van 
 Devoted to the glorious truth of God, 
 The sons of Germany. Their German sod 
 Imbibed their life-blood's sacrificial flow ; 
 And German breezes, as they murmured low, 
 Were burdened wdth the groans of martyrdom 
 Triumphant in the joys that were to come. 
 The groaning, shudd'ring earth, time and again. 
 Resounded to the tread of armed men ; 
 The wide-extended plains, once bright wdth life. 
 Were darkened by a fratricidal strife ; 
 And many a well-contested battle-field 
 Proclaimed the valor of Religion's shield. 
 The last, but far the greatest of them all. 
 How hallowed by a sainted hero's fall ! 
 A stranger, truly friend ! a sacrifice 
 So great and costly, sure, could well suffice. 
 Wliat sage could tell, inspired poet sing, 
 The glories of fair Sweden's martyred King? 
 Above the grave where sainted heroes sleep 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 87 
 
 Let men, revering, sacred silence keep. 
 There nature's voices chant in sweetest strain, 
 And angel minstrels swell a glad refrain 
 In choral song. Nature sings in low, sad notes, 
 The heavenly song in holy triumph floats; 
 Grieved Nature lost her best and noblest sons, 
 Hejoicing Heaven reclaimed her honored ones. 
 But time will keep their hallowed memory green, 
 Their virtues live, although their forms unseen. 
 And manhood rises to a higher plain. 
 Inspired by deeds of these exalted slain. 
 
 At length the battle- thunders cease their roar. 
 And warriors' shouts and groans are heard no more, 
 And, like the mists from off" the watery wold. 
 The war-clouds slowly from the land are rolled. 
 And slow-subsiding, as when in the night 
 The roaring tempests, with a demon's might, 
 To fury lash the waters, till they rise 
 In rival waves, foam-crested to the skies. 
 And finally, when storm-clouds roll away, 
 And bright the sun brings in the new-born day, 
 The waves are calmed upon the ocean's breast, 
 So men's fierce-raging passions sink to rest. 
 
88 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 The blazing sun, with his attendant train, 
 
 Looks down on Desolation's gloomy reign ; 
 
 On cities where the noise of trade is hushed. 
 
 And lovely structures, like bright prospects crushed^ 
 
 In fragments strewed around, the temples of God 
 
 And Art, where Beauty's feet have often trod ; 
 
 And shattered pillars left on blackened walls, 
 
 Aloft, like arms raised with entreating calls. 
 
 Imploring Heaven's pity; in their moats 
 
 The crumbling walls of cities. Fiercely gloats 
 
 Destruction over all. Bare are the hills. 
 
 Denuded of their verdant glory. Rills, 
 
 Scarce purified from war's polluting stains, 
 
 In low tones murmur sad and plaintive strains. 
 
 Wide o'er the fields no golden harvests gleam, 
 
 When over all the glowing sunbeams stream. 
 
 The peasant's song and huntsman's merry call 
 
 Are hushed, and death-like silence reigns o'er all. 
 
 Instead of lowing herd and tinkling bell, 
 
 The howl of wild beasts breaks this tragic spell. 
 
 And sounds of mourning heard throughout the land^ 
 
 Loud lamentations from the heart-pierced band ; 
 
 The wail of widows grieving for the dead, 
 
 And orphans crying through the streets for bread ; 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 89 
 
 The sobs of loving mothers over treasures lost, 
 And aged sires bemoaning loud the cost; 
 Fair sisters weeping for brave brothers slain, 
 And maids for lovers mangled on the plain. 
 The air resounds with cries of friends and foes, 
 Fraternized by their common loss and woes. 
 The noblest in the land once proudly trod, 
 Now silent sleep beneath the blood-stained sod. 
 Learning and Art, in mourning weeds arrayed. 
 Slow pace their sculptured halls or sylvan shade^ 
 Lamenting their most gifted sons. 
 They heed not time as it in silence runs 
 Its rapid flight, and desolate and lone 
 Are now their homes. The chisel and the stone 
 Are left untouched, and scattered on the ground 
 The fragments of the easel lie around. 
 Hushed are the sounds of pleasing harmony, 
 The untuned cords can yield no melody. 
 The poet's shuddering soul recoils with dread 
 From scenes before his piercing vision spread, 
 And all his horrid dreams remain unsung. 
 Sweet Nature's book, with all its crowded throng 
 Of mysteries, tempts not the student's pains; 
 The golden field of Truth unsearched remains. 
 
90 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 And Wealth has yielded sway to Poverty, 
 And Pride been humbled to a low degree. 
 Throughout the country, like a midnight pall, 
 Destruction lies and sorrow dark o'er all. 
 
 Great was the price, but great the blessings won, 
 
 On Germany soon shines a milder sun. 
 
 The night was gloomy, but the dawn is bright; 
 
 'Twas sad transition to a clearer light. 
 
 Soon bruised hearts cease wildly to lament, 
 
 And grateful songs to bounteous Heaven are sent. 
 
 Again are heard the sounds of industry. 
 
 And joyful ring the sounds of merry glee. 
 
 The peaceful shepherd tunes his pipe again, 
 
 And harvests rich reward the toils of men. 
 
 The ruined cities from their ashes rise. 
 
 And resurrection graces glad the eyes ; 
 
 Kind Nature strives to hide her ghastly wounds 
 
 By weaving verdant mantles over mounds 
 
 Of crumbling ruins. Hills are clad in green 
 
 To hide the ruthless deeds of men with screen 
 
 Of living beauty. Sounds of tinkling bells 
 
 Are heard again through flowery meads and dells; 
 
 And through the quiet Sabbath air 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 91 
 
 The clear-toned bells God's saving love declare. 
 And zealous devotees kneel at the shrine 
 Of Learning Heaven-crowned and Art divine. 
 Sweet Freedom smiles on men released from thrall; 
 Prosperity and Peace now reign o'er all. 
 
 But hark ! what cannon-thunders roar aloud, 
 
 Like Heaven's artillery from the mountain cloud? 
 
 What sullen roaring as of coming storm, 
 
 More loud and louder as the war-clouds form 
 
 In ever denser masses 'mongst the hills 
 
 Through which the Rhine's enraptured bosom thrills? 
 
 O, Palatine ! thy dream soon fades away, 
 
 Too soon war's horrors new reclaim their sway. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the cruel shouts of fierce Turenne 
 
 Ring out o'er every plain, through every glen ; 
 
 And burning cities light the midnight sky, 
 
 And murdered innocents for vengeance cry. - 
 
 Unhappy people, o'er your peaceful homes, - 
 
 Like blasting pestilence, destruction comes. 
 
 Entreaties nor defense can now avail ; 
 
 Who dares oppose, sinks 'neath the leaden hail. 
 
 No tears can move that cruel monster's breast ; 
 
 Unhappy land, for thee there is no rest ! 
 
92 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 The tide rolls on, and, like a withering blast, 
 Wide o'er its course is desolation cast. 
 The smouldering remains of homes and grain 
 Now blacken every hill-side, every plain. 
 With tearful eyes in prayer raised up to God, 
 His people bow beneath his chastening rod. 
 In quiet faith, submissive to his will. 
 Their German land is still their own, and still 
 The faith for which they suffered much and long. 
 And German thrift and German purpose strong, 
 The land's prosperity will soon restore; 
 And greater peace than they enjoyed before, 
 Their God will grant them. Gladly they foresee 
 The free enjoyment of the liberty 
 For which they ventured life and all. 
 But no, 'tis not to be, their hopes must fall, 
 God's mercy hides from man's inquiring eyes 
 The future's store of good or ill, both wise. 
 The murky clouds have scarcely rolled away, 
 Scarce gleamed the streamings of another day, 
 When over the unhappy land once more 
 Destruction's furious legions wildly pour. 
 0, God ! and will these terrors never cease. 
 And yield to fair and smiling fruits of peace? 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 93 
 
 Poor land ! thy tribulations multiply, 
 
 In vain for help thy stricken children cry. 
 
 Melac ! Melac ! and all his savage horde, 
 
 Sweep o'er th' ill-fated land with bloody sword. 
 
 The country trembles 'neath their armed advance, 
 
 Their cannon-thunders, and their lightning's glance. 
 
 They sweep before them all, those savage men. 
 
 Lay waste like western storms destructive, when 
 
 From cloud to cloud the darting lightnings flash, 
 
 And rolling thunders rumble, roar, and crash; 
 
 The furious winds, loosed from their guarded cave, 
 
 In terrible contention rage and rave. 
 
 Th' affrighted earth, alarmed, in terror quakes. 
 
 And lofty hill its crested summit shakes ; 
 
 The clouded sky in anger darkly frowns. 
 
 The tempest's roar all sounds of nature drowns; 
 
 And man and beast in horror-stricken flio:ht, 
 
 In vain seek shelter from its potent might. 
 
 The monarchs of the forest groan and yield 
 
 Like wisps of grain swept from the harvest-field ; 
 
 Huge rocky masses, loosened from the height, 
 
 Roll crashing down in swift, destructive flight. 
 
 Eocks, trees, and buildings through the air are hurled. 
 
 The scattered fragments of a threatened world ; 
 
94 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 And what escapes the winds through strong defense 
 Yields to the winged lightning's violence, 
 Throughout the wretched country everywhere 
 The heaven-lighted altars lurid glare, 
 And, ere the devastating storm is o'er. 
 The drenching rains in sheeted torrents pour ; 
 And when the fury of the storm has passed. 
 The pitying stars shine on a desert vast. 
 
