BEECHENBROOK; 
 
 lihiimc of the Whv. 
 
 M A HG A RET .1. PKESTdN 
 
 -^ i f t h tf" h « ,s a u rt . 
 
 K A l,T r M<i U K: 
 
 K K L L Y & PIE T 
 
 FRIN'l'KKS AND I'UBLISHKKS. 
 
 1 S 7 . 
 

 ^ 
 
 F.iiterod acoordiiig to Act of Coiigns.s, in tin- jear 1866, 1>.\ 
 
 KELLY & PIET, 
 
 III tlif Clfik's Ottice of the District Court of tlif Uiiiti-.| States for tin- 
 
 District of Maryland. 
 
BEECHENEROOK, 
 
liebWEti0EL 
 
 TO 
 
 EVKKY SOUTHERN WOMAN. 
 
 WHO HAS BEEN 
 I DEDICATE THIS RHYME, 
 
 PUBLISHED DURING THE PROGRESS OF THE STRUGGLE. 
 
 AND NOW RE-PR(IDUCED — AS A 
 OF WHICH THERE CAN BE 
 
 NO FORGETFULNESS. 
 
 M. J. P. 
 

 BEECHENBROOK; 
 
 RHYME OF THE WA E 
 
 I. 
 
 THERE is sorrow at Beechen brook ; — brightly the 
 day 
 Has beamed with the earliest glory of May ; 
 The blue of the sky is as tender a blue 
 As ever the sunshine came shimmering through : 
 The songs of the birds and the hum of the bees, 
 As they merrily dart in and out of the trees, — 
 The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows, 
 It mingles its odors with hawthorn and rose, — 
 The voice of the brook, as it lapses unseen, — 
 The laughter of children at play on the green, — 
 
 (9) 
 
10' BKECIIENBKOOK; 
 
 Insist on ii picture so cheerful^ so fair, 
 
 Who ever would dream tliat a grief could be there? 
 
 The last yellow sunbeam slides down from the wall, 
 The purple of evening is ready to fall; 
 The gladness of daylight is gone, and the gloom 
 Of something like sadness is over the room. 
 Right bravely all day, with a smile on her l)ruw, 
 Has Alice been true to her duty, — but now 
 Her tasks are all ended, — naught inside or out 
 For the thouglitfullest love to be busy about; 
 The knapsack well furnished, the canteen all briglit, 
 The soldier's gray dress and his gauntlets in sight, 
 The blanket tight strapped, and tlie haversack stored, 
 And lying beside them, tlie cap and the sword; 
 No last, little office, — no further commands, — 
 No service to steady the tremulous hands ; 
 All wife-work — the sweet work that busied her so — 
 Is finished: — the dear one is ready to go. 
 
 Not a sob has escaped her all day, — not a moan; 
 But now the tide rushes, — for she is alone. 
 ( )n the fresh, shining knapsack she pillows her head. 
 And weeps as a mourner might weep for the dead. 
 She heeds not the three-year old baby at play, 
 
A KlIYME OF THE WAK. 11 
 
 As donning the cap, on the carpet lie lay ; 
 
 Till she feels on her forehead his fingers' soft tips, 
 
 And on her shut eyelids, the touch of his lips. 
 
 "Mamma is so sorry! — Mamma is so sad! 
 But Archie can make her look up and be glad : 
 I 've been praying to God, as you told me to do, 
 That PajJa may come back when the battle is thro' : — 
 He says, when we pray, that our prayers shall be heard; 
 And Mamma, don't you always know, God keeps his 
 word?" 
 
 Around the young comforter stealtliily 2)ress 
 The arms of his father with sudden caress ; 
 Then fast to his heart — love and duty at strife — 
 He snatches, with fondest emotion, his Aviie. 
 
 "My own love! my precious! — I feel I am strong; 
 
 I exult in the thought of opposing the wrong; 
 
 I could stand where the battle was fiercest, nor feel 
 
 One quiver of nerve at the flash of the steel ; 
 
 I could smile while you wrought for me — mock at 
 
 your fears. 
 But I quail at the sight of these passionate tears : 
 My calmness forsakes me, — my thoughts are a-A\hirl, 
 And the stout-hearted man is as weak as a ffirl. 
 
12 BEECIIEXBIIOOK ; 
 
 " I 've been proud of your fortitude ; never a trace 
 Of yielding, all day, could I read in your face; 
 But a look that was resolute, dauntless and liigli, 
 As ever flashed forth from a patriot's eye. 
 I know how you cling to me, — know that to part 
 Is tearing the tenderest cords of your heart : 
 Through the length and the breadth of our Valley 
 
 to-day, 
 No hand will a costlier sacrifice lay 
 On the altar of Country; and Alice, — sweet wife! 
 I never have worshipped you so in my life ! 
 Poor heart, that has held np so brave in the past, — 
 Poor heart ! must it break with its burden at last ? " 
 
 The arms thrown about him but tighten their hold, 
 
 The cheek that he kisses is ashy and cold, 
 
 And bowed with the grief she so long has sujiprest. 
 
 She weeps herself quiet and calm on his breast. 
 
 At length, in a voice just as steady and clear 
 
 As if it had never been choked by a tear, 
 
 She raises her eyes with a softened control, 
 
 And through them her husl)and looks into her soul. 
 
 " I feel that we each for the other could die ; 
 Your heart to my own makes the instant reply : 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 18 
 
 Buv dear as you are, Love, — my life and my light, — 
 
 I would not consent to your stay, if I might: 
 
 No! — arm for the conflict, and on, with the rest; 
 
 Virginia has need of her bravest and best ! 
 
 My heart — it must bleed, and my cheek Avill be w(!t, 
 
 Yet never, believe me, Avith selfish regret : 
 
 My ardor abates not one jot of its glow, 
 
 Though the tears of the wife and the woman icill flow." 
 
 She pauses a moment : the rose on her breast 
 Is heaved by the sob which the heart has represt ; 
 Love pleads, as a swimmer that 's drowning, for life ; 
 Yet vainly, — the heroine conquers the wife. 
 
 "Our cause is so holy, so just, and so true, — 
 
 Thank God ! I can give a defender like you! 
 
 For home, and for children, — for freedom, — for 
 
 bread, — 
 For the house of our God, — for the graves of our 
 
 dead, — 
 For leave to exist on the soil of our birth, — 
 For everything manhood holds dearest on earth : 
 When these are the things tJiat we flght for — dare I 
 Hold back my best treasure, with plaint or with 
 
 sio-h? 
 
14 BEECilEXBROOK; 
 
 My clicek would blush crimson^ — my spirit be galled, 
 If/(c -wore not there when the muster is called! 
 
 " When we pleaded for peace, every right was denied ; 
 Every pressing petition turned proudly aside ; 
 Now God judge betwixt us ! — God prosper the right! 
 To brave men there nothing remains, but to fight : 
 I grudge you not, Douglass, — die, rather than yield, 
 And, like the old heroes, come home on your shield ! " 
 
 The mornino; is breaking: — the flush of the dawn 
 
 Is warning the soldier, 't is time to be gone ; 
 
 The children around liini expectantly v/ait; 
 
 His horse, all caparisoned, paws at the gate : 
 
 With fax strangely pallid, — no sobbings, no sighs, — 
 
 But only a luminous mi^t in her eyes. 
 
 His wife is subduing the heart-throl)S that swell, 
 
 And calming herself for a quiet farewell. 
 
 There falls a felt silence: — the note of a bird, 
 A tremulous twitter, is all that is heard; 
 The circle has knelt by the holly-bush there, — 
 And listen — there comes the low breathing of prayer. 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 15 
 
 "Fatlicr! Ibid tliiiie arms of pity 
 Rouiul lis, as M'c lowly bow ; 
 Never liavc we kneeled before Thee 
 AVitli .such l)urdencd hearts as now ! 
 
 ''Joy has l)een our coustaut i)ortion, 
 And if ill must now befall, 
 With a filial aequie-seence, 
 
 We Mould thank Thee for it all. 
 
 " In the path of pre.-;cnt duty, 
 
 With Thy hand to lean upon. 
 Questioning not the hidden future. 
 May we walk serenely oji. 
 
 "For this hoh', happy home-love, 
 
 Purest bliss tliat eroNVUs my life, — 
 For these tender, trusting children, — 
 For this fondest, faithful Avife, — 
 
 "Here I pour my full thank.'^giving; 
 And, -when heart is torn from heart, 
 Be our sweetest tryst- word, ' 3Iizpah,^ — > 
 Watch betwixt us while we part ! 
 
16 BEECIIEXBltOOK. 
 
 *'And if never round this altar 
 
 \sc should kneel as licretotbre, — 
 It" these arms in benediction 
 
 Fold my precious ones no more, — 
 
 **Thou, who in her direst anguish, 
 Sooth'dst thy mother's lonely lot, 
 In thy still unehanged compassion, 
 Son of Man ! forsake them not ! " 
 
 The little ones each he has c-uight to his breast, 
 And clasped them, and kissed them with fervent caress ; 
 Then wordless and tearless, with hearts running o'er. 
 They part who have never been parted before : 
 He springs to liis saddle, — the rein is drawn tight, - 
 And Beechenbrook quickly is lost to his sight. 
 
II. 
 
 rpHE feathery foliage has broadened its leaves, 
 
 -*- And June, with its beautiful mornings and eves. 
 
 Its magical atmosphere, breezes and blooms. 
 
 Its woods all delicious witli thousand perfumes, — 
 
 First-born of the Summer, — spoiled pet of the year, — 
 
 June, delicate queen of the seasons, is here ! 
 
 The sadness has passed from the dwelling away. 
 
 And quiet serenity brightens the day : 
 
 ^Vith innocent prattle, her toils to beguile. 
 
 In the midst of her children, the mother must smile. 
 
 With matronly cares, — those relentless demands 
 
 On the strength of her heart and the skill of her 
 
 liands, — 
 I'he hours come tenderly, ceaselessly frauglit. 
 And leave her small space for the broodings of 
 
 thought. 
 
 2" (17) 
 
]8 beechexbrook; 
 
 Thank (lod ! — busy fingers ii solace can find, 
 
 T.) lighten the burden of body or mind: 
 
 And Eden's old curse proves a blessing instead, — 
 
 "In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou toil for tliy 
 
 bread." 
 Tor the hidden assuagements in labor that lurk, 
 Ave, thank Him, unhappy ones, — thank Him for work ! 
 