 The Frenchman leaves no spot inviolate, 
 But sacrifices all to his inhuman hate. 
 Afflicted poor, the children of Wealth caressed. 
 Alike are hurried from their homes distressed. 
 The sick, infirm and strong, the 3'Oung and old. 
 Are pitilessly giv'n to Winter's cold. 
 Alas ! four hundred thousand people see — 
 Can man on man inflict such misery ! — 
 Their homes enwrapt in hate-enkindled flames. 
 The fearful tale the cruel savage shames. 
 Manheim and Heidelberg, and Worms and Spires, 
 Hamlets and towns unite their baleful fires. 
 The funeral pyres of a country's hopes and weal. 
 The burning timbers fall with crash and peal ; 
 The rising clouds of smoke, diff'used by breath 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 95 
 
 Of winds, hang o'er the land like pall of death, 
 
 Which hides, by day, the weeping sun from sight; 
 
 And all-consuming flames illume the night 
 
 With horrid glare. And from the earth arise, 
 
 Unceasingly, the prayers and wails and cries 
 
 Of suffering, heart-broken fugitives; 
 
 But no relief the icy winter gives. 
 
 Loud ring o'er all th'. infuriated yells 
 
 Of demons reveling in horror's spells. 
 
 The rolling river, plaining, whirls and groans 
 
 In pity over towns' dismembered stones ; 
 
 The roaring blasts of frozen winter shriek 
 
 With horror at the sacrilegious freak 
 
 Of jeering, drunken soldiery, who hurl 
 
 The dust of emperors into their whirl, 
 
 Un tombed from where for centuries they lay 
 
 In honored consecration. Night and day 
 
 Are stained by brutal actions. Far and near 
 
 Destruction ceases not. With shout and jeer 
 
 The maddened hordes add to their cumbering spoil 
 
 The products of the humble peasant's toil. 
 
 The cot and palace share a common fate. 
 
 The vine-clad hills, to satisfy their hate, 
 
 Are stripped of their now leafless ornaments. 
 
96 HIE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 No longer shall their fruits yield rich contents 
 Of sparkling juices. Nothing good is spared, 
 And all the land is dark and drear and bared. 
 
 The seer bewailed no scene more desolate, 
 
 Lamenting sadly o'er his country's fate 
 
 And bitter ruin. God's hand smote the might 
 
 Of Egypt to effect his chosen's flight, 
 
 But now his terrors in their power descend 
 
 Upon his children, who had sought a friend. 
 
 No promised land, attractive goal, revealed, 
 
 Oheers them across the storm-swept field ; 
 
 No hand, apparently, directs their flight, 
 
 No pillared cloud by day, nor fire by night. 
 
 No miracle assuages winter's blasts. 
 
 And plenteous manna to the wanderers casts. 
 
 O, whither in their sorrow shall they turn ? 
 
 Their wearied, fainting hearts within them burn. 
 
 How can they turn away from Father-land? 
 
 What hand will guide them to a stranger strand? 
 
 The winds of winter in their ravings wild 
 
 Are laden with the wails of freezing child 
 
 And starving mother. Sad, sad sight they form, 
 
 Proceeding 'mid the fury of the storm. 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 97 
 
 When Night o'erhangs her starry canopy, 
 
 En wrapt in snows of virgin purity, 
 
 They huddled lie upon the frozen earth. [dearth 
 
 And hushed are wails and prayers and groans, from 
 
 Of power to give them utterance. 
 
 In love kind Holland opened wdde her doors, 
 
 Dividing without stint her frugal stores 
 
 With tears of sympathy. 0, Charity, 
 
 Thou fairest sister of the heavenly three ! 
 
 Thou art warm sunlight that dispels the gloom 
 
 Of weary hearts ; alleviates the doom 
 
 Of lonely captives ; eases soft the bed 
 
 Of dying mortals. Thou strewest o'er the dead 
 
 Sweet-scented flowers. Thou art a silent voice 
 
 That bids the mournful, bruised heart rejoice; 
 
 Sw^et spirit that o'erlooks the faults of men 
 
 And sees but Eden's graces bloom again ; 
 
 The highest attribute of God above. 
 
 Celestial beings carol, God is love, 
 
 In pleasing symphonies. 'Tw^as Justice stern 
 
 Imposed the curse, but Thou hast brought return 
 
 Of Heaven's sweet communion ; oped the gates 
 
 Anew to lasting joys, where shining w^aits 
 
98 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Man's crown of glory. Thou 'twas, Charity, 
 That caused the deaf to hear, the hlind to see. 
 That bade the entombed dead to life arise, 
 And drew the tear-drops from our Saviour's eyes. 
 When reigning only sovereign of the heart, 
 Ideas widen and mean thoughts depart; 
 A mint, exhaustless as the widow's cruse, 
 The store increasing as the gifts diffuse, 
 Takes place of want ; content and joy abide. 
 Like summer's smile or like a happy bride. 
 To make life gladsome. Holland, thanks to thee 
 I offer. Once the mighty mistress of the sea. 
 The home of Yv^ealth and Science and of Art, 
 Thou, too, hast learned earth's glory can depart. 
 But though, indeed, unfortunate. 
 The noble attributes that elevate 
 Thou hast not lost ; religious piety. 
 The love that binds mankind in unity, 
 And man to God in harmony complete. 
 That brings to man his highest end, replete 
 With untold bliss; true manhood, frugal thrift, 
 And true benevolence, God's greatest gift 
 To man redeemed ; all these are thine, 
 land, contented with thy lot benign. 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 99 
 
 It was not from an o'erabundant store 
 
 Thou did'st supply their wants when stricken sore, 
 
 And gavest refuge to the exiled host; 
 
 It was thy tender heart, o'erflowing most 
 
 With human kindness and benevolence, 
 
 That did all this without a recompense. 
 
 Thou art resplendent with thy glories, bright 
 
 As e'er aurora in the northern night; 
 
 But not the least among thy deeds will shine, 
 
 When luminated by the light divine, 
 
 This, thy disinterested charity. 
 
 0, can we now, or e'er, return to thee 
 
 Sufficient thanks ! It is not yet forgot. 
 
 Enjoying now in peace a happier lot. 
 
 In gratitude their children yet shall rise 
 
 And bless thee for thy noble sacrifice ! 
 
 Amid the lowlands of the Rhine they rest, 
 Where fertile fields, in richest verdure dressed. 
 Delight the eye. 'Mid cheering scenes of peace. 
 The frightful visions of dark horror cease, 
 Again their hearts with gentle pulses beat. 
 And slowly frighted eyes dismiss the heat 
 And start of terror and regain the soft 
 
100 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 And gentle glow of peace. They look aloft 
 And bless their God for goodness such as this. 
 Ofttimes they weep for Father-land, and kiss 
 Mementos they've retained, and thither turn 
 As if to view the land for which they yearn. 
 Their children play around the stranger's door, 
 And wail from pain and cry for bread no more. 
 New hopes arise when trust and hope seemed gone, 
 They seek a refuge and a lasting one. 
 And thou, most gracious Queen, superb in reign, 
 The power supreme o'er England's vast domain, 
 Not in thy stately court's magnificence 
 Did'st thou forget deeds of beneficence ! 
 To thee I bring my tributary praise, 
 Such as the humble poet sings in lays, 
 Unknown and simple. Anne, gentlest queen, 
 What greater can I sing, than that 'mid sheen 
 Of earthly splendor thou did'st e'er remain 
 True woman ; and what glory to attain 
 Surpasses this? Thy lovely deeds shall shine 
 Upon the crown imposed by hands divine. 
 Within our Father's royal heritage, 
 More brilliant than upon this earthly stage, 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 101 
 
 The jewels of thy crown corruptible. 
 
 Thy love won thee a love reciprocal. 
 
 By thee invited, came from Holland's shores 
 
 Our fathers — far too many for the stores 
 
 Of rich and bounteous Britain. Great, indeed. 
 
 Must then have been their misery and need 
 
 When camped near London — ragged multitude, 
 
 To rouse within the forest monarch rude 
 
 The feelings of compassion. Man is man, 
 
 O'er all the world, made on the self-same plan ; 
 
 The plan, by time and circumstance obscured, 
 
 Still bears resembling marks, through time endured. 
 
 Without control, love, pity, envy, hate, 
 
 Within th' untutored savage dissipate, 
 
 Within the. nations duly ethicized. 
 
 They fabricate a glorious end devised. 
 
 All speak a common origin, and all 
 
 Respond, unequal, to the self-same call. 
 
 The cultured Louis' lust and pride and hate 
 
 Laid all their happy country desolate ; 
 
 The dusky Indian-monarch's pity gave 
 
 A promised land beyond the western wave. 
 
 Thanks to Queen Anne's bounty opportune. 
 
 Full many could accept the proffered boon, 
 
102 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Glad, glad to seek beyond the ocean's foam, 
 Elsewhere denied, a country and a home. 
 
 Month after month tossed on th' Atlantic's breast, 
 Full many a weary exile found his rest. 
 At last, far down below the troubled waves 
 They sleep in peace in ocean's unknown caves. 
 And wait until the resurrection morn 
 Calls them to life, with Gabriel's wakening horn. . 
 Then will they rise with joy to their reward. 
 They find more fitting rest than 'neath the sward, 
 The waves are emblems of their troubled lot. 
 Their rest below, of rest that endeth not. 
 
 Arrived, the weary pilgrims find, 
 
 Alas ! no welcome greeting, warm and kind, 
 
 No sympathy for all their loss and wrong. 
 
 For they are children of a foreign tongue. 
 
 Eepelled by all who should have been their friends, 
 
 Despair with hope within their breasts contends. 
 
 Heart-worn they kneel upon that stranger sliore. 
 
 And shed more bitter tears than e'er before. 
 
 Their cup of tribulation overflows. 
 
 And disappointment deepens all their woes. 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 103 
 
 0, who could wish to tell the cruel tale? 
 
 The heart would faint, the ruddy cheek grow pale. 
 
 And is the creature man, whom God called good, 
 
 Degraded thus ! lacks he all gratitude ! 
 
 Repelled and driven to the forests wild, 
 
 Their ahject poverty and tears reviled; 
 
 Schoharie's forest children proved more kind, 
 
 More faithful to the bonds that bind 
 
 Mankind in sympathy, they opened wide 
 
 Their hearts, and refuge by their kin denied 
 
 Was freely given. The exiles they received, 
 
 And wants, from their own scanty store, relieved. 
 
 They taught the starving wand'rers seek for food 
 
 Amid the fields' and forests' plenitude. 
 
 The strangers battled well with want and woe, 
 
 And soon their settlements began to grow. 
 
 Amid the forests fruitful gardens smiled, 
 
 And hopes and joys their hearts again beguiled. 
 
 But envy cruelly allowed them not 
 Enjoyment of that lovely, toil-won spot. 
 Again submissive to God's mighty hand, 
 They sought with heavy hearts a better land. 
 The good results of Indian charities 
 
104 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Were sacrificed to heartless avarice. 
 
 Embarked, at last, on rude-constructed rafts, 
 
 The Susquehanna's current slowly wafts 
 
 Them on through lovely regions, which invite 
 
 The toil of husbandmen. The pleasing sight 
 
 Soon dries their weeping eyes. Fair Nature's smiles 
 
 Reveal to them the love of God. The wiles 
 
 And cruelty of men are soon forgot, 
 
 As now the prospect fairer grows. Their lot, 
 
 Their fount of faith and praise, a treasure vast. 
 
 Has not embittered. Far away extend 
 
 Luxuriant forests, rich and flowery meads. 
 
 On which the untamed herd, unnumbered, feeds. 
 
 The quiet air refreshing vigor holds. 
 
 Sweet views of plenteous peace the scene unfolds, 
 
 And wakens tender longings in their hearts. 
 
 The stately deer, astonished, scarcely starts 
 
 At the unwonted sight, as slowly sweeps 
 
 The varied company past where he keeps 
 
 His careful vigils o'er his progeny. 
 
 When sweet Swatara's wooded banks they see, 
 
 Their hearts rejoice. The scene extended wide — 
 
 A paradise, it seems — bids them abide. 
 
 Delighted now they upward bend their course. 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 105 
 
 Scarce hindered by the limpid current's force. 
 
 They gaze enraptured on the lovely scene. 
 
 The earth is clothed in vegetation green, 
 
 More beautiful than ere their eyes beheld. 
 
 And soon by hymns of praise are breezes swelled 
 
 With heartfelt strains. Then, kneeling in the shade 
 
 Of stately trees in gorgeous robes arrayed. 
 
 They poured their hearts in gratitude to God. 
 
 And, ranged in groups upon the moss-grown sod, 
 
 Their minds reverted to the past, and through 
 
 Its varied scenes they pass in sad review : 
 
 Converse about those still in Germany 
 
 And Holland, and of those beneath the sea, 
 
 At rest, and of the future, still concealed, 
 
 And of the paradise to them revealed. 
 
 They take new courage from the beauty spread 
 
 Around them, and the life, and lose their dread 
 
 Of life's vicissitudes. Great Weiser, thou 
 
 Wast there, and though around thy noble brow 
 
 Fame has entwined no wreath of glory bright, 
 
 Yet thou art not the least 'mongst those we write 
 
 As greatest in our country's history! 
 
 In thee true softness blends harmoniously 
 
 With manly courage ; wisdom sweetly meets 
 
106 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Simplicity, and treachery retreats 
 
 Before thy stern integrity. True friend 
 
 Of right, thou wast e'er ready to defend 
 
 The trusting Red Man 'gainst the cunning art 
 
 Of avarice. Thy honor takes its heart 
 
 From Christian virtue. Grateful thanks to thee, 
 
 The Red and White in glad fraternity 
 
 Were joined, the country saved from scenes of blood. 
 
 Brave warrior, faithful friend ! thy mem'ries flood 
 
 The hearts of many with a grateful love. 
 
 The exiles felt the Mighty Eye above 
 
 Had led them there, although unseen, and there 
 
 They made their home. Their kindred, scattered where 
 
 The hand of fate or chance had led, in time 
 
 All gathered here ; and soon their hymns sublime 
 
 Were heard from rolling Delaware to where 
 
 The Alleghanies cleave the liquid air, 
 
 And Poverty and Prejudice in vain 
 
 Against the weary pilgrims long maintain 
 
 A bitter strife. There yet are tasks undone 
 
 And tears unshed ; their refuge must be won. 
 
 The love that could not rob the native lords, 
 
 But purchased with extravagant rewards 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 107 
 
 The sylvan land of Penn, with all its glow, 
 
 Possessed not yet so broad and deep a flow 
 
 That it could overleap the lofty bounds 
 
 Of blinding prejudice, that oft confounds 
 
 The plans of good philanthropists. The lands 
 
 Could not be sold to needy German bands ; 
 
 But frugal thrift and honesty, combined, 
 
 Won all denied by fellow-men unkind. 
 
 Surrounded by that living bulwark strong, 
 
 In calm orations, elegant and long. 
 
 The Quaker could preach peace, and never dread 
 
 The Indian war-whoop in his peaceful bed. 
 
 But yet, poor people, they were ignorant. 
 
 Because not masters — 'twas unlucky, grant — 
 
 Of good old English. Yet, though wise o'ermuch, 
 
 Good English people, you could not speak Dutch ! 
 
 As for petitions in the Latin tongue. 
 
 They were, in sooth, so ver}^ strange and long 
 
 That all your wisdom could not comprehend, 
 
 Such heathenish lore you never could befriend. 
 
 The land was theirs, reserved by Providence, 
 
 And won in spite of scorn and violence. 
 
 An unseen hand, through darkness, toil, and woe, 
 
108 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Had led them where its verdant beauties glow 
 
 A land of promise far more rich and fair 
 
 Than Palestine, enwreathed with balmy air. 
 
 Acknowledging the goodness of the Lord, 
 
 They used their Bibles ag their shield and sword. 
 
 In gratitude they prayed and tilled the soil, 
 
 Proud to be called the sons of honest toil. 
 
 The forests fell before their sturdy stroke. 
 
 And light upon the wildness sweetly broke. 
 
 Forgetting not the lessons they had learned, [yearned; 
 
 They prized the freedom which their hearts had 
 
 No shackles e'er they placed on fellow-men, 
 
 And lovely Tolerance was triumphant then. 
 
 Unharmed, the witches plied their wicked arts, 
 
 Fanaticism ne'er inflamed their hearts. 
 
 Mild Quakers were allowed to speak and sing, 
 
 In freedom, of th' eternal Lord and King ; 
 
 Not robbed of their good implements of speech, 
 
 Because, forsooth, they did not like to preach. 
 
 Prosperity has blessed their faith and toil, 
 
 In peace their sons still occupy the soil. 
 
 Their trials have subdued their fathers' mirth, 
 
 For sorrow gave their spirits newer birth. 
 
 Still noted for their patient industry, 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. 109 
 
 Still faithful to their God and Liberty, 
 
 Columbia has no truer sons in all 
 
 Her wide domain. Obedient to the call, 
 
 They followed Washington, and at his side 
 
 Withstood the fiery battle's rolling tide, 
 
 Enduring cold and hunger in defense 
 
 Of liberty. Throughout that long suspense 
 
 Of Revolutionary strife, they gave 
 
 Their treasure freely, adding counsel grave. 
 
 Monmouth and Trenton saw their glories shine, 
 
 Still glow at Yorktow^n and at Brandywine 
 
 Their deeds of valor. And at Valley Forge 
 
 Their prayers joined those of royal, sainted George. 
 
 The preacher-soldier's fame has oft been sung. 
 
 And long and loud are glowing praises rung 
 
 Of gifted Muhlenberg. 
 
 When war's alarm 
 Again its terrors spread o'er town and farm, 
 And, fiercely menacing the nation's life. 
 Arose the dreadful fratricidal strife. 
 The first to gather round the Stars of Light, 
 And keep our banner's radiant streamings bright, 
 Were sons of fathers from the German Rhine. 
 
110 THE GERMAN EXILES. 
 
 Their willing numbers swelled the growing line. 
 In town and city, mountain, plain, and glen 
 Were heard the heavy tread of marching men. 
 The gray-haired sire and slender, ardent youth 
 Marched in that army strong for Right and Truth. 
 Their bones are bleaching by Potomac's tide, 
 Along bold Lookout's rocky, storm-swept side, 
 In lonely nooks within the Wilderness, 
 And where the Shenandoah's wavelets press; 
 Where Chickamauga saw fierce legions hurled, 
 And thundering Gettysburg convulsed the world ; 
 On the Peninsula, blood-drenched, and where 
 The Kenesaw uplifts its summit bare. 
 'Mid clashing hosts they fought and bled like men, 
 And died like heroes in the prison pen. 
 Forever loyal they increase our mighty 
 Their speech is strange, but yet their hearts are right. 
 
 No land in this wide world with theirs compares ; 
 The blood that flowed through Goethe's veins is theirs; 
 A slow transition to another tongue 
 Entails its incompleteness and its wrong; 
 But fully once accomplished, then, at length, 
 Their German nature will assert its strength, 
 
THE GERMAN EXILES. \\\ 
 
 Its majesty, all glorified by thought 
 
 More free and wider scope than ere this wrought 
 
 Its prodigies. 'Tis destined by God's hand 
 
 To strongly mold the future of our land. 
 
 Both song and painting yet will grandly rise, 
 
 Revealing mysteries to gladdened eyes. 
 