 Thus Alice engages her thoughts and her powers. 
 And industry kindly lends wings to the hours: 
 Poor, petty employments they sometimes appear. 
 And on her bright needle there plashes a tear, — 
 Half shame and half jjassion ; — what would she not dare 
 Her fervid compatriots' struggles to share ? 
 It irks her, — the weakness of womanhood then, — 
 Yet such are the tears that make heroes of men I 
 
 She feels the hot blood of the nation boat high; 
 
 With rapture she catches the rallying cry : 
 
 From mountain and valley and hamlet they come ! 
 
 On every side echoes the roll of the driun. 
 
 A people as firm, as united, as bold. 
 
 As ever drew blade for the blessings they hold, 
 
 Step sternly and solemnly forth in their might. 
 
 And swear on their altars to die for the right! 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. l9 
 
 The clangor of muskets. — the flashing of steel, — 
 
 The clatter of spurs on the stout-booted heel, — 
 
 The waving of banners, — the resonant tramp 
 
 Of marching battalions, — the fiery stamp 
 
 Of steeds in their war-harness, newly decked out, — 
 
 The blast of the bugle, — the hurry, the shout, — 
 
 The terrible energy, eager and wild, 
 
 That lights up the face of man, woman, and child, — 
 
 That burns on all lips, that arouses all powers ; 
 
 Did ever we dream that such times would be ours? 
 
 One thought is absorbing, with giant control, — 
 With deadliest earnest, the national soul: — 
 'The right of self-government, crown of our pride, — 
 Kight, bought with the sacredest blood, — is denied! 
 Shall we tamely resign Avliat our enemy craves? 
 No! martyrs we may be! — v»'e cannot be slaves!" 
 
 Fair women who naught but indulgence have seen, 
 Who never have learned what denial could mean, — 
 Who deign not to slijjper their own dainty feet, 
 Whose wants swarthy handmaids stand ready to meet, 
 AVhose fingers decline the light kerchief to hem, — 
 What aid in this struggle is hoped for from them ? 
 
20 BEECHEXBROOK ; 
 
 Yet see! how tlicy liaste from their bowers of ease, 
 
 Their dormant capacities fired, — to seize 
 
 Every feminine Aveapon their skill can command, — 
 
 To labor with head, and with heart, and with hand. 
 
 They stitch the rough jacket, they shape the coarse shirt, 
 
 Unheeding though delicate fingers be hurt ; 
 
 They bind the strong haversack, knit the gray glove. 
 
 Xor falter nor pause in their service of love. 
 
 When ever were people subdued, overthroAvn, 
 With women to cheer them on, brave as our own? 
 With maidens and mothers at work on their knees, 
 W^hen ever were soldiers as fearless as these ? 
 
 June's flower-wreathed sceptre is dropped with a sigh, 
 And forth like an empress steps stately July : 
 She sits all unveiled, amidst sunshine and balms. 
 As Zenobia sat in her City of Palms ! 
 
 Not yet has the martial horizon grown dun. 
 
 Not yet has the terrible conflict begun : 
 
 But the tumult of legions, — the rush and the roar, 
 
 Break over our borders, like waves on the shore. 
 
 Along the Potomac, the confident foe 
 
 Stands marshalled for onset, — prepared, at a blow. 
 
A EIIYME OF THE WAIJ ; . 2X 
 
 To vanquish the daring ivljellion, and fling 
 Utter rnin at once on the arrogant thing! 
 
 How sovran the sikniee thtit 1 )[•()( xls o'er the sky, 
 And nsliers the twenty-first inoi-ii oi'.Iuly; — 
 
 — Date, written in fire on liistory's scroll, — 
 
 — Date, drawn in deej) hlood-liiies on many a soul! 
 
 There is quiet at Beechenhrooh : Alice's brow 
 Is wearing a Sabbath trancjuillity now, 
 As softly she reads from the page on her knee,. — 
 " Thou wilt keep him in peace who is stayed upon Thee !" 
 AVlien Sophy bursts breathlessly into the room, — 
 " Oh ! mother ! we hear it, — we hear it ! ... the boom 
 Of the fast and the fierce cannonading! — it shook 
 The ground till it trembled, along by the brook." 
 
 One instant the listener sways in her seat, — 
 The paralyzed heart has forgotten to beat; 
 The next, with the speed and the frenzy of fear, 
 She gains the green hillock, and ])auscs to hear. 
 
 Again and again the reverberant s(^und 
 Is fearfully felt in the tremulous ground ; 
 
22 BEECHEXBROOK ; 
 
 Again and again on their senses it thrills, 
 Like thunderous echoes astray in the hills. 
 
 On tiptoe, — the summer wind lifting his hair, 
 With nostril expanded, and scenting the air 
 Like a mettled young war-horse that tosses his mane. 
 And frettingly champs at the Lit and the rein, — 
 Stands eager, exultant, a twelve-year-old boy, 
 His face all allanu! with a rapturous joy. 
 
 '* That '« music for heroes in battle-array ! 
 
 Oh, mother ! I feel like a Roman to-day ! 
 
 The Romans I read of in Plutarch; — Yes, men 
 
 Thought it noble to die for their liberties then ! 
 
 And I 've wondered if soldiers were ever so bold. 
 
 So gallant and brave, as those heroes of old. 
 
 — There! — listen! — that volley peals out the reply; 
 They prove it is sweet for their country to die : 
 How grand it must be ! what a pride ! what a joy I 
 
 — And / cuu do nothing: I'm only a boy!" 
 
 The fervid hand drops as he ceases to speak. 
 And the eloquent crimson fades out on liis cheek. 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 23 
 
 "Oh, Beverly! — brother! It never Avoukl do! 
 Who comforts mamma, and Avho helps her like you ? 
 She semis to tlie battle her darliugest one, — 
 She could not give both of them — husl)and and son ; 
 If she lose you, what's left her in life to enjoy? 
 — Oh, no! I am glad you are only a boy." 
 And Sophy looks up with her tenderest air, 
 And kisses the fingers that toy with her hair. 
 
 For her, who all silent and motionless stands, 
 And over her heart locks her quivering hands, 
 With blanched lips ajiart, and with eyes that dilate, 
 As if the low thunder were sounding her fate, — 
 AVhat racking suspenses, what agonies stir. 
 What spectres these echoes are rousing for her ! 
 Brave - natured, yet quaking, — high-souled, yet so 
 
 pale,— 
 Is it thus that the wife of a soldier should quail. 
 And, shudder and shrink at the boom of a gun, 
 As only a faint-hearted girl should have done ? 
 Ah ! wait until custom has blunted the keen. 
 Catting edge of that sound, and no woman, I ween, 
 Will hear it with pulses more equal, more free 
 From feminine terrors and weakness, than she. 
 
2-1 BEECIIEXBROOK; 
 
 The sun sinks serenely; a lingering look 
 He flings at the mists that steal over the brook, 
 Like nuns that eome forth in the twilight to pray, 
 Till their bluslies are seen through their mantles of gray. 
 
 The gay-hearted ehihlren, hut lightly opprest, 
 
 Find perfect relief on their pillow of rest : 
 
 For Alice, no kindly forgetfulness comes; — 
 
 The wail of the bugles, — the roll of the drums, — 
 
 The musket's sharp crack, — the artillery's rom-,— 
 
 The flashing of bayonets dripping with gore, — 
 
 The moans of the dying, — the horror, the dread, 
 
 The ghastliness gathering over the dead, — 
 
 Oh! these are the visions of anguish and pain, — 
 
 The phantoms of terror that troop through her brain! 
 
 She pauses again and again on the floor. 
 Which the moonlight has brightened so mockingly o'er ; 
 She wrings her cold hands with a groan of despair ; 
 — " Oh, God! have compassion ! — my darling is there! " 
 
 All placidly, dewily, freshly, the dawn 
 Comes stealing in pulseless tranquillity on : 
 ]More freely she breathes, in its balminess, though 
 'J'hc forehead it kisses is ])allid Avith woe. 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 25 
 
 Through the long suiiKuer sunshine the cottage is 
 
 stirred 
 By jxissers, Avho brokenly fling them a word : 
 Such tidings of slaughter ! "The enemy cowers;" — 
 "He breaks!" — "He is flying!" — "Manassas is 
 
 ours!" 
 
 'T is evening : and Archie, alone on the grass, 
 Sits watching the fire-flies gleam as they pass, 
 AVhen sudden he rushes, too eager to wait, — 
 "Mamma! there's an ambulance stops at the gate!" 
 
 Suspense then is past: he is borpe from the field, — 
 " God help me ! . . . God grant it be not on his 
 
 shield!" 
 And Alice, her passionate soul in her eyes. 
 And hope and fear winging each quicken'd step, flies, — 
 Embraces, with frantical wildness, the form 
 Of her husband, and finds ... it is living and warm ! 
 
 3 
 
III. 
 
 "V7"E, who by the couches of hmguishiug ones, 
 
 Have watched througli the rising and setting of 
 suns, — 
 Who, silent, behind the close curtain, withdrawn. 
 Scarce knoAV that the current of being sweeps on, — 
 To Avhom outer life is unreal, untrue, 
 A world with whose moils ye have nothing to do; 
 Who feel that the day, with its multiform rounds, 
 Is full of discordant, impertinent sounds, — 
 Who speak in low Avhispers, and stealthily tread. 
 As if a faint footfall were something to dread, — 
 Who find all existence — its gladness, its gloom — 
 Enclosed by the walls of that limited room, — 
 Ye only can measure the sleepless unrest 
 That lies like a nightmare on Alice's breast. 
 
 (2G) 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 27 
 
 Days come and days go, and slie watches the strife 
 So evenly balanced, 'twixt death and 'twixt life; 
 Thanks God he still breathes, as each evening takes 
 
 wing. 
 And dares not to think what the morrow may bring. 
 
 In the lone, ghostly midnight, he raves as he lies, 
 With death's ashen pallidness dimming his eyes : 
 He shouts the sharp war-cry, — he rallies his men, — 
 He is on the red field of Manassas again. 
 
 " Now courage, my comrades ! Keep steady ! lie low ! 
 Wait, like the couch'd lion, to spring on your foe : 
 Ye '11 face without flinching the cannon's grim mouth. 
 For ye 're ' Knights of the Horse-Shoe ' — ye 're Sons 
 
 of the South ! 
 There 's Jackson ! — how brave he rides ! coursing at 
 
 will, 
 'Midst the prostrated lines on the crest of the hill ; 
 God keep him ! for what will we do if he falls ? 
 Be ready, good fellows! — be cool when he calls 
 To the charge: Oh! we'll beat them, — we'll turn 
 
 them, — and then 
 AVe '11 ride them down madly 1 — On ! onward ! ray 
 
 men ! " 
 
28 BEECIIEN^BROOK ; 
 
 The fo vcrisli iVonzy o'orwcarics liim soon, 
 And back on liis pillows ho sinks in a swoon. 
 