 Philosophy will wider, higher soar 
 
 Than e'er its boldest flights attained before; 
 
 And, guided by a purer, brighter light, 
 
 Dispel the darkness from imperfect sight. 
 
 Now sweetly dawns a greater, fairer day, 
 
 A Nevin and Rothermel have paved the way, 
 
 And Harbaugh — rev'rently I speak the name. 
 
 Pathetic sweetness thy rich music came, 
 
 It taught us all the wealth of German hearts. 
 
 Their rich affections free from shallow arts, 
 
 Their fond attachments formed for hearth and home, 
 
 And glorious hope where angels ever roam. 
 
 The strings are torn, the harp is laid away. 
 
 The moss and ivy cover its decay ; 
 
 But echoes sweetly linger round us still. 
 
 And still its simple strains our heart-strings thrill. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
SPIRIT-CHORDS. 
 
 (From Faust.) 
 
 Vanish, clouds vaulted 
 Darkly above us ! 
 Charmingly glimmer 
 Friendly blue shimmer, 
 Ether divine ! 
 Oh ! that the darkling 
 Clouds were dissolving! 
 Starlets are sparkling, 
 Suns, just evolving, 
 More mildly shine. 
 Heaven's own races* 
 Spiritual graces, 
 Waveringly bending, 
 Now hover o'er us, 
 Yearnings unending 
 Follow before us. 
 Rich garments gleaming, 
 In ribands streaming, 
 Render lands beaming; 
 Cover the bower, 
 Where (both delighted, 
 
116 MISCELLANEOVS FOEMS. 
 
 Thoughtful, undoubting), 
 True love is plighted. 
 Bower on bower ! 
 Trailing vines sprouting ! 
 Grapes in a shower 
 In the press rushing, 
 Yield to its crushing. 
 Wines gush in streamlets 
 Foaming and dashing, 
 Purling and splashing, 
 Through jewels flashing; 
 Highlands forsaking, 
 Hills that confined them, 
 Wider paths taking, 
 They leave behind them 
 For sea's embraces. 
 And the winged races. 
 Drinking rich pleasures 
 From the sun's treasures, 
 Fly where entrancing, 
 With the waves' motion 
 Islands are dancing 
 Bright on the ocean. 
 Jubilant chorus, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. H: 
 
 Their songs peal o'er us ; 
 We see them tripping, 
 Whirling and skipping, 
 As they, a free band, 
 Roam o'er the lea-land. 
 Some are heights scaling 
 Bold in their motion, 
 Others are sailing 
 On the calm ocean ; 
 Some soar untiring, 
 Life all inspiring; 
 All seek the distance 
 Where sweetly glistens 
 Love's beaming star. 
 
 THE COLOR-SERGEANT. 
 
 The war had begun, and the summons went forth, 
 It thrilled ev'ry heart throughout the great North, 
 It sped o'er the plain, through mountain and glen, 
 It harroW'Cd the women, it roused up the men ; 
 " Our flag is torn down and Fort Sumter is lost. 
 Come forth ! all ye heroes, and reck not the cost." 
 
118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Of all the brave boys, then, whose blood mantled high, 
 At thought that the traitors that flag should defy, 
 In all the wide land, not a braver was found, 
 Than the sturdy young blacksmith of Liberty Mound. 
 His mother was old, and his sweetheart was fair, 
 To whom he could leave them was his anxious care. 
 
 The pride of that mother within her was stirred. 
 On hearing the rebel's bold, insolent word. 
 " Go, son ! the Lord bless you !" the good woman cried, 
 " Go, fight for your country ! the Lord will provide. 
 And though my heart bleed, the treasure is given 
 To God and my country, guard it, Heaven !" 
 
 But how could he part from her he held dear. 
 Who was to be his at the end of the year? 
 Would she, like his mother, give him her consent, 
 And bid him God-speed, nor cause h^'m repent 
 The noble resolve which his spirit ga\e birth. 
 To fight for his country, the pride of the earth? 
 
 He went to her cottage, he stepped to her side. 
 He stammered the words his tongue near denied. 
 Like lightning's quick flash in a clear, cloudless sky, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 119 
 
 Her fair face was flushed, and brightened her eye, 
 Then pale as the bosom that throbbed against his. 
 Who ever saw love that was stronger than this? 
 
 Her feelings welled up so she scarcely could speak. 
 And tear-drops like pearls trickled down on her cheek. 
 With one mighty effort herself to compose, 
 Her eyes flashed with light, her form proudly rose. 
 ^'America's sons love their land, all confess, 
 America's daughters love it no less." 
 
 '' Your mother gave up her fond all and her pride. 
 No less can I do, whate'er may betide ; 
 And while you are fighting on fields far away, 
 Eem ember, dear Henry, at home we will pray 
 That God will protect the land we hold dear, 
 And to our brave soldiers let angels be near." 
 
 So tall was his stature, so sturdy his form. 
 Like tree of the forest that laughs at the storm ; 
 So gallant his bearing, so manly his tread, 
 Of all the brave band, he sure must be head, 
 And bear the gay banner, the good and the true. 
 The "Stars and the Stripes," the "Eed, White, and 
 Blue." 
 
120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 In many a fight by him it was borne, 
 
 Its staff became shattered, its folds they were torn. 
 
 In every battle its stars shone on high, 
 
 The joy of the warrior's glistening eye ; 
 
 And never, not once, was there cause to regret 
 
 The deeds of its bearer when foemen were met. 
 
 And oft in his dreams and in thought would he roam, 
 To the dear little cottage and loved ones at home ; 
 And sights of the future would steal o'er his mind, 
 Sweet visions of bliss with those left behind, 
 When war's desolation and turmoil should cease, 
 And swords be exchanged for the pursuits of peace. 
 
 Already in fancy his home he could see. 
 
 Sweet Jennie, the housewife, a child on his knee, 
 
 An elderly matron with joy on her face. 
 
 With knitting and cheer the home-circle grace. 
 
 Alas ! for the soldier, it never came true. 
 
 For he was to die for the '•' Red, White, and Blue." 
 
 The battle was fierce, it continued till night. 
 
 And many a hero fell in the fight. 
 
 The smoke of the fray scarce had rolled from the plain^ 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 121 
 
 When rose the pale moon to look down on the slain. 
 Her beams lit the brow of a brave, wounded youth, 
 And softly they seemed his suff 'rings to soothe. 
 
 One hand clasped a lock of bright, golden hair, 
 The other a star of his flag held in air ; 
 He longingly turned to his home at the North, 
 And smiled as his emblems of love he held forth. 
 "Dear Jennie," he moaned, — "'Mother" — "Father in 
 
 heaven,"- 
 Hissoul took its flight to the home whence twas given. 
 
 CUPID AND THE PARSON. 
 
 One May-day little Cupid tripped 
 
 Into a blooming lily ; 
 Deep in its cup the rascal slipped,- 
 
 The woodland air was chilly, — 
 For he had formed a wicked plan. 
 
 It was not theft or arson, 
 It was to wound a bachelor man, 
 
 The pious village parson. 
 
122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 He listened, winked, and stood upright 
 
 Soon as he heard him coming; 
 Full length he drew, and in its flight 
 
 He sent the arrow humming. 
 As airily it flew as when 
 
 He rent the heart of Pluto; 
 But, ah ! it bounded back again, 
 
 Though seldom wall it do so. 
 
 The sable coat proved sure defense. 
 
 Although the shot was skillful ; 
 And raved and wept wdth rage intense, 
 
 The little urchin wailful. 
 At his chagrin the flowers laughed, 
 
 And then by Styx he swore it. 
 That he, who so withstood his shaft, 
 
 Should wofully deplore it. 
 
 The rogue new pointed ev'ry dart 
 
 With many a grin malicious ; 
 He pierced each village maiden's heart 
 
 With bow-shot strong and vicious. 
 And now the parson loses weight. 
 
 And gray his locks are turning ; 
 He mentions oft the pearly gate, 
 
 And rest from toil and yearning. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 123 
 
 A NIGHT OF PRAYER. 
 
 At glance of setting sun the hill-tops smile, 
 The sea below is turned to liquid gold. 
 
 A man withdraws from human toil and guile, 
 With form and mien of graces never told. 
 
 Towards the distant hills his way he winds, 
 'Long lonely paths, with thoughtful step and slow. 
 
 At length an unfrequented nook he finds, 
 And, turning, gazes on the scene below. 
 
 Some time he stands in silent majesty. 
 
 His clustered locks by parting light are crowned 
 
 With radiant glory, pure and heavenly ; 
 To silence awed all nature is around. 
 
 The evening shadows gather o'er the earth, 
 The starry host is marshaled in the sky; 
 
 The weary boatmen's songs of joyous mirth 
 Peal forth, as home their winged barges fly. 
 
 The city, loaded with its guilt and crime, 
 Soon sinks to rest. The noises of the day 
 
124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Yield to the balm of nature's resting-time, 
 Except where revelry prolongs their stay. 
 
 And soon e'en this is hushed, and stillness reigns, 
 Save when sonie solitary night-bird's song 
 
 The solemn silence breaks with mournful strains, 
 Or Roman guardsman gives his greetings tongue. 
 
 But still he lingers on the mountain side, 
 
 And, ah ! with eyes turned to the depths above. 
 
 While down his cheeks the tear-drops freely glide, 
 Atoning dews distilled by heavenly love. 
 
 More like a god than man the stranger seems, 
 So noble do his face and form appear ; 
 
 And yet the sin-stained city, wrapped in dreams, 
 Affords no other penitential tear. 
 
 Till dawn of day his earnest prayers ascend 
 
 To God above, and nature only feels 
 How terribly the sins of mankind rend 
 
 The heart of Christ, who on her bosom kneels. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 125 
 
 SOLILOQUY ON A LEAF. 
 
 Charmed by a dancing brook's sweet melody, 
 
 I seated me upon a bank to rest. 
 
 A leaf upon its tide tossed ruthlessly, 
 
 Like bark upon a raging sea distressed, 
 
 Came floating past; and, by strange fancy pressed, 
 
 I seized it from the rushing, cruel stream; 
 
 The sparkling drops it fondly still caressed 
 
 I slowly brushed away, as in a dream. 
 
 Its tinted face reflected sunlight's ev'ry beam. 
 
 My soul, in sympathy with solitude. 
 
 Straight 'gan to muse upon the tiny thing : 
 
 " 0, little leaf, by fortune's fickle mood 
 
 Brought here to me, who humbly sing, 
 
 Unknown to fame, strange thoughts you raise to wing. 
 
 Unlike m3'self, and yet how like you are. 
 
 A view reflective of myself you bring. 
 
 Though faint and incomplete, as I afar 
 
 Reflect the life of Him who guides the wandering star. 
 
 " Both share a part in Nature's varied plan, 
 In form symmetric both, and all complete 
 
126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 In organs for our functions formed. As man 
 
 A will to me is given, and reason meet, 
 
 To you denied ; and yet, leaf, you greet 
 
 The light of Heaven with eager, anxious face, 
 
 While I, created for communion sweet 
 
 With my Creator, do myself debase. 
 
 Rejoice in guilt, and spurn Religion's kind embrace. 
 
 " In spring, when tender first we come to light, 
 How lade with joy and promise all appears! 
 Parental care and balmy airs from sight 
 Conceal the coming change and toil that sears. 
 Unspotted, clear, and pure, as summer nears, 
 Unhindered, free, life through our bodies flows; 
 But soon sad mishap, with pernicious blight. 
 The beauty mars, and more offensive grows. 
 As time and growth each new development disclose. 
 
 " When summer comes the early tenderness 
 Is lost in fixed form of life mature. 
 Possessed of firmness more and beauty less, 
 Fierce storm or withering drought we can endure. 
 Less yielding now, and in ourselves secure, 
 All influences we stubbornly withstand. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 127 
 
 Save such as silently, to ban or bless, 
 
 Upon us steal, as when, with sword in hand, 
 
 The sentrv. charmed, enticed is from his trusting band. 
 
 " But when the chilling frosts of autumn come 
 
 Material gross commences to decay ; 
 
 Then Heaven's light through frames of matter dumb 
 
 Appears, increasing with effulgent ray. 
 
 More glorious far departing is than day 
 
 Of our nativity. But is it o'er 
 
 When you from mortal eyes have died away ? 
 
 Ah, no ; component parts like spirits soar, 
 
 Obedient still, and naught is lost to Nature's store. 
 
 " My limbs more wisdom show, in structure fine 
 My body whole, ten thousand times than you ; 
 Such grace, such harmony, such high design! 
 These but the house, the servants /subdue, 
 The 7 inseparable, the spirit true, 
 The /that Nature serves wath all her powders, 
 That reads her mysteries obscure and mine, 
 And, not content, surveys high heaven's towers: 
 This cannot die, 'twill occupy celestial bowers !" 
 
128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 THE PRISONER'S RELEASE. 
 
 In a dark and dreary dungeon 
 
 Lies a captive worn and old. 
 Years have passed since fate consigned him 
 
 To that cell, so damp and cold. 
 
 Years they were of disappointment, 
 Years of terror, pain, and woe; 
 
 Years made up of leaden moments 
 Passing drearily and slow. 
 
 Void were they of joy or solace, 
 Like a dream they passed away; 
 
 Like a dream so dread and horrid 
 They dethroned high reason's sway. 
 
 Clanking chains and jailer's footsteps 
 Mingled with his mournful groans : 
 
 These alone disturb the silence, 
 Unrelieved by love's soft tones. 
 
 But a change comes o'er the captive. 
 Fetters, straw, confining walls 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 129 
 
 Now melt from his fainting vision, 
 Like the night when sunlight falls. 
 
 Brighter, ever brighter gleaming, 
 Through the crevice which for years 
 
 Held his gaze, as by enchantment. 
 Streaming now the light appears. 
 
 See ! he starts to grasp its glory, 
 Arms outstretched and jo3^ous face, 
 
 Bright again the sunken eyeballs, 
 As he reaches to embrace. 
 
 Soon the wasted form sinks slowly, 
 
 Death has set the captive free; 
 And the spirit, unencumbered. 
 
 Lives in immortality. 
 
 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 
 
 (From the German.) 
 
 Long years ago a castle stood lofty and sublime, 
 Far shone it o'er the landscape to where the blue waves climb ; 
 And round it wreathed a garden of flowers sweet and bright, 
 Within flashed limpid fountains in rainbow hues of light. 
 
130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 There sat a monarch, haughty through lauds and triumphs 
 So pale and darkly frowning he sat upon his throne : [grown ; 
 For all his thoughts were terrors, and all his glances rage, 
 The words he spoke were lashes, blood was his written page. 
 
 Once journeyed to this castle a noble minstrel-pair, 
 The one with locks all golden, the other gray of hair : 
 And with his harp, the sire sat on a handsome steed, 
 Beside him strode his comrade, with brisk and youthful speed. 
 
 The sire addressed the stripling — " Now be prepared, my son I 
 Discourse our deepest ballads with fullest tones begun ; 
 And summon all your powers, deep joy and piercing smart. 
 To-day it doth concern us to melt the monarch's heart." 
 
 Within the hall, high-pillared, the minstrels both now stand,. 
 Enthroned, the king is seated, his royal spouse at hand ; 
 The king, in fearful splendor, like northern light of blood. 
 The queen as sweet and gentle as moonlight's silvery flood. 
 
 The chords then struck the sire, he struck them wondrous 
 That rich, and ever richer the sounds swelled on the ear ; [clear, 
 In streams of heavenly clearness the stripling's accents rung,. 
 Like distant spirit-chorus between the old man's song. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 131 
 
 They sing of love and spring-tide, a happy, golden time, 
 Of freedom and of valor, of truth and holy prime; 
 They sing of all things pleasant, that thrill the hearts of men, 
 They sing of all things lofty, that raise men's souls again. 
 
 The circling throng of courtiers forget each jest and frown, 
 The king's defiant warriors before their God bow down ; 
 The queen, dissolved in pleasure, with tender pain oppressed, 
 Casts down before the minstrels the roses from her breast. 
 
 " You have seduced my people, allure you now, my queen !" 
 Cries out the monarch, raging, his body shakes with spleen. 
 He hurls his sword— it pierces the youth's breast with a gleam ; 
 Thence, 'stead of golden ballads, spurts forth a bloody stream. 
 
 The list'ning crowd is scattered, as if before the blast. 
 And in his sire's embraces, the stripling breathes his last. 
 The old man cloaks and binds him erect upon his horse. 
 Then turns he from the castle beside the bloody corse. 
 
 Yet halts the aged minstrel before the court-yard door. 
 His harp then grasps he firmly, such harp we'll ne'er see more. 
 Around a marble pillar its shattered fragments fall, [hall : 
 And then his curse rings dreadful through garden and through 
 
132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " Woe, woe to you, proud castle! may ne'er again your hulls 
 Send notes of song or harp-string back sweetly from their 
 But echo sighs forever, and groans and steps of slaves, [walls, 
 Till o'er your mould and ashes th' avenging spirit raves. 
 
 " Woe, woe to you, sweet gardens ! in lovely light of May, 
 These death-disfigured features I here to you display. 
 That you thereat may wither, and every fountain dry, 
 That you forever after may waste and stony lie. 
 
 " Woe, woe to you, base murderer ! curse of the minstrel name. 
 In vain be all your striving for wreathes of bloody fame. 
 Your name be e'er forgotten, eternal darkness share, 
 And like the groan of dying, be lost in empty air." 
 
 The minstrel has invoked it, the heavens sealed the vow, 
 And low the walls are lying, the halls are ruins now, 
 One lone and broken pillar, their vanished splendor tells. 
 And that may fall ere morning the shades of night dispels. 
 
 Instead of fragrant gardens, there now^ is heather-land, [sand ; 
 No tree sends forth its shadows, no fount wells through the 
 No song tells of the monarch, no book of epic verse; — 
 Departed and forgotten ! this is the minstrel's curse. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. l33 
 
 DEATH OF LOUIS XV. 
 
 My theme is death, forbidding death; 
 I speak the words with bated breath : 
 Not such as on the gor^^ field 
 Triumphant bids the w^arrior yield, 
 Whose patriotic spirit scorns 
 The death a grateful country mourns. 
 Who for that country fights and dies, 
 A noble, willing sacrifice. 
 Nor such as ends a life well done, 
 A race with circumspection run ; 
 A breath that wafts the spirit o'er, 
 Rejoicing, to th' eternal shore; 
 As when believer lays his head 
 With quiet faith on dying bed. 
 And loved ones gather at his side 
 To watch the ebbing, failing tide. 
 To ease the pilgrim's dying pain. 
 His parting spirit to sustain. 
 I fain would dwell on scenes like this, 
 The flowing tear, the parting kiss ; 
 Though sad, yet such a bliss is there 
 As only angels can declare. 
 
134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A theme more dark by far is mine, . 
 Who, shudd'ring, pen each horrid line. 
 I sing of death, grim, liorrid death. 
 Dark angel's blasting, withering breath: 
 A death without one shining ray 
 To light the traveler on his way. 
 