 And sometimes, when Aliec is wetting his lip, 
 He turns from the draught, and refuses to sip : 
 
 — "'Tis sweet, pretty angel ! — but yonder there lies 
 A famishing comrade, with death in his eyes : 
 
 His need is far greater, . . . Sir Philip, I think, — 
 Or was it Sir Philip? . . . go, go! — let him drink!" 
 
 And oft, with a sort of bewildered amaze. 
 
 On her face he would fasten the wistfullest 2;aze: 
 
 — "You arc kind, but a hospital nurse cannot be 
 Like Alice, — my tenderest Alice, — to me. 
 
 Oh 1 I know there 's at Beechenbrook, many a tear. 
 As she asks all the day, — ' Will he never be here? ' " 
 
 But Xature, kind healer ! brings sov'reignest balm. 
 And strokes the wild pulses with coolness and calm ; 
 The conflict so equal, so stubborn, is past. 
 And life gains the hardly-won battle at last. 
 
 How sweet through the long convalescence to lie. 
 And from the Ioav window, gaze out at the sky, 
 "While thought, floating aimless as summer winds do, 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 29 
 
 Is lost in the depths of ineffable blue: — 
 In painless, delicious half-consciousness brood, — 
 No duties to cumber, no claims to intrude, — 
 Receptive as childhood, from trouble as free, 
 And feel it is bliss enough, simply to be! 
 
 For Alice, — what pencil can picture her joy, — 
 
 So perfect, so thankful, so free from annoy. 
 
 As her lips press the lotus-bound chalice, and drain 
 
 That exquisite blessedness born out of pain ! 
 
 Oh ! not in her maidenhood, blushing and sweet, 
 
 "When Douglass first poured out his love at her feet ; 
 
 And not when a shrinking and beautiful bride, 
 
 With worshipping fondness she clung to his side; 
 
 And not in those holiest moments of life, 
 
 When first she was held to his heart, as his wife; 
 
 And never in motherhood's earliest bliss. 
 
 Had she tasted a happiness rounded like this ! 
 
 And Douglass, safe sheltered from war's rude alarms, 
 Finds Eden's lost precincts again in her arras : 
 He hears afar off, in the distance, the roar 
 And the lash of the billows that break on the shore 
 Of his isle of enchantment, — his haven of rest, — 
 And rapturous languor steals over his breast. 
 
30 beechenbrook; 
 
 He batlies in the sunliglit of Alice's smiles ; 
 
 He wraps himself round %yitli love's magical wiles : 
 
 His sweet iterations pall not on her ear, — 
 
 " I love you — I love you!" — she never can liear 
 
 That cadence too often ; its musical roll 
 
 Wakes ever an echoed reply in her soul. 
 
 — Do visions of trial, of warning, of woe, 
 Loom dark in the future of doubt? Do they know 
 They are hiving, of honeyed remembrance, a store 
 To live on, when summer and snnsliine are o'er? 
 Do they feel that their island of beauty at last 
 Must be rent by the tempest, — be swept by the blast? 
 Do they dream that afar, on the wild, -wintry main. 
 Their love-freighted bark must be driven arain? 
 
 — Bless God for the wisdom that curtains so tight, 
 To-morrow's enjoyments or griefs from our sight! 
 Bless God for the ignorance, darkness, and doubt. 
 That girdle so kindly our future about ! 
 
 The crutches are brought, and the invalid's strength 
 Is able to measure the lawn's gravel'd length ; 
 And under the beeches once more he reclines. 
 And hears the wind plaintively moan through the pines ; 
 
A RHVME OF THE WAR. 31 
 
 His children around liini, Avitli frolic Jind play, 
 Cheat autiimu's mild listlessiicss out of the day ; 
 And Alice, the sunshine all flecking her book. 
 Reads low to the chime of the murmurino; brook. 
 
 But the world's rushing tide washes up to his feet, 
 And leaps the soft barriers that bound his retreat ; 
 The tumult of camps surges out on the breeze, 
 And ever seems mocking his Capuan ease. 
 He dare not be happy, or tranquil, or blest, 
 While his soil by the feet of invaders is prest : 
 What brooks it though still he be pale as a ghost? 
 — If he languish or fail, let him fail at his post. 
 
 T^e gums by the brookside are crimson and brown ; 
 
 The leaves of the ash flicker goldenly down ; 
 
 The roses that trellis the porches, have lost 
 
 Their brightness and bloom at the touch of the frost ; 
 
 The ozier-twined scat by the beeches, no more 
 
 Looks tempting, and cheerful, and sweet, as of yore ; 
 
 The water glides darkly and mournfully on, 
 
 As Alice sits watchin'i: it: — Douo-lass has o;one ! 
 
IV. 
 
 "T AM Aveary and Avorn, — I am hungry and chill, 
 -'- And cuttingly strikes the keen blast o'er the hill ; 
 All day I have ridden through snoAV and through sleet, 
 AVith nothing, — not even a cracker to eat; 
 But now, as I rest by the bivouac fire, 
 Whose blaze leaps up merrily, higher and higher, 
 Impatient as Roland, who neighs to be fed, — 
 For Caleb to bring me my bacon and bread, — 
 I '11 warm my cold heart, that is aching and lone. 
 By thinking of you, love, — my Alice, — my own! 
 
 " I turn a deaf ear to the scream of the wind, 
 I leave the rude camp and the forest behind ; 
 And Beechenbrook, wrapped in its raiment of ^^■hite, 
 Is tauntingly filling my vision to-night. 
 
 (32) 
 

A ItUVMK OF THE WAR. 33 
 
 I catch my sweet 'little ones' innoeeiit mirth, 
 
 I watch your dear thee, as you sit at the hearth; 
 
 And I know, by the tender expression I see, 
 
 I know that my darlin<;' is nuising of" me. 
 
 Does her thounht dim the blaze? — Does it shed 
 
 thi'ough the room 
 A chilly, unseen, ai:d yet palpaljle gloom? 
 Ah ! then W(! are e<pial ! Von share all my pain, 
 And / halve your bU'ssuluess with you again! 
 
 "Don't think that my hardships arc bitter to bear; 
 
 Don't think I repine at the soldier's rough fare; 
 
 If ever a thought so unworthy steals on, 
 
 I look upon Ashby, — and lo ! it is gone! 
 
 Such chivalry, fortitude, spirit and tone, 
 
 Make brighter, and stronger, and jtrouder, my own. 
 
 Oh! Jkverly, boy ! — on his white steed, 1 ween, 
 
 A prineelicr presence has never been seen ; 
 
 And as yonder he lies, from the grouj)s all apart, 
 
 I bow to him loyally, — bow with my heart. 
 
 "What brave, buoyant letters yon write, sweet! — 
 
 they ring 
 Thro' my soul like the blast of a trumiu't, and bring 
 
84 BEECIIEXBROOK. 
 
 Such a llaiuo to niv ovo, siicli a flin?li to my cheek, — 
 
 That often my hand m ill unconsciously seek 
 
 The hilt of my swonl as I read, — and I feci 
 
 As the "warrior does, Avhen he flashes the steel 
 
 In fiery circles, and shouts in his might, 
 
 For the heroes behind him, to follow its light! 
 
 True wife of a soldier I — if doubt or dismay 
 
 Had ever, within me, one instant held sway. 
 
 Your words wield a spell that would bid them be gone, 
 
 I/ike bodiless ghosts at the touch of the dawn. 
 
 ''Could the veriest craven that cowers and quails 
 l^cfore the vast horde that insults and ass;iils 
 Our land and our liberties, — could he to-night 
 Sit here on the ice-girdled log where I write, 
 And look on the hopeful, bright brows of the men, 
 Who have toilal all the day over mountain, thi-oiigh 
 
 glen,— 
 Half clothed and unfed, — would he do.i'); ".' — would 
 
 he dare, 
 lu the face of such proof, yield again to ilrspairV 
 
 ''The hum of their voices comes laden with cheer, 
 As the wind wafts a musical swell to mv oar, — 
 
A KHYMF. OF THE WAlt 35 
 
 Wild, clarion catches, — now fluto-likc and low; 
 — WoulJ you like mc to give you their 'Song of the 
 Snow ' ? 
 
 ''Halt! — the march is over! 
 
 Day is almost done; 
 Loose the cumbrous knapsack, 
 
 Drop the heavy gun : 
 (/Jiilled and wet and weary, 
 
 Wander to and fro, 
 Seeking wood to kindle 
 
 Fires amidst the snow, 
 
 " Round the bright blaze gather, 
 
 l[(fed not sleet nor cold, — 
 Ye arc Spartan soldiers, 
 
 Stout and bi-ave aud bold : 
 Never Xerxian army 
 
 Yet subdued a foe. 
 Who but asked a blaidvct 
 
 On a bed of snow. 
 
 " Shivering, 'midst the darkness, 
 Christian men are found, 
 There devoutly kneeling 
 On the frozen ground, — 
 
36 BKEciiEXBRooK: ; 
 
 Pleading for their country, 
 
 In its hour of woe, — 
 For its soldiers marching 
 
 Shoeless througli the snow. 
 
 " Lost in heavy slumbers, 
 
 Free from toil and strife; 
 Dreaming of their dear ones, — 
 
 Home, and child, and wife; 
 Tentless they are lying, 
 
 While the fires burn low, — 
 Lying in their blankets, 
 
 'Midst December's snow ! " 
 
 "Come, Sophy, my blossom! I've something to say 
 Will chase for a moment your gambols away : 
 To-day as wc climbed the steep mountain-path o'er, 
 I noticed a barefooted lad in my corps ; 
 "How comes it," — Tasked, — "you look careful and 
 
 bold,— 
 How comes it you 're marching, unshod, through the 
 
 cold?" 
 
 "Ah, sir! I'm a poor, lonely orphan, you see; 
 No mother, no friends that arc caring for me; 
 
A RilYME OF THE WAR. 3? 
 
 If I'm wounded, or captured, or killed in the war, 
 'T will matter to nobody, Colonel Dunbar." 
 
 "Now, Sophy! — your needles, dear! — Knit him some 
 
 socks. 
 And send the poor fellow a pair iji my box ; 
 Then he'll know, — and his heart with the thought 
 
 will be filled, — 
 There is one little maiden will care if he's killed. 
 