 'Tis midnight, and deep darkness veils 
 The Eden beauties of Versailles ; 
 A woman she her beauties rare 
 Hides from the common, vulgar stare, 
 And veils her face from painful scene. 
 The death of lord once great, now mean. 
 To all impressive silence lent. 
 Such as precedes some great event, 
 When men, in spite of effort strong, 
 To feelings pent cannot give tongue. 
 In fair Trianon's gilded hall. 
 Luxurious, rich with pictured wall, 
 Upon a couch of eider-down 
 Lies he whose. head just wore a crown 
 Aghast, I look — 0, can it be ! 
 Poor semblance of humanity, 
 The mighty king is brought thus low? 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 135 
 
 None lower in the land I trow. 
 Is this the monarch, mighty, great, 
 Who yields to none in high estate? 
 Licentious slave of Pom])adour, 
 Du Barry's willing paramour? 
 Is't he who led the merry court 
 In lively jest and sensuous sport? 
 But yesterday, with power arrayed, 
 A thousand courtiers homage paid, 
 And all the land of sunny France 
 Was subject to his royal glance, 
 And beauty fawned with fond delight, 
 And captive led the monarch's might, 
 His seeming slave, his toy and pride. 
 Embarked on fortune's smiling tide ; 
 But, ah ! at last has fortune changed. 
 And all the scenes are rearranged. 
 Scarce as a man can he be known 
 Who meets his fate all, all alone. 
 All swollen and disfigured, he 
 Resembles scarce humanit^^ 
 0, where is now the courtly throng? 
 The rich-gemmed beauties tarry long. 
 They cannot spare one moment now 
 
136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 To wipe the death-damp from his brow. 
 To soothe him in his agony, 
 And watch till body, soul are free. 
 Not one kind friend he now can claim, 
 No one who dreads his royal name ; 
 Nor child nor kindred gather near 
 To ease his awful, chilling fear. 
 No priest to shrive his soul is there. 
 No nun to aid with kindly prayer ; 
 In neighboring room two beldams wait,- 
 A poor exchange for beauty's state. 
 The dreaded foe who claims his life, 
 He meets ill-armored for the strife. 
 How frightful 'tis to meet him where 
 Remorse alone can e'er repair 
 To him who reared this grand abode, 
 And with licentious love bestowed 
 On her, the flashing, favored fair, 
 Who dazzled him with charms so rare. 
 One taper in the casement burns. 
 To it the sufferer often turns, 
 Nor dreams he of the part it plays 
 On this, the closing of his days. 
 Soon fails the dying monarch's breath : 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 137. 
 
 So slowly fails, it scarce seems death. 
 A bell near by the hour now tells, 
 Its solemn tones the night air swells. 
 The half-closed eyes affrighted roll, 
 And speak the terrors of the soul ; 
 But soon 'tis o'er, the pathway trod, 
 And Louis stands before his God. 
 The taper's flame has sunk so low 
 The room scarce feels its fainting glow ; 
 The slightest breath soon puts it out, 
 The signal for tumultuous rout. 
 For hark ! what wakes the silent night. 
 What clattering hoofs in rapid flight? 
 The swift-wheeled carriages convey 
 Their owners their respects to pay 
 To those who now the power will wield 
 O'er brilliant city, pleasant field, 
 O'er all fair France's wide domain. 
 The heirs to an unhappy reign. 
 The night impatience can't repress, 
 Scarce time allowed for fitting dress. 
 They speed away, o'er hill and dale. 
 Ere morning breaks the misty veil : 
 The coronation must be done 
 
138 MISCELLAyEOVS POEMS. 
 
 Before the setting of the sun ; 
 
 The coronation's festal joys 
 
 Shall drown all sounds of mournful noise. 
 
 The dawn of that eventful day 
 Still finds the party on its way. 
 The royal heirs are filled with grief: 
 The merry troop soon give relief 
 The sun no sooner drinks the dew 
 Than signs of mourning pass from view ; 
 Than joyous laughter drinks the tears 
 So sad repaid in after years. 
 
 BRIDGE OF LODI. 
 
 The splendor of the setting sun 
 
 Shines on a rare display ; 
 
 The pride of France, all marshaled stands 
 
 In battle's stern array ; 
 
 Beyond the Adda's rolling stream, 
 
 The Austrian's burnished weapons gleam. 
 
 Full thirty Austrian cannon frown 
 On Lodi's narrow bridge, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS FOEMS 139 
 
 And Austrian soldiers occupy 
 Each advantageous ridge. 
 'Twere death to face their iron hail, 
 To try the bridge were but to fail. 
 
 And many a brave commander's heart 
 
 Is filled with gloomy doubt, 
 
 And many a well-tried hero fears 
 
 A wild and bloody rout. 
 
 The belching cannon cease their roar, 
 
 And silence reigns on Adda's shore. 
 
 The leader's voice rings loud and clear . 
 
 " To Rome, there lies the way 
 
 To Italy's possessions fair. 
 
 We cross, cost what it may -! 
 
 The Adda's tributary flow 
 
 Shall not stop the heroes of the Po." 
 
 The brave Beaumpnt, in gallant style 
 
 Has crossed the dashing tide. 
 
 And waits in solid columns formed 
 
 Upon the other side. 
 
 A cheer now rends the flaming sky, 
 
 And brightly gleams each warrior's eye. 
 
140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The bugles sound in ringing notes 
 
 The signal for the fray, 
 
 The banners wave, and eagles flash 
 
 In the parting light of day. 
 
 One ringing cheer and on they go, 
 
 One " Vive la France," death to the foe ! 
 
 With rapid march and steady rank, 
 
 They forward quick advance ; 
 
 No thought now thrills the soldier's heart, 
 
 But glory and fair France. 
 
 They reach the bridge, they charge right o^er 
 
 Upon the guns on the other shore. 
 
 One fierce discharge, and battle-smoke 
 
 En wreathes the charging brave ; 
 
 Their life-blood tinges deep 
 
 The river's frighted wave. 
 
 The cannon thunders roar and flash. 
 
 And through the ranks their death-bolts crash. 
 
 They halt! they waver! back recoil 
 
 With broken, shattered ranks ; 
 
 That iron storm has swept them back 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 141 
 
 From Adda's corpse-strewn banks ; 
 
 But eagles still gleam through the smoke, 
 
 And still resounds the battle-stroke. 
 
 Napoleon rushes to the front, 
 Then Lanne and brave Dupas, 
 Cervoni follows, and Dallemagne, 
 Berthier and Massena ; 
 Again they charge with hearty shout, 
 To victory turn the. threatened rout. 
 
 Beyond the bridge, through murderous fire, 
 
 The tri-color now appears, 
 
 And Austrian death-groans mingle with 
 
 The Frenchman's victor cheers. 
 
 The battle's o'er, the victory won, 
 
 All honor to Napoleon. 
 
 THE MAIDEN AND HER LOVER. 
 
 A MAIDEN fair and her lover stood 
 
 Where orioles gayly fluttered ; 
 Long, long they stood in the bright greenwood, 
 
 And rare were the words they uttered. 
 
142 MTSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 They whispered softly of liope and love, 
 She shunned not his warm caresses, 
 
 And flowers as blue as the skies above 
 He bound in her flowing tresses. 
 
 But duskier maids deck the lover's grave, 
 Where surging seas chant forever. 
 
 In a far-ofl" land which he died to save, 
 His true love will greet him never. 
 
 She oft resorts to the woodland where 
 Their troth was forever plighted, 
 
 And sad and sweet do the dreams come there, 
 But aye, her young life is blighted. 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT cloud from Heaven descended, 
 And we could not pierce its dreary gloom; 
 
 And all our hopes and joys seemed ended. 
 Sorrow gave no consolation room. 
 
 Death summoned forth our loved and dearest, 
 Death, the angel dreaded most of men. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 148 
 
 " When night's darkest, Heaven's nearest" 
 Could afford to us no comfort then. 
 
 But her clear vision— sight inspiring !— 
 Saw the radiance of the heavenly land, 
 
 And straight her spirit caught the quiring 
 Of the angels waiting on the strand. 
 
 And echoing that music's sweetness, 
 
 Clear " I would not live alway " on earth 
 
 Revealed the raptured soul's completeness, 
 " Nearer God" proclaimed its heavenly birth. 
 
 Her soul's departure, oh how glorious ! 
 
 Entering with song her Father's home. 
 A faithful life, a death victorious. 
 
 Freedom heaven's golden plains to roam ! 
 
 She left us just when life adorning, 
 But earth's fairest flowers soonest fade ; 
 
 We'll patient wait until the morning. 
 Till we meet in heavenly robes arrayed. 
 
 Sweet hope from her transition gleaning, 
 
 " I, the resurrection and the life" 
 Conveys to us a fuller meaning. 
 
 Guides us through life's sorrows, toil, and strife. 
 
144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE POET EVER RESTLESS. 
 
 The Poet wandered o'er the earth 
 
 Far from his native land, 
 
 He traversed northern fields of dearth, 
 
 The sunny clime of Spring-time's birth, 
 
 And dreary wastes of sand. 
 
 He sought both hall and peasant's cot, 
 
 The city's life and lonely spot. 
 
 Where men throng most, where they're forgot, 
 
 But rest his soul found not. 
 
 His heart was light, and spirit gay, 
 
 As lover's is when buds the May, 
 
 'Mid Beauty's throngs, at Beauty's glance ; 
 
 And warm his young blood throbbed and gushed, 
 
 Where solemn notes of life are hushed. 
 
 In whirling mazes of the dance. 
 
 He tipped the glass 
 
 With merry mates. 
 
 What time the nights are never long, 
 
 But swiftly pass. 
 
 And from her gates 
 
 The morning breaks, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 145 
 
 The noise of day-time briskly wakes, 
 
 And hushes jest and song. 
 
 He tipped the glass and blithely sang, 
 
 Till hall and bower with echoes rang. 
 