 " The fire burns dimly, and scattered around, 
 The men lie asleep on the snow-covered ground; 
 But ere in my blanket I wrap me to rest, 
 I hold you, my darling, close — close to my breast: 
 God love you ! God grant you His comforting light ! 
 I kiss you a thousand times over! — Good night!" 
 4 
 
 &^ 
 
V. 
 
 '■ niO-MORROW is Christmas!" — and clapping his 
 
 T 
 
 handi^ 
 
 Little Archie in joyful expectancy stands, 
 
 And watches the shadows, now sliort and now tall, 
 
 That momently dance np and down on the wall. 
 
 Drawn curtains of crimson shut out the cold night, 
 
 And the parlor is pleasant with odors and light; 
 
 The soft lamp suspended, its mellowness throws 
 
 O'er clustered geranium, jasmine and rose ; 
 
 The sleej)ing canary hangs caged 'midst the blooms, 
 
 A Sybarite slumberer steeped in perfumes ; 
 
 For Alice still clings to her birds and her flowers^ 
 
 Sweet tokens of kindlier, happier hours. 
 
 ''To-morrow is Christmas! — but Beverly, — say. 
 Will it do to be glad when Papa is away?" 
 
 (38) 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 39 
 
 And the face that is tricksy and blithe as can be, 
 Tries vainly to temper its shadowless glee. 
 
 " For you, pet, I 'm sure it is right to be glad ; 
 
 'Tis a pitiful thing to see little ones sad; 
 
 But for Sophy and me, who are older, you know,— 
 
 We dare not be glad when we look at the snow ! 
 
 I shrink from this comfort, this light and this heat, 
 
 This plenty to wear, and this plenty to cat. 
 
 When the soldiers who fight for us, — die for us, — lie. 
 
 With nothing around and above, but the sky ; 
 
 When their clothes are so light, and the rations they 
 
 deal. 
 Are only a morsel of bacon and meal : 
 And how can I fold my thick blankets around. 
 When I know that my fjither 's asleep on the ground? 
 I 'm ashamed to be happy, or merry, or free. 
 As if war and its trials were nothing to me : 
 Oh ! I never can know any frolic or fun, — 
 Any real mad romp,?, — till the battles are done!" 
 And the face of the boy, so heroic and fair, 
 Is touched with the singular shadow of care. 
 
 Sophy ceases her warbling, subdues her soft mirth, 
 And draws her* low ottoman up to the hearth. 
 
40 BEECHENBIIOOK ; 
 
 " But, brother, what good woukl it do to refuse 
 Tlie comforts and blessings God gives us, or use 
 Them quite with indiflcrence, as much as to say, 
 We care not liow soon tliey arc taken away ! 
 I am sure I would give ni}' last blanket, and s])rcad 
 jNIy pretty, blue cloak, at night, over my bed, — 
 (Mamma, you know, covers herself with her shawl. 
 Since we've sent all our blankets,) — but, then, it's 
 
 too small ! 
 Would Papa be less hungry or cold, do you tliiidv. 
 If loe had too little to cat or to drink ? 
 So I mean to be busy, ^- 1 mean to be glad ; 
 JNIamma says there 's time enough yet to be sad ; 
 I'll work for the soldiers, — -I'll pray, and I '11 plan. 
 And just be as happy as ever I can ; 
 I've made tlic gray shirt, and I've finished the socks: 
 So come, let us help, — tlicy are packing the box." 
 
 How grateful the task is to Alice! her cares 
 Arc quite put aside, and her countenance wears 
 A look of enjoyment as eager, as bright. 
 As Santa Glaus brings little dreamers to-night; 
 For Douglass, away in his camp, is to share 
 The daintiest cutes that her larder can spare. 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAK. 41 
 
 The turkey, well seasoned and tenderly browned, 
 Is flanked by the sj)iciest a la mode "round"; 
 The great "priestly ham/' in its juiciest pride, 
 Is there, — with the choicest of surloin beside ; 
 Neat bottles, suggestive of ketchups and -wines, 
 Rare condiments tfio, of the raciest kinds ; 
 AVitli firm rolls of butter as yellow as gold. 
 And home-fashioned edibles fair to behold, 
 And sauces that richest of odors betray, — 
 Are marshalled in most appetizing array. 
 Then Beverly brings of his nuts a full store, 
 A-nd Archie has apples, a dozen or more ; 
 While Sophy, with gratified housew'ifery, makes 
 Her present of spicy "Confederate cakes." 
 
 And then in a snug little corner, there lies 
 
 A packet will brighten the orphan-boy's eyes ; 
 
 A privilege, Beverly claims it, to use 
 
 His last cherished hoardings in buying liini shoes. 
 
 Sophy's socks too are there; and she catches afar — 
 
 "There's somebody cares for me. Colonel Dunbar!" 
 
 What subtlest of essences, sov'reign to cheer — 
 What countless, uncatalogued tokens are here ! 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 BEECriEXBROOK. 
 
 What lavender'd memories, tenderly green. 
 Lie hidden, these grosser of viands between ! 
 What food for the heart-life, — unreckoncd, untold - 
 What manna enclosed in its chalice of gold ! 
 What caskets of sweets that Love, only unlocks, — 
 What mysteries Douglass will find in the box! 
 
 ^ 
 
VI. 
 
 rpHE lull of the Winter is over ; and Spring 
 -*- Comes back, as delicious and buoyant a thing, 
 As airy, and fairy, and lightsome, and bland, 
 As if not a sorrow was dark'ning the land ; — 
 So little has Nature of passion or part 
 In the woes and the throes of humanity's heart. 
 
 The wild tide of battle runs red, — dashes high. 
 
 And blots out the splendor of earth and of sky ; 
 
 The blue air is heavy, and sulph'rous, and dun. 
 
 And the breeze on its wings bears the boom of the gun. 
 
 In faster and fiercer and deadlier shocks. 
 
 The thunderous billows are hurled on the rocks; 
 
 And our Valley becomes, amid Spring's softest breath. 
 
 The vallev, alas ! of the shadow of death. 
 
 (43) 
 
44 BEECHENBROOK ; 
 
 The crash of the onset, — the pliiuge and tjie roll, 
 
 Reach down to the depth of each patriot's soul ; 
 
 It quivers — for since it is human, it must; 
 
 But never a tremor of doubt or distrust 
 
 Once blanches the cheek, or is wrung from the mouth, 
 
 Or lurks in the eye cf the sons of the South. 
 
 W^hat need for dismay? Let the live surges roar, 
 
 And leap in their fury, our fastnesses o'er, 
 
 And threaten our beautiful Valley to fill 
 
 With rapine and ruin more terrible still : 
 
 What fear we ? — See Jackson ! his sword in his hand, 
 
 Like the stern rocks around him, immovable stand, — 
 
 The wisdom, the skill, and the strength that he boasts, 
 
 Sought ever from Him who is Leader of Hosts : 
 
 — He speaks in the name of his God : — lo ! the tide, — 
 
 The red sea of battle, is seen to divide ; 
 
 The pathway of victory cleaves the dark flood ; — 
 
 And the foe is o'erwhelmed in a deluge of blood ! 
 
 The spirit of Alice no longer is bowed 
 By the troubles, and tumults, and terrors, that crowd 
 So closely around her: — the willow's lithe form 
 Bends meekly to meet the wild rusli of the storm. 
 
A RHYME OP THE WAR. 45 
 
 Yet pale us Cassandra, unconscious of joy, 
 AVltli visions of Greeks at the gates of her Troy, 
 All (lay slic has waited and watched on the lawn. 
 Till the purple and gold of the sunset are gone ; 
 For the battle draws near her: — few leagues intervene 
 Her home and that Valley of slaughter, between. 
 
 The tidings and rumors come thick and come fast, 
 As riders fly hotly and breathlessly past; 
 They tell of the onslaught, — the headlong attack 
 Of the foe with a quadruple force at his back : 
 Tliey boast how they hurl themselves, — shiver and fall 
 Before their stout rampart, the valiant " Stonewall." 
 
 At length, with the gradual fading of day, — 
 The tokens of battle are floated away : 
 The booming no longer makes sullen the air. 
 And the silence of night seems as holy as prayer. 
 
 Gray shadows still linger the becclies among, 
 And scarce has the earliest matin been sung, 
 Ere Alice, with Beverly pale at her side. 
 Yet firm as his mother, is ready to ride. 
 
46 BEECHEXBROOK; 
 
 Witli sympathy, womanly, tender, divine, — 
 With lint and with bandage, with bread and with wine, — ■ 
 She hastes to tlic battle-field, eager* to bear 
 Relief to the wounded and perishing there : 
 To breathe, like an angel of mercy, the breath 
 Of peace over brows that are fainting in death. 
 
 She dares not to stir with a question, her woe; 
 One word — and the bitter -brimm'd heart would 
 
 o'erflow : 
 But speechless, and moveless, and stony of eye. 
 Scarce conscious of aught in the earth or the sky, 
 In a swoon of' the heart, all her senses liave reeled, — 
 But she prays for endurance, — for here is the field. 
 
 The flight and pursuit, so harassing, so hot. 
 Have drifted all combatants far from the spot: 
 And through the sparse woodlands, and over the plain, 
 Lie. gorily scattered, the wounded and slain. 
 Oh ! the sickness, — the shudder, — the quailing of fear, 
 As it leaps to her lips, — "What if Douglass be here!" 
 
 Yet she frames not a question; her spirit can bear 
 Oh! anything — all things, but hopeless despair: — 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAE. 47 
 
 Docs licr darling lie stretched on the slope of yon hill? 
 Let her doubt — let her hug the suspense, if she will ! 
 
 She watches each ambulance-burden with dread ; 
 She looks in the faces of dying and dead : 
 And hour after hour, with steady control, 
 She bends to her task all the strength of her soul ; 
 She comforts the wounded with pity's sweet care, 
 And the spirit that's passing, she speeds with her 
 prayer. 
 
 She starts as she hears, from her stout-hearted boy, 
 A wild exclamation, half doubt and half joy : — 
 "Oh! Surgeon! — some brandy! he 's fainting ! — Ah! 
 
 now 
 The color comes back to his cheek and his brow : — 
 He breathes again — speaks again — listen! — you are 
 'An orderly' — is it ? — ' of Colonel Dunbar?' 
 ' He fought like ii lion ! ' (I knew it !) and j^assed 
 Untouched through the battle, ' unhurt to the last ? ' 
 — My father is safe, — mother! — safe! — what a joy I 
 And here is Macphcrson — our barefooted boy!" 
 
 Poor Alice! — her grief has been tearless and dumb, 
 But the pressure once lifted, her senses succumb : 
 
48 beechenbrook; 
 
 Too quick the revulsion, — too glad the surprise,— 
 The mists of unconsciousness curtain her eyes : 
 'T is only a moment they suffer eclipse, 
 And words of thanksgiving soon thrill on her lips. 
 
 To Beechenbrook's quiet, Avith tenderest care, 
 They hasten the wounded, wan soldier to bear; 
 And never hung mother more patiently o'er 
 The couch of the child, her own bosom that bore, 
 Than Alice above the lone orphan, who lay 
 Submissively breathing his spirit away. 
 
 He knows that existence is ebbing; his brain 
 
 Is lucid and calm, in the pauses of pain ; 
 
 But his round boyish cheek with no weeping is wet. 
 
 And his smile is not touched with a shade of regret. 
 
 No murmur is uttered — no lingering sigh 
 Escapes him; — so young, — yet so willing to die! 
 His rarment of flesh he has Avorn undefiled, 
 His faith is the beautiful faith of a child : 
 He knows that the Crucified hung on the tree. 
 That the pathway to bliss might be open and free: 
 He believes that the cup has been drained, — he cjh 
 find 
 
A EnY]\lE OF THE WAR. 49 
 
 Not }x. drop of the wnitli tliut liad filled it, — behind. 
 If ever a doubt or misgiving assails, 
 His finger he puts on the print of the nails; 
 If sometimes there springs an emotion of fear, 
 He lays his cold hand on the mark of the spear ! 
 He thinks of his darling, dead mother; — the light 
 Of the Heavenly City falls full on his sight : 
 And under the rows of the palms, by the brim 
 Of the river — he knows she is waiting for him. 
 
 But the present comes back; — and on Alice's car. 
 Fall whispers like these, as she pauses to hear : 
 
 "Only a private; — and who will care 
 
 When I may pass away, — 
 Or how, or why I perish, or where 
 
 I mix Avith the common clay? 
 They will fill my empty jdace again 
 
 AVitli another as bold and brave ; 
 And they'll blot me out ere the Autumn rain 
 
 Has freshened my nameless grave. 
 
 "Only a private; — it matters not 
 That I did my duty well, 
 6 
 
50 BEECIIENBROOK; 
 
 That all through a score of battles I fought, 
 
 And then, like a soldier, fell : 
 The country I died for — never will heed 
 
 My unrequited claim ; 
 And history cannot record the deed, 
 
 For she never has heard my name. 
 
 "Only a private; — and yet I know, 
 
 When I heard the rally ing-call, 
 I was one of the very first to go, 
 
 And . . . I 'm one of the many Avho fall : 
 But, as here I lie, it is SAveet to feel, 
 
 That my honor 's without a stain, — 
 That I only fought for my Country's Avcal, 
 
 And not for glory or gain. 
 
 "Only a private; — yet He who reads 
 
 Through the guises of the heart. 
 Looks not at the splendor of the deeds. 
 
 But the way we do our part ; 
 And when He shall take us by the hand. 
 
 And our small service own. 
 There '11 a glorious band of privates stand 
 
 As victors around the throne ! " 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 51 
 
 The breath of the morning is heavy and chill, 
 And gloomily lower the mists on the hill ; 
 The winds through the beeches are shivering low, 
 With a plaintive and sad miserere of woe : 
 A quiet is over the Cottage, — a dread 
 Clouds the children's sweet faces, — Macpherson is 
 dead ! 
 
yii. 
 
 'rp IS Autumn, — and Nature the forest has hung, 
 -*- "With arras more gorgeous than ever was flung 
 From 'Gobelin looms, — all so varied, so i*are. 
 As never the princeliest palaees were. 
 Soft eurtains of haze the far mountains cnfokl, 
 Whose warp is of purple, whose woof is of gold, 
 And the sky bends as peaeefully, purely above, 
 As if earth breathed an atmosphere only of love. 
 
 But tluek as white asters in Autumn, are found 
 The tents all bestrewing the earpeted ground; 
 The din of a camp, with its stir and its strife, 
 Its motley and strange, nudtitndinous life. 
 Floats upward along the brown slopes, till it fills 
 The echoing hollows afar in the hills. 
 
 (6J) 
 
A IMIYME OF THE WAR. ' oB 
 
 'T is tlio twilight of Sabbiith, — ami swvvt tlirougli 
 
 the air, 
 Swells the blast of the bugle, that siunmoiis to prayer: 
 The signal is answered, and soon in the glen 
 Sits Colonel Dunbar in the midst of his men. 
 
 The Chaplain advances with reverent face, 
 Where lies a felled oak, he has chosen his place; 
 On the stump of an ash-tree, the Bible he lays. 
 And they bow on the grass, as he solemnly prays. 
 
 " Underneath thine open sky. 
 Father, as we bend the knee, 
 May Avc feel thy presence nigh, 
 
 — JSTothino; 'twixt our souls and thee! 
 
 "We are weary, — cares and woes 
 Lay their weight on every breast. 
 And each heart before thee knows. 
 That it sighs for inward rest, 
 
 "Thou canst lift this weight away, 
 
 Thou canst bid these sighings cease; 
 J Thou canst Avalk these waves and say 
 
 To their restless tossings — 'Peace!' 
 
54 BEECHENBROOK; 
 
 "Wc arc tempted; — snares abound, — 
 Sin its treacherous meshes weaves; 
 And temptations strew us round, 
 Thicker tlian the autumn leaves. 
 
 " 'Midst these perils, mark our path, 
 Thou who art ' the life, the wa}' ; ' 
 Rend each fatal wile that hath 
 Power to lead our souls astray. 
 
 " Prince of Peace ! we follow Thee ! 
 Plant thy banner in our sight ; 
 Let thy shadowy legions be 
 
 Guards around our tents to-night." 
 
 Through the aisles of the forest, far-stretching and dim 
 As a cloister'd Cathedral, the notes of a hymn 
 Float tenderly upward, — now soft and now clear, 
 As if twilight had silenced its breathing to hear; 
 Now swelling, a lofty, triumphant refrain, — 
 Now sobbing itself into sadness again. 
 
 The Bible is opened, and- stillness j^rofound 
 Broods over the listeners scattered around; 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 55 
 
 And Avaniiiig, and comfort, and blessing, and balm. 
 Distil from the beautiful words of the Psalm. 
 Then simply and earnestly pleading, — his face 
 Lit up Avith persuasive and eloquent grace, — 
 The Chaplain pours forth, from the warmth of his 
 
 heart. 
 His words of entreaty and truth, ere they part. 
 
 "I see before me valiant men. 
 
 With courage high and true. 
 Who fight as only heroes fight. 
 And die as heroes do. 
 
 "Your serried ranks have never quailed 
 Before the battle-shock, 
 Whose maddest fury beats and breaks 
 Like foam against the rock. 
 
 "Ye've borne the deadly brunt of war, 
 Through storm, and cold, and heat. 
 Yet never have ye turned your backs, 
 Nor fled before defeat. 
 
&6 BEECHEXBUOOK ; 
 
 "Behind you lie yoiu" cliecrful liomes, 
 And all of sweet or fair, — 
 The only remnants earth has left 
 Of Eden-life, are there. 
 
 "Ye know that many a once bright cheek 
 Consuming care, makes wan ; 
 Ye know the old, dear happiness 
 That blest your hearths — is gone. 
 
 "Ye see your comrades smitten down, — 
 The young, the good, the brave, — 
 Ye feel, the turf ye tread to-day, 
 May be to-morroAv's grave. 
 
 "Yet not a murmur meets the ear, 
 Nor discontent has sway. 
 And not a sullen brow is seen 
 Through all the camp to-day. 
 
 "No Greek, in Greece's j^almiest days, 
 His javelin ever threw. 
 Impelled by more heroic zeal, 
 Or nobler aim than you. 
 
A PHYME OF THE WAR. 57 
 
 " No mailed warrior over bore 
 Aloft his shining lance, 
 More proudly tlirou<^h the tales that lire 
 The page of old romance. 
 
 "Oh! soldiers! — Avell ye bear your part; 
 The world awards its praise : 
 Be sure, — this grandest tourney o'er, — 
 'T will crown you with its bays ! 
 
 "But there's sublimcr work than even 
 To free your native sod ; 
 — Ye may be loyal to your land, 
 Yet traitors to your God ! 
 
 " No Moslem heaven fur him who fails, 
 A bribed requital doles ; 
 And while ye save your country, — ye, 
 Alas ! may lose your souls ! 
 
 "No glorious deeds can urge their claim, — 
 
 No merits, entrance win, — 
 The pierced hand of Christ alone 
 Must freely let you in. 
 
58 BEECHENBROOK ; 
 
 "Oh! sirs! — there hirks a fiercer foe 
 
 Than this that treads your soil, 
 Who springs from unseen ambuscades, 
 To drag you as his s]->oil. 
 
 "He drugs the heedless conscience, till, 
 No wary -watch it keeps, 
 And parleys with the treacherous heart, 
 While fast the warder sleeps. 
 
 "He captive leads the wavering Avill 
 
 With specious words, and fair, 
 And enters the beleaguered soul. 
 And rules, a conqueror there, 
 
 "Will ye Avho fling defiance forth. 
 Against a temporal foe, 
 And rather die, than stoop to wear 
 The chains that gall you so, — 
 
 •" Will ye succumb beneath a poAver, 
 That grasps at full control, 
 And binds its helpless victims down 
 In servitude of soul ? 
 
A EHYME OF THE WAR. 
 
 59 
 
 "Nay, — act like jbrave men, as ye are, — 
 
 Nor let the despot, sip, 
 Wrest those immortal rights away, 
 Which Christ has died to win. 
 
 "For Heaven — best home — true fatherland. 
 Bear toil, reproach, and loss. 
 Your highest honor, — holiest name, — 
 The Soldiers of the Cross!" 
 
VIII. 
 
 " IVTY Douglass ! my darling ! — there once was a time, 
 -^ When we to each other confessed the sublime 
 And perfect sufficiency love could bestow 
 On the hearts that have learned its completeness to 
 
 know ; 
 We felt that we two had a well-spring of jo}-, 
 That earthly convulsions could never destroy, — 
 A mossy, sealed fountain, so cool and so bright. 
 It could solace the soul, let it thirst as it might. 
 
 '"Tis easy, while happiness strews in our path 
 The richest and costliest blessin2;s it hath : 
 'Tis easy to say that no sorrow, no pain, 
 Could utterly beggar our spirits again ; 
 'Tis easy to sit in the sunshine, and sjjeak 
 Of the darkness and storm, with a smile on the cheek ! 
 