 And lovely maidens sought his side, 
 
 But none sought he to be his bride. 
 
 With lovely maids he time beguiled, 
 
 For he was fancy's heedless child, 
 
 Untamed and wild. 
 
 Bright flowers he plucked and scattered free, 
 
 But no repose of soul had he. 
 
 His heart was awed, and slowed his tread. 
 In pillared halls where slept the dead. 
 Who gave the power and light to ages; 
 And wierdly sweet the deep notes welled 
 From well-tuned chords within that swelled 
 To touches of the solemn spell 
 That fills the spot where silent dwell 
 The earth's departed kings and sages. 
 
 He heard the eloquence of men 
 Upon whose lips dependent hung, 
 E'en far beyond all mortal ken. 
 
140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The fate of nations and man's destiny. 
 
 In him their words found sympathy, 
 
 And long he clung 
 
 To each awakened thought and feeling. 
 
 Each hour 
 
 His soul imbibed ambition's pride, 
 
 Begot of man's great power; 
 
 And through his life came stealing, 
 
 Like tide on tide, 
 
 Deep-swollen and wide, 
 
 A rich and richer strain 
 
 Of love for human kind. 
 
 Great truths grew plain. 
 
 In glad refrain. 
 
 To brilliant flashes of the mind, 
 
 His heart vibrated, 
 
 His mind dilated. 
 
 In tuneful harmony. 
 
 On battle-fields which shook the world. 
 Where legions unto death were hurled, 
 His soul took fire. 
 
 With eager hand he struck the lyre. 
 Now fierce and wild its accents rung. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 147 
 
 And sounds of weapons into music sprung, 
 
 And shouts of warriors made heroic song ; 
 
 Now sad and low, 
 
 When some great leader fell 
 
 Beneath the blow 
 
 Of foeman fighting well ; 
 
 Then loud and clear, 
 
 When far and near, 
 
 The notes of triumph filled the air, 
 
 The victor's shout and trumpet's blare ; 
 
 Then sad and plaintive grew the strain 
 
 When ceased the din of ringing mail. 
 
 And wildly rang across the plain 
 
 The widow's agonizing wail, 
 
 And pierced the poet's heart 
 
 With grief and smart. 
 
 He lingered 'mongst the antique works of art 
 Till of their life he formed a living part; 
 In broken temples of the olden time. 
 Fair stone-wrought poems still sublime, 
 And meditated free from care 
 Until he knelt and worshiped there. 
 He breathed the mystic exhalations, 
 
148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 'Mid broken shafts and architraves, 
 
 Memorial stones of haunted graves 
 
 Of long, long buried nations ; 
 
 And soft he sang elegiac verse, 
 
 Slow-paced as moves the funeral hearse, 
 
 Mnjestic and as solemn 
 
 As follows the martial column 
 
 The corpse of him who led to glory 
 
 On fields death-swept and gory. 
 
 He silent stood, with awe-bowed head, 
 
 Where bards of old 
 
 Sang lays of gold, 
 
 Or where they lie 
 
 'Mongst silent dead 
 
 With songs on lips that never die. 
 
 His heart was a harp of thousand strings, 
 All breezes tuned with flitting wings. 
 At times with noble themes it rung, 
 Now light and gay with gallant's song. 
 Its golden chords were always strung, 
 They trembled ever 
 And rested never. 
 Forever varied notes he felt. 
 And in his soul calm never dwelt. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 149 
 
 At length his heart grew tired 
 
 Of worlds grown old 
 
 In dust and mould 
 
 And hearts grown cold ; 
 
 And keenly he desired 
 
 To seek again the New, 
 
 As fresh as woods with early dew, 
 
 And bright with morning light. 
 
 There life is young 
 
 And thought is new ; 
 
 There hopes grow strong 
 
 And hearts are true. 
 
 And o'er the sea 
 
 Right merrily 
 
 The life-drawn Poet sailed. 
 
 His heart was ga}^ 
 
 His heart was free, 
 
 His ^vorn-old loves soon paled ; 
 
 Glad was his lay 
 
 As sailed away 
 
 The good ship o'er the sea, 
 
 For blithe as lark was he. 
 
 With pilgrim staff 
 He wandered o'er 
 
150 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The land where freedom dwells, 
 
 Delights to quaff 
 
 Which Spring-time bore 
 
 To meads and dells. 
 
 On South-breeze swells, 
 
 Enchantment flies 
 
 To glad his eyes 
 
 With primitive profusion, 
 
 As rare in its surprise 
 
 As fairy-land's illusion. 
 
 The sultry June, and sensual. 
 Surcharged with life potential. 
 Had lade the drowsy earth with bloom, 
 The dreamy air with rich perfume. 
 The weary poet laid his head, 
 Where graceful elms made grateful shade, 
 A babbling streamlet's fountains played. 
 He laid his head 
 Upon a rocky bed 
 Enwrapped in nature's down. 
 The soft, green moss 
 ^ With silken floss 
 
 And stems all white and brown. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 151 
 
 A vision burst upon his view, 
 
 A picture angel fingers drew, 
 
 Within a lovely vale 
 
 A country-pastor's little farm. 
 
 Safe kept by hills from every gale, 
 
 Sweet nestled there with quiet charm, 
 
 His home, a log-house, two lofts high, 
 
 A mansion erstwhile to some settler's eye. 
 
 'Mid fairest flowers the old house stood. 
 
 And round it grape-vines hung, 
 
 Caressingly they clung, 
 
 With tendrils strong, 
 
 Bound to its time-stained wood. 
 
 As love clings to an aged friend 
 
 When love does never end. 
 
 A pleasant prospect spreads before, 
 
 An Eden from the pastor's door, 
 
 Broad meadows rich in green 
 
 And gold-cups' sheen. 
 
 Rare shady bowers 
 
 And orchards gemmed 
 
 With scented flowers. 
 
 The hills, hedge-hemmed, 
 
 Sunlit and glad, 
 
152 MISCELLANEOUS FOEMS. 
 
 Were brightly clad 
 
 In waving grain. 
 
 And through the plain 
 
 There wound a lordl}' river. 
 
 Each leaflet hung without a quiver 
 
 In June's heat-burdened air. 
 
 The cows stood idly in the stream, 
 
 With burning sun-ball all aglare, 
 
 As slow it moved, too dead to flash and gleam, 
 
 Or in the shade they lolled, 
 
 Few strolled 
 
 To feed upon the mead. 
 
 And crop the bloom of blue and gold. 
 
 Within a vine-clad arbor's shade 
 
 The pastor sat, content in look, 
 
 Attentive to some pious book, 
 
 While near three rosy children played, 
 
 O'er-full of life. 
 
 And near, the happy wife 
 
 Sat sewing with a pleasant smile, 
 
 As oft she turned awhile 
 
 To see her darlings play. 
 
 When rolled their laugh away. 
 
 The peace and rest the Good Book sings 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. \^[ 
 
 Drop down, like balm from angel wings, 
 
 "With wondrous charm 
 
 Upon the pastor's farm, 
 
 His wdiole life is a pastoral poem ; 
 
 And in the Poet's soul 
 
 They softly stole, 
 
 At last, at last, lie learns to know them. 
 
 His heart dictated, 
 
 Warm welcome w^aited. 
 
 And many days the Poet tarried. 
 
 Full oft he wished that he were married. 
 
 Full oft he wished his loves before. 
 
 Which once his fancy flamed 
 
 Then flamed no more, 
 
 Had burned for one forever claimed, 
 
 Had deeper burned 
 
 And ever yearned, 
 
 And made that one his own, 
 
 His warm heart's throne. 
 
 Of home, of home, 
 
 Sang every bee, 
 
 That gathered sweets from blooming tree, 
 
154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 For quick-distending comb. 
 
 The children's laughter, 
 
 From floor to rafter, 
 
 Rang lyric strains of home. 
 
 Of home 
 
 Sang well the ponderous tome 
 
 From art-draped center-stand, 
 
 And every stitch. 
 
 With pull and hitch. 
 
 Made by the matron's hand. 
 
 And chords long stilled 
 
 Awaked and thrilled 
 
 With wondrous melody. 
 
 And hope of rest 
 
 Stole in his breast. 
 
 And sweet serenity. 
 
 Remote from life's turmoil, 
 
 The labors of his charge 
 
 Extended far and large, 
 
 The pastor changed with rustic toil ; 
 
 And he extorted from the soil 
 
 A tribute rich of gain and beauty, 
 
 A lesson live of thrift and duty. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 155 
 
 Or strolled through field and wood, 
 
 To hold communion there alone 
 
 With nature's songs of varied tone, 
 
 And mystic soul of solitude. 
 
 At eventide, 
 
 When long shades glide. 
 
 He loved to gather to his side 
 
 The children of the neighborhood. 
 
 And tell them tales of foreign lands. 
 
 Of heathen in the sunny clime ; 
 
 Of Arab bands 
 
 That roam o'er desert sands ; 
 
 How strangely lingers time 
 
 With skin-clad Esquimaux, 
 
 On fields of ice and snow, 
 
 And how the ribboned light 
 
 Relieves their gloomy night. 
 
 He told them tales instructive 
 
 And tales seductive 
 
 With pleasant wit. 
 
 And precious tales from Holy Writ. 
 
 Each word 
 
 They heard 
 
 With wondering eye, 
 
156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 With laugh and sigh ; 
 
 And every day, 
 
 As pleased as they, 
 
 His wife sat by. 
 
 With silent joy their faces glowed 
 
 As down the road 
 
 The children skipped, 
 
 And laughing tripped. 
 
 In dusk twilight, 
 
 With warm '' Good-night." 
 