 (CO) 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 61 
 
 "As lumgiy and cold, and with weariness spent, 
 You droop in your saddle, or crouch in 3'our tent. 
 Can you feel that the love so entire, so true, 
 The love that we dreamed ■ of, — is all things to you? 
 That come what there may, — desolation or loss. 
 The prick of the thorn, or the weight of the cross, — 
 You can bear it, — nor feel you are wholly bereft, 
 While the bosom that beats for you only, is left ? 
 While the birdlings are spared that haye made it so 
 
 blest. 
 Can you look, undismayed, on the Avrcck of the nest ? 
 
 "There's a love that is tenderer, sweeter than this — 
 That is fuller of comfort, and richer in bliss, 
 That never can fail us, Avhatever befall — 
 Unchanging, unwearied, undying, through all : 
 We have need of the support — the staff and the rod; — 
 Beloved ! we '11 lean on the bosom of God ! 
 
 "You guess what I fain would keep hidden: — you 
 
 know. 
 Ere now, that the trail of the insolent foe 
 Leaves ruin behind it, disastrous and dire. 
 And burns through our Valley, a pathway of fire. 
 
62 BEECHENBROOK; 
 
 — Our beautiful home, — as I write it, I weep, — 
 Our beautiful home is a smouldering heap ! 
 And blackened, and blasted, and grim, and forlorn. 
 Its chimneys stand stark in the mists of the morn ! 
 
 ''I stood in my womanly helplessness, weak, — 
 Though I felt a braye color was kindling my cheek, — 
 And I plead by the sacredest things of their lives — 
 By the love that they bore to their children — their 
 
 wives. 
 By the homes left behind them, whose joys they had 
 
 shared, 
 
 « 
 
 By the God that should judge them, — that mine 
 should be spared. 
 
 "As well might I plead with the whirlwind to stay, 
 As it crashingly cuts through the forest its way ! 
 I know that my eye flashed a passionate ire, 
 As they scornfully flung mc their answer of — fire I 
 
 " Why harrow your heart with the grief and the pain ? 
 Why paint you the picture that 's scorching my brain ? 
 Why speak of the night when I stood on the lawn. 
 And watched the last flame die aM^ay in the dawn? 
 'Tis over— -that vision of terror — of woe! 
 Its horrors I would not recall; — let them go! 
 
A KHYME OF THE WAR. 63 
 
 I am calm when I think what I suffered them for ; 
 I grudge not the quota I pay to the war ! 
 
 " But, Douglass ! — deep down in the core of my heart, 
 There 's a throbbing, an aching, that will not depart ; 
 For memory mourns, with a wail of despair. 
 The loss of her treasures, — the subtle, the rare. 
 Precious things over which she delighted to pore. 
 Which nothing — ah! nothing, can ever restore! 
 
 " The rose-covered porch, where I sat as your bride 
 The hearth, where at twilight I leaned at your side; 
 The low-cushioned window-seat, where I would lie. 
 With my head on your knee, and look out on the 
 
 sky; — 
 The chamber all holy with love and with prayer; 
 The motherhood memories clustering there; 
 The vines that your hand has delighted to train. 
 The trees that you planted; — Oh! never again 
 Can love build us up such a bower of bliss ; 
 Oh ! never can home be as hallowed as this ! 
 
 "Thank God! there's a dwelling not buildedwith hands. 
 Whose pearly foundation immovable stands ; 
 There, struggles, alarms and disquietudes cease. 
 And the blissfuUcst balm of the spirit is — jieace! 
 
G-1 BEECIIEXlillOOK. 
 
 Small trial 't will sveni, mIiou our perils arc jjast, 
 And we enter the house of our Father at last, — 
 Light trouble, that here, in the night of our stay 
 The blast swept our wiklerness-lodging away ! 
 
 "The children — dear hearts! — it is touching to see 
 My Beverly's beautiful kindness to me ; 
 So buoyant his mien — so heroic — resigned — 
 The boy has the soul of his father, I find ! 
 
 " Xot a childish complaint or regret have I heard, — 
 Not even from Archie, a petulant Avord : 
 Once only — a tear moistened Sophy's bright check: 
 'Papa has vo home noid' — 'twas all she could speak. 
 
 "A stranger 1 wander 'midst strangers ; and yet 
 
 I never — no, not for a moment, forget 
 
 That my heart has a home — just as rc:il, as true. 
 
 And as warm as if Bcechcnbrook sheltered me too, 
 
 God grant that this refuge from sorrow and j^ain — 
 
 This blesscdest haven of peace, may remain ! 
 
 And then, though disaster, still sharper, befall, 
 
 I think I can patiently bear with it all : 
 
 For the rarest, most exquisite bliss of my life 
 
 Is wrapped in a word, Douglass ... I am your Avifo ! " 
 
IX. 
 
 "TTTHEN fierce and fast-thronging calamities rush 
 
 Resistless as destiny o'er us, and crush 
 The life from the quivering heart till we feel 
 Like the victim whose body is broke on the wheel, — 
 When we think Ave have touched tlie far limit at last, 
 — One throe, and the jioint of endurance is passed, — 
 When we shivering hang on the verge of despair — 
 There still is capacity left us to bear. 
 
 The storm of the Winter, the smile of the Spring, 
 No respite, no pause, and no ]ioj)efiiIness bring; 
 The demon of carnage still breathes his hot breath. 
 And fiercely goes forward tlie harvest of death. 
 
 Days painfully drap; their slow burden along; 
 And the pulse that is beating so steady and strong, 
 Stands still, as there comes, from the echoing shore 
 Of the winding and clear Rappaliannock the roar 
 
 6* (65) 
 
66 BKECIIKXBllOOK; 
 
 Of conflict so fell, that the silvery flood 
 
 Runs purple and rapid and ghastly with blood. 
 
 — Grand army of martyrs ! — though victory waves 
 Them onwardj her march must be over their graves 
 They feel it — they know it, — yet steadier each 
 Close phalanx moves into the desperate breach : 
 Their step does not falter — their faith does not yield,— 
 For yonder, supreme o'er the fiercely-fought field. 
 Erect in his leonine grandeur, they see 
 The proud and magnificent calmness of Lee ! 
 
 'Tis morn — but the night has brought Alice no rest: 
 The roof seems to press like a weight on her breast ; 
 And she wanders forth, wearily lifting her eye. 
 To seek for relief 'neatli the calm of the sky. 
 
 The air of the forest is spicy and sweet. 
 
 And dreamily babbles a brook at her feet; 
 
 Her children ai'c 'round her, and sunshine and flowers 
 
 Try vainly to banish the .gloom of the hours. 
 
 "NVitli a volume she fain her wild thoughts would 
 
 assuage, 
 But her vision can trace not a line on the page, 
 
A KIlYMli: OP THE WAR. 67 
 
 And the poet's dear strains, once so soft to licr ear, 
 Have lost all their mystical power to cheer. 
 
 The evening approaches; the pressure — the woe 
 Grows drearer — weighs heavier, — yet she must go, 
 And stifle between the dead walls, as she may, 
 The heart that scarce breathed in the free, open day. 
 
 She reaches the dwelling that serves as her home; 
 A horseman awaits at the entrance; — the foam 
 Is flecking the sides of his fast-ridden steed, 
 Who pants, over-worn with exhaustion and speed ; 
 And Alice for support to Beverly > clings, 
 As the soldier delivers the letter he brings. 
 
 Her ashy lips move, but the words do not come, 
 And she stands in her whiteness, bewildered and dumb: 
 She turns to the letter with hopeless appeal. 
 But her fingers are helpless to loosen the seal : 
 She lifts her dim eyes with a look of despair, — 
 Her hands for a moment are folded in prayer ; 
 The strength she has sought is vouchsafed in lier need : 
 — "I think I can bear it now, Beverly . . . read." 
 
 The boy, with the resolute nerve of a man, 
 
68 BEECHEXBUOOK. 
 
 And a voice which he liokls as serene as he can, 
 Takes quietly from lier the letter, and reads: — 
 
 '•'Dear Madam, — My heart in its sympathy bleeds 
 For the pain that my tidings must bear you : may God 
 Most tenderly comfort you, under His rod ! 
 
 "This morning, at daybreak, a terrible charge 
 Was made on the enemy's centre : such large 
 And fresh reinforcements were held at his back, 
 He stoutly and stubbornly met the attack. 
 
 "Our cavalry bore themselves splendidly: — far 
 In front of his line galloped Colonel Dunbar; 
 Erect in his stirrups, — his sword flashing high, 
 And the look of a conqueror kindling his eye. 
 His silvery voice rang aloft through the roar 
 Of the musketry poured from the opposite shore : 
 — 'Remember the Valley I — remember your AvivesI 
 And on to your duty, boys ! — on — with your lives!' 
 
 "He turned, and he paused, as he uttered the call — 
 Then reeled in his seat, and fell — pierced by a ball. 
 
 " He lives and he breathes yet : — the surgeons declare, 
 That the balance is trembling 'twixt hope and despair. 
 
A KHYME OF THE WAR. 69 
 
 111 his blanket he lies, on the hospital jfloor, — 
 
 So calm, you might deem all his agony o'er; 
 
 And licre, as I write, on his face I can sec 
 
 An expression whose radiance is startling to me. 
 
 His faith is sublime: — he relinquishes life, 
 
 And craves but one blessing, — to look on his wife!" 
 
 The Chaplain's recital is ended : — no word 
 From Alice's blanch'd, breathless lips has been heard; 
 Till, rousing herself from her passionless woe, 
 She simply and quietly says — "I will go." 
 
 There are moments of anguish so deadly, so deep — 
 That numbness seems over the senses to creep, 
 With interposition, whose timely relief 
 Is an anodvne-drauo;ht to the madness of ffrief. 
 Such mercy is meted to Alice; — her eye 
 That sees as it saw not, is vacant and dry : 
 The billows' wild fury sweeps over her soul, 
 And she bends to the rush with a passive control. 
 
 Through the dusk of the night — through the glare 
 
 of the day, 
 She urges, unconscious, her desolate way : 
 
70 BEECttENBROOK. 
 
 One image is ever her vision before; 
 
 — That blanketed form on the hospital floor! 
 
 Her journey is ended ; and yonder she sees 
 
 The spot "where he lies, looming white through the 
 
 trees : 
 Her torpor dissolves with a shuddering start, 
 And a terrible agony clutehes her heart. 
 
 The Chaplain advances to meet her : — he draws 
 Her silently onward ; — no question — no pause; 
 Her finger she lays on her lip; — if she spake, 
 She knows that the spell that upholds her, would 
 break. 
 
 She has sti'ength to go forward ; they enter the door, — 
 And there, on the crowded and blood-tainted floor, 
 Close wrapped in his blanket, lies Douglass: — his brow 
 Wore never a look so seraphic as now ! 
 She stretches her arms the dear form to enfold, — 
 God help her ! . . . . she shrieks .... it is silent 
 and cold I 
 
X. 
 
 " T)REAK^ my heart, and ease this pain,- 
 -*^ Cease to throb, tliou tortured brain ; 
 Let me die, — since he is slain, 
 
 — Slain in battle ! 
 
 "Blessed broAv, that loved to rest 
 Its dear whiteness on my breast ; — 
 Gory was the grass it prest ; 
 
 — Slain in battle ! 
 
 "Oh ! that still and stately form — 
 Xever more will it be warm: 
 Chilled beneath that iron storm, 
 
 — Slain in battle ! 
 
 "Not a pillow for his head; 
 Not a hand to smooth his bed ; 
 Not one tender parting said; — 
 
 — Slain in battle ! 
 
 (71) 
 
BEECIIENHP.OOK. 
 
 "Straightway from that bloody sod, 
 Where the trampling horsemen trod, 
 Lifted to the arms of God ; 
 
 — Shiin in battle! 
 
 "Not my love to come betv,-een, 
 With its interposing screen ; 
 Nauffht of earth to intervene : 
 
 — Slain in battle! 
 
 "Snatched tiie pnrplc billows o'er, 
 Through the fiendish rage and roar, 
 To the far and peaceful shore 
 
 — Slain in battle! 
 
 " Kune demittr, — thus I pray; 
 What else left for me to say, 
 Since my life is reft away ? 
 
 — Slain in battle! 
 
 "Let me die, O God! — the dart 
 Drinks the life-blood of my heart ; 
 Hope, and joy, and peace, depart ; 
 
 — Slain in battle!" 
 
A RHYME OF THE WAR. 73 
 
 *Tis tlius through her days and her nights of despair, 
 Her months of bereavement so bitter to bear, 
 That Alice moans ever. Ah ! little they .know, 
 AVho look on that face, still and white as the snow, — 
 AVho Avatch — but in vain — for the sigh or the tear, 
 That only comes thick when no mortal is near, — 
 AVho whisper — ' How gently she bends to the rod!' 
 Because all her heart-break is kept for her God, — 
 Ah ! little they know of the tempests that roll 
 Their desolate floods through the depths of her soul ! 
 
 Afar in our sunshiny homes on the shore, 
 "We heed not how wildly the billows may roar ; 
 We smile at our firesides, happy and free, 
 While the rich-freighted argosy founders at sea 
 
 Though A\Tapped in the Aveeds of her widowhood, 
 
 pale, 
 Though life seems all sunless and dim through the veil 
 That drearily shadoAvs her sorrowful brow, — 
 Is the cause of her country less dear to her now ? 
 Does the patriot-flame in her heart cease to stir, — 
 Does she feel that the conflict is over for her? 
 Because the red war-tide has deluged her o'er, — 
 
74 BEECHENBROOK. 
 
 Has wreaked its Vv^ild wrath, and can harm Aer no 
 
 more, — 
 Does she stand, self-absorbed, on the wreck she has 
 
 braved, 
 Xor care if her country be lost or be saved ? 
 
 By her pride in the soil that has given her birth ; 
 By her tenderest memories garnered on earth ; 
 By the legacy blood-bought and precious, which she 
 Would leave to her children — the right to be free; 
 Py the altar where once rose the hymn and the prayer, 
 By the home left behind her, all blacken'd, and bare; 
 By the pangs that have racked her — the ills she has 
 
 borne. 
 By the desolate exile through which she must mourn ; 
 By the struggles that hallow this fair Southern sod. 
 By the vows she has breathed in the ear of her God ; 
 By the blood of the heart that she worshippqd, — the 
 
 life 
 That enfolded her own ; by her love, as his wife ; 
 By his death on the battle-field, gallantly brave. 
 By the shadow that ever will wrap her — his grave ; 
 By the faith she reposes, O Father ! in Thee, — 
 She claims that her glorious South must be free ! 
 
"^M 
 
 WM 
 
 LYRICS OF THE WAR. 
 
 (75) 
 
JACKSON. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 rpHANK God for such a Hero! — Fearless hold 
 -*- His diamond character beneath the sun, 
 
 And brighter scintillations, one by one, 
 Come flashing from it. Never knight of old 
 Wore on serener brow, so calm, yet bold. 
 
 Diviner courage: never martyr knew 
 
 Trust more sublime, — nor patriot, zeal more true,- 
 Nor saint, self-abnegation of a mould 
 
 Touched with profounder beauty. All the rare, 
 Clear, starry points of light, that gave his soul 
 
 Such lambent lustre, owned but one sole aim, — 
 
 Not for himself, nor yet his country's fame. 
 These glories shone: he kept the clustered whole 
 
 A jewel for the crown that Cln-ist shall wear ! 
 
 7* 
 
 (") 
 
STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE.* 
 
 A SIMPLE, sodded mound of earth, 
 -^^ Witliout a line above it; 
 With only daily votive flowers 
 
 To prove that any love it: 
 The token flag that silently 
 
 Each breeze's visit numbers, 
 Alone keeps martial ward above 
 
 The hero's dreamless slumbers. 
 
 No name? — no record? Ask the world; 
 
 The world has read his story : — 
 If all its annals can unfold 
 
 A prouder tale of gloiy ; 
 If ever merely human life 
 
 Hath taught diviner moral, — 
 If ever round a worthier brow 
 
 Was twined a purer laurel ! 
 
 * In the month of June, 1865, the singular spectacle was presented at 
 Lexington, Va., of two hostile armies, in turn, reverently visiting Jack- 
 eon's grave. 
 
 (78) 
 
STONEWALL JACKSON's GRAVE, 79 
 
 A twelvemonth only, since his sword 
 
 "Went flashing through the battle, — 
 A twelvemonth only, since his ear 
 
 Heard war's last deadly rattle, — 
 And yet, have countless pilgrim-feet 
 
 The pilgrim's guerdon paid him. 
 And weeping women come to see 
 
 The place where they have laid him. 
 
 Contending armies bring, in turn, 
 
 Their meed of praise or honor, 
 And Pallas here has paused to bind 
 
 The cypress-wreath upon her: 
 It seems a holy sepulchre, 
 
 Whose sanctities can waken 
 Alike the love of friend or foe — 
 
 Of Christian or of pagan. 
 
 They come to own his high emprise, 
 
 "Who fled in frantic masses 
 Before the glittering bayonet 
 
 That triumphed at Manassas : 
 AY ho witnessed Ivernstown's fearful odds, 
 
 As on their ranks he thundered. 
 Defiant as the storied Greek, 
 
 Amid his brave three hundred ! 
 
80 STOXEWALL 'JACKSON's GRAVE. 
 
 They well recall the tiger spring, 
 
 The wise retreat, the rally, 
 The tireless march, the fierce pursuit, 
 
 Through many a mountain valley: 
 Cross Keys unlock new paths to fame. 
 
 And Port liepublic's story 
 Wrests from his ever-vanquish'd foes 
 
 Strange tributes to his glory. 
 
 Cold Harbor rises to their view, — 
 
 The Cedars' gloom is o'er them ; 
 Antietam's rough and rugged heights 
 
 Stretch mockingly before them ; 
 The lurid flames of Fredericksburg 
 
 Right grimly they remember. 
 That lit the frozen night's retreat. 
 
 That wintry-wild December ! 
 
 The largess of their praise is flung 
 With bounty, rare and regal; — 
 
 Is it because the vulture fears 
 ^ No lons:er the dead easi;le? 
 
 Nay, rather far accept it thus, — 
 An homage true and tender. 
 
 As soldier unto soldier's worth. 
 As brave to brave will render. 
 
STONEWALL JACKSOX'S GRAVE. 81 
 
 But who shall weigh the vrordless grief 
 
 That leaves in tears its traces, 
 As round their leader crowd again 
 
 The bronzed and veteran faces ! 
 The "Old Brigade" he loved so well — 
 
 The mountain men, who bound him 
 AVitli bays of their own winning, ere 
 
 A tardier fame had crowned him ; 
 
 The legions who had seen his glance 
 
 Across the carnage flashing, 
 And thrilled to catch his ringing ''charge'' 
 
 Above the volley crashing; — 
 Who oft had watched the lifted hand. 
 
 The inward trust betraying, 
 And felt their courage grow sublime, 
 
 While they beheld him praying! 
 
 Good knights and true as ever drew 
 
 Their swords with knightly Roland ; 
 Or died at Sobieski's side, 
 
 For love of martyr'd Poland ; 
 Or knelt with Cromwell's Ironsides ; 
 
 Or sang with brave Gustavus ; 
 Or on the plain of Austerlitz, 
 
 Breathed out their dying aves ! 
 
82 STONEWALL JACKSOX'S GRAVE. 
 
 Kare fame ! rare name ! — If chanted praise, 
 
 With all the world to listen, — 
 If pride that swells a nation's soul, — 
 
 If foemen's tears that glisten, — 
 If pilgrims' shrining love, — if grief 
 
 "Which naught may soothe or sever, — • 
 If THESE can consecrate, — this spot 
 
 Is sacred ground forever ! 
 
DIKGE FOR ASHBY. 
 
 TTEARD ye that thrilling word— 
 -^■^ Accent of dread — 
 Flash like a thunderbolt, 
 
 Bowing each head, — • 
 Crash through the battle dun, 
 Over the booming gun, — 
 " Ashhy, our bravest one, — • 
 
 Ashby is dead ! " 
 
 Saw ye the veterans — 
 Hearts that had known 
 
 Never a quail of fear. 
 Never a groan, — 
 
 Sob 'mid the fight they win, — 
 
 Tears their stern eyes within, — 
 
 "Ashby, our Paladin, 
 Ashby is gone I " 
 
 (83) 
 
84 DIRGE FOR ASHBY. 
 
 Dash — das] I the tear away, — ■ 
 Crush down tlie pain ! 
 
 '' Dulce ft decus" be 
 Fittest refrain ! 
 
 \yhy should the dreary pall 
 
 Round him be flung at all ? 
 
 Did not our hero fall 
 Gallantly slain? 
 
 Catch the last word of cheer 
 
 Dropt from his tongue; 
 Over the volley's din, 
 Loud be it rung, — 
 "Follow me! folloiv 7ne!" — 
 Soldier, oh ! could there be 
 Ptean or dirge for thee 
 Loftier sung ! 
 