 A poem is the pastor's life, 
 A happy song in music rife. 
 And soft and low, 
 With mellow flow. 
 In silver notes 
 Its glory floats. 
 
 He entertained his raptured guest 
 
 With knowledge gleaned, and well expressed, 
 
 From never-failing store 
 
 Of ancient lore, 
 
 From book 
 
 And brook, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 157 
 
 And fresh from field and glen, 
 From lake and fen; 
 And merry passed the days 
 In quiet, rural ways. 
 
 The pastor and his gentle spouse 
 Toiled patiently and hand in hand, 
 Drew sweetness from an unseen land. 
 Poor and afflicted sought their house, 
 Nor left it but with lighter mind, 
 And warmer love for all mankind. 
 The house of poverty and death 
 Had felt their presence like a breath, 
 Life-laden from some sunny strand 
 Where fresh streams wash the golden sand, 
 And Love and Hope fore'er abide 
 In tropic meads and forests wide. 
 Their people loved and blessed the pair. 
 E'en though had many faults appeared. 
 Had every mind and heart been bare. 
 Abounding love had them endeared 
 To every saint and sinner there. 
 The pastor tried in simple way 
 To teach them truth each Sabbath-day, 
 
158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And make each path of duty straight. 
 
 Each Sabbath morning consecrate, 
 
 When rang the clear-toned bell 
 
 Its softened notes o'er hill and dell, 
 
 On every zephyr's gentle swell, 
 
 Its call each household answered well. 
 
 The Pastor's life moved gently on, 
 
 A never-ending song of praise 
 
 As glad as at the Summer's dawn 
 
 Returning feathered songsters raise. 
 
 Subdued it was, but wondrous sweet. 
 
 With love and sunshine all replete. 
 
 As potent as some magic spell 
 
 Its influence on the Poet fell. 
 
 "Ah, well, I see," 
 
 Full oft mused he, 
 
 " Our missions are akin, 
 
 With inspiration from above 
 
 To shed sweet light within. 
 
 To waken truth and hope and love 
 
 Within the hearts of men, 
 
 And bid an Eden bloom again." 
 
 And hope swelled high. 
 
 Unrest would die. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 159 
 
 And peace and rest 
 
 Reign in his breast. 
 
 'Twas all delusion, 
 
 A sweet illusion 
 
 That mellowed life in after time, 
 
 For passions strong, and longing, 
 
 Full soon came thronging, 
 
 A mad song with a wildering rhj^me, 
 
 And brought unrest, unrest, 
 
 And new-born zest 
 
 For life's commotions 
 
 And life's emotions. 
 
 He watched with pride the bird that flew 
 
 From lap of earth to heaven's blue, 
 
 That flitted free from tree and rose. 
 
 For he was weary of repose. 
 
 The passions which he loved to paint 
 
 The pastor ever stilled and curbed 
 
 With precept and with strong restraint. 
 
 Unpleasant jarrings ne'er disturbed 
 
 The unseen world in which he dwelled, 
 
 There harmony each discord quelled. 
 
 An unseen world he taught to man. 
 
 Above the reach of blight or ban, 
 
160 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A Avorld to come, a world of hope, 
 Far, far beyond the vision's scope. 
 The Poet's was more sensuous far, 
 Illumined, too, by Plope's bright star, 
 Where Love and Beauty ever please, 
 And still it was the world that is. 
 
 He turned him from the pastor's home 
 
 Once more far o'er the earth to roam. 
 
 Deep, deep he sighed 
 
 For hopes that died ; 
 
 But peace his heart no longer yearned, 
 
 As on the past his back he turned, 
 
 Led on by hope and passion's strife, 
 
 En rapt with exaltation. 
 
 To broader life 
 
 And new creation. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 161 
 
 ULRIC AND WENDELGARDE. 
 I. 
 
 Dark the gloomy shadows fall 
 Over Linzgau's castle wall ; 
 Ulric to the wars has gone, 
 Wendelgarde sits alone ; 
 Sad the mournful breezes moan 
 Through the towers tall. 
 
 II. 
 Long and bitter is the wail 
 That resounds through hill and dale; 
 ** Home the eagle flies again, 
 And the bear will seek his den ; 
 But bold Ulric's wife and men 
 Him no more will hail. 
 
 III. 
 " Broke is Linzgau's shield at last. 
 Like the oak before the blast 
 Ulric fell, the hero sage, 
 Stricken down by heathen rage, 
 Fell the flower of his age, 
 Linzgau's glory's past." 
 
162 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In Saint Gallen's cloister cell, 
 Nestled in a quiet dell, 
 Wendelgarde will abide 
 Heaven's pure, devoted bride; 
 Lovers shall not seek her side, 
 Ulric loved she well. 
 
 V. 
 
 'Mongst the lowl}^ sisterhood, 
 Wedded to the holy-rood. 
 Pious penance daily paid 
 For the dear, departed shade; 
 She in sacred garb arrayed. 
 Grieves in solitude. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yearly once across the sea 
 Free dispensing charity. 
 Thus commemorating well 
 Ill-starred day when Ulric fell. 
 She returns from cjoister cell 
 To her peasantry. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 163 
 
 VII. 
 Morning breaks upon the deep, 
 Freshened nature wakes from sleep; 
 Crowds are gathered on the shore, 
 From the east she's wafted o'er, 
 Round her golden sunbeams pour, 
 Billows gently leap. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Like an angel from above, 
 Wafted on to deeds of love. 
 Calmly patient shines her face, 
 Radiant with a heavenly grace. 
 Comes with blessings to her race 
 Ulric's wounded dove. 
 
 IX. 
 
 While among her servants all 
 Gifts she gives to great and small; 
 Rudely rushing through the throng, 
 Free his raven locks and long, 
 Streaming over shoulders strong, 
 Comes a stranger tall. 
 
164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 X. 
 
 Brawny arms he thrusts aside, 
 Wendelgarde, terrified, 
 Warmly to his heart is strained, 
 On her face are kisses rained — 
 " Now my treasure is regained, 
 Once my happy bride!" 
 
 XI. 
 
 Thus the stranger cries aloud, 
 Ulric 'tis so tall and proud ; 
 Trembling Wendelgarde, pale 
 As the floweret of the dale. 
 Shows her sacred, vestal veil; 
 Silent is the crowd. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But the holy father said, 
 Bowing rev'rently his head : 
 " Heaven has recalled the slain, 
 Happy now shall he remain ; 
 Mother Church parts not in pain 
 Children whom she wed." 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 165 
 
 XIII. 
 And a shout peals o'er the sea, 
 Eiiiging over Linzgau lea; 
 And the crags the sound prolong 
 Joyous as a May-day song : 
 " God be praised ! from ill and wrong 
 Be they ever free !" 
 
 DER PENNSYLVANIA DEITSCHER. 
 
 wer wollt net en Deitscher sei, 
 En Pennsylvanier meen ich awwer, 
 
 En Deitscher brav, un en Deitscher frei, 
 Doo sei es Schliidtler odder Bawwcr? 
 
 In Schtadt un Land, dorch Berg un Dhal, 
 Ringt aus sei luschtiger "gute Merge;" 
 
 Un heert m'r dess noch, schteht es gut, 
 M'r lacht, un denkt gar net an sorge. 
 
 Sei Land is gut, sei Land is schee, 
 
 Yiel Kricke hot 's, un ah viel Rewwer; 
 
 Der Himmel glar, die Luft is rein, 
 
 Gewiss, doo gebt 's kee schvvache Lewwer. 
 
166 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Sei Vieh is fett, die Sei sin ah, 
 
 Sei Gcil sin schtark un kenne ziege, 
 
 Un gut behandelt sin sie all, 
 
 Sunscht wo sin kenne so zu griege. 
 
 Un Oh die Mild ! wie 's domit schteht ! 
 
 Die ganse Welt hot net ihr gleiche, 
 So dick un g'sund, so kreislich nett, 
 
 Die backe roth bei arme und bei reiche. 
 
 Dann kicht juscht fort ihr englisch Volk, 
 Ihr meecht eier duinme Schpuchte dreiwwe, 
 
 Gebt uns juscht Schpeck un Grant genunk, 
 Dann woUe m'r luschtig Deitsche bleivvvve. 
 
 M'R GACKST BESSER NET BIS ES 01 IS GELEGT. 
 
 Alsemol in der Welt gukt em alles gans glar, 
 Unser Glick schmeist ihr' Sclitrahle ins Lewe uns vor, 
 Un m'r legt grosse Plane mit HofFning bewegt, 
 Doch m'r gackst besser net bis es Oi is gelegt. 
 
 Sehnt en Mann sich zu mache en grosses Schtick Gelt, 
 Un er rechelt sich 's aus als fer ihn wiir 's beschtellt, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 167 
 
 Un gans froh is er nau als wiir 's Hols schun gesegt, 
 Doch er gackst besser net bis es Oi is gelegt. 
 
 En Schtudent sehnt sich schund an der Hed fun der 
 
 Klass, 
 Un er laaft schun dorum mit erbarmlich viel Sass 
 Als wann er het schun der gross Ziel ahgeregt, 
 Doch er gackst besser net bis es Oi is gelegt. 
 
 Hot en junger Mann en schee Miidel im Arm, 
 Un ihr' Vatter is reich, un ihr' Lieb is so warm ; 
 Er fiehlt sich 's schun sei, un mit Schtols is bewegt, 
 Doch er gackst besser net bis es Oi is gelegt. 
 
 Fer gans oft fallt es Oi noch so gross newich's Nescht, 
 Un es werd gans versmascht, un verleicht is es bescht, 
 Un so sagt zu uns eeu'ger der Verschtand in sichtragt, 
 Das m'r gackst besser net bis es Oi is gelegt. 
 
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