 Bold as the Lion-heart, 
 Dauntless and brave ; 
 Knightly as knightlicst 
 Bayard could crave ; 
 Sweet with all Sidney's grace, 
 Tender as Hampden's face ; — 
 WIk) — who shall fill the space 
 Void by liis grave ? 
 
biRGE FOR ASHBY. 85 
 
 'T is not one broken heart, 
 
 Wild -svitli dismay; 
 Crazed with her agony, 
 
 "\Yeeps o'er his clay: 
 Ah ! from a thousand eyes 
 Flow the pure tears that rise ; 
 Widowed Virginia lies 
 
 Stricken to-day ! 
 
 Yet, though that thrilling word — 
 
 Accent of dread — • 
 Falls like a thunderbolt, 
 
 Bowing each head, — 
 Heroes ! be battle done 
 Bravelier every one, 
 Nerved by the thought alone — 
 
 Ashhy is dead ! 
 
WHEN THE WAR IS OVER. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS LAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 A H ! tlie liappy Christmas times ! 
 ■^ Times Ave all remember; — 
 Times that dung a ruddy glow 
 
 O'er the gray December ; — 
 Will they never come again, 
 
 With their song and story? 
 Never wear a remnant more 
 
 Of their olden glory? 
 Must the little children miss 
 
 Still the festal token? 
 Must their realm of young romance 
 
 All be marred and broken? 
 Must the mother promise on, 
 
 While her smiles dissemble. 
 
 86) 
 
WIIEX THE WAR IS OVER. 87 
 
 And she speaks right quietly, 
 
 Lest her voice should tremble : — 
 
 "Darliuffs! wait till father comes — ■ 
 Wait — and we'll discover 
 
 Never were such Christmas times, 
 When the war is over ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 Underneath the midnight sky, 
 
 Bright with starry beauty. 
 Sad, the shivering sentinel 
 
 Treads his round of duty : 
 For his thoughts are far away. 
 
 Far from strife and battle. 
 As he listens dreamingly. 
 
 To his baby's prattle; — 
 As he clasps his sobbing wife. 
 
 Wild with sudden gladness. 
 Kisses all her tears away. 
 
 Chides her looks of sadness, — 
 Talks of Christmas nights to come. 
 
 And his step grows lighter. 
 
88 WHEX THE WAR IS OVER. 
 
 Whispering, while his stiffening hand 
 Grasps ]iis musket tighter : — 
 
 "Patience, love! — keep heart! keep hope! 
 To your weary rover 
 
 What a home our home Avill be, 
 When the war is over ! " 
 
 III. 
 
 By the twilight Christmas fire, 
 
 All her senses laden 
 With a weight of tenderness. 
 
 Sits the musing maiden : 
 From the parlor's cheerful blaze, 
 
 Far her visions wander, 
 To the white tent gleaming bright 
 
 On the hill-side yonder. 
 Buoyant in her brave, young love. 
 
 Flushed with patriot honor. 
 No misgiving, no fond fear. 
 
 Flings its shade upon lier. 
 Though no mortal soul can know 
 
 Half the love she bears him. 
 
WHEN THE WAR IS OYER. 89 
 
 Proudly, for lier country's sake, 
 
 From her heart she spares him. 
 — God be thauked! — she does not dream. 
 
 That her galkint lover 
 Will be in a soldier's grave, 
 
 When the war is over! 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Midst the turmoil and the strife 
 
 Of the war-tide's rushing, 
 Every heart its separate woe 
 
 In its depths is hushing. 
 Who has time for tears, when blood 
 
 All the land is steeping? 
 — In our poverty we grudge 
 
 Even the waste of weeping ! 
 But when quiet comes again. 
 
 And the bands, long broken. 
 Gather round the hearth, and breathe 
 
 Names now seldom spoken, — 
 Then we'll miss the precious links — 
 
 Mourn the empty places — 
 
90 AVHEN THE WAR IS OVER. 
 
 Read the hopeless " Nev&'moi'ej" 
 
 In each other's faces ! 
 Oh ! wliat aching, anguish'd hearts 
 
 O'er lone graves will hover, 
 With a new, fresh sense of pain, 
 
 When the war is over! 
 
 Y. 
 
 Stern endurance, bitterer still, 
 
 SharjD Avith self-denial, 
 Fraught Avitli loftier sacrifice. 
 
 Fuller far of trial — 
 Strews our flinty patli of thorns - 
 
 Marks our bloody story — 
 Fits us for the victor's -palm — 
 
 Weaves our robe of glory ! 
 Shall we faint with God above, 
 
 And His strong arm under. 
 And the cold world gazing on, 
 
 In a maze of wonder? 
 No ! with more resistless march, 
 
 More resolved endeavor, 
 
■WHEN" THE WAR IS OVER. 
 
 91 
 
 Press we onward — struggle still, 
 Fiffht and win forever! — 
 
 Holy peace will heal all ills, 
 Joy all losses cover, 
 
 Kaptures rend our Southern skies, 
 When the war is over! 
 
VIRGINIA CAPTA. 
 
 APRIL 9th, 1SG5. 
 
 I. 
 
 TTNCONQUER'D captive!— close thine eye, 
 ^-^ And draw the ashen sackcloth o'er, 
 
 And in thy speechless woe deplore 
 The fate that would not let thee die! 
 
 II. 
 
 The arm that wore the shield, strip bare; 
 The hand that held the martial rein, 
 And hurled the spear on many a plain, — 
 
 Stretch — till they clasp the shackles there! 
 
 (92) 
 
VIRGINIA CAPTA. 93 
 
 III. 
 
 The foot that ouce could crush the crown, 
 Must drag the fetters, till it bleed 
 Beneath their weight: — thou dost not need 
 
 It now, to tread the tyrant down. 
 
 ly. 
 
 Thou thought'st him vanquish'd — boastful trust! — « 
 His lance, in twain — his sword, a wreck, — 
 But with his heel upon thy neck. 
 
 He holds thee prostrate in the dust ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Bend though thou must, beneath his will, 
 Let not one abject moan have place; 
 But with majestic, silent grace, 
 
 Maintain thy regal bearing still. 
 
 YI. 
 
 Look back through all thy storied past. 
 
 And sit erect in conscious j)i"ide: 
 
 No grander heroes ever died — • 
 No sterner, battled to the last ! 
 
94 
 
 VIEGINIA CAPTA. 
 
 YII. 
 
 Weep, if thou wilt, with proud, sad mien. 
 Thy blasted hopes — thy peace undone, - 
 Yet brave, live on, — nor seek to shun 
 
 Thy fate, like Egypt's conquer'd Queen. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Though forced a captive's place to fill 
 In the triumphal train, — yet there, 
 Superbly, like Zenobia, wear 
 
 Thy chains, — Virginia Vidrix still I 
 
VIRGINIA. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 p RANDLY thou fillest the world's eye to-daj, 
 
 ^ My proud Virginia! When the gage was thrown, 
 The deadly gage of battle, — thou alone, 
 
 Strong in thy self-control, didst stoop to lay 
 
 The olive-branch thereon, and calmly pray 
 
 ^Ye might have peace, the rather. When the foe 
 Turned scornfully upon thee, — bade thee go, 
 
 And whistled up his war-hounds, then — the way 
 Of duty full before thee — thou didst spring 
 Into the centre of the martial ring, — 
 
 Thy brave blood boiling, and thy glorious eye 
 Shot with heroic fire, and swear to claim 
 ■ Sublimest victory in God's own name, — 
 
 Or — wrapped in robes of martyrdom, — to die! 
 
 (95) 
 
A HERO'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 (m. c. l. ) 
 
 OHE boasts no Amazonian cliarms; 
 ^^ Minerva's helmet never crowned her; 
 And though she finds delight in arms, 
 'Tis — when her father's are around her. 
 
 She does not aim to make a mark, 
 
 Like Philippa, (as Eroissart wrought her;) 
 
 She is no modern Joan of Arc, 
 Like Garibaldi's wife or daughter. 
 
 And though there meets in her young veins, 
 Ancestral blood — the patriot's — sage's. 
 
 Whose fame, rung out in trumpet strains. 
 Goes gathering glory down the ages; — 
 
 (96) 
 
A hero's daughter, 97 
 
 She is not proud, nor cold, nor grand ; 
 
 No haughtiness her tone evinces; 
 Her heart is open as her hand, — 
 
 Her hand is liberal as a prince's. 
 
 She does not awe you with her eye, 
 
 And yet its glance goes straightway thro' you, — 
 
 A latent fire to warm you by, — 
 A steady, stellar light to woo you. 
 
 Her smile is like the golden day's. 
 
 Irradiating every feature; 
 You catch its influence as you gaze. 
 
 And own, — ' she is a gracious creature.' 
 
 So genial her responsive mind. 
 
 With every varying mood agreeing. 
 
 You wonder how she comes to find 
 The very key-note of your being. 
 
 Beneath her sparkling surface-flow. 
 The beamy freshness and the laughter, 
 
 "VYells, deep and strong, an undertow 
 Of rare and racy wisdom after. 
 9 
 
98 A hero's daughter. 
 
 Sweet, fireside graces all are liers; 
 
 The cliatdaine bosido the bodice 
 Is but one token that avers 
 
 She is a very household goddess. 
 
 Accepting with unmurmuring lips, 
 
 War's stern decree — its griefs, its losses, — ■ 
 
 And nobler through that blood-eclipse. 
 And stronger for its burdening crosses; 
 
 She folds no hands in languid pause. 
 Child of her father — true to duty, — 
 
 She weeps at heart, the dear lost cause, 
 Yet fills the busy hours with beauty. 
 
 Her heroism holds in view 
 
 Our people's strife for life, — the lesser, 
 Yet bitterer one! — There's work to do. 
 
 And well she does it: — so, God bless her! 
 
ARLINGTON. 
 
 [an appeal to the president, bv the Avo>rKN op the south.] 
 
 "VrOU stand upon the chasm's brink, 
 -^ That yawns so deadly deep, 
 R^ady to bridge the rift, — we think, 
 
 And dare the noble leap : 
 So! fill this rent with purpose bold, — 
 
 Right war's red deeds of shame ; 
 And Curtius, with his legend old, 
 
 "Will pale before your name ! 
 
 We meddle not with questions high; 
 
 The holier office ours, 
 To follow where man leads, and try 
 
 To hide the flints with flowers. 
 
 (99) 
 
100 ARLINGTOlsr. 
 
 "We souglit through all our mortal strife, 
 
 To succor, soothe, sustain; 
 And not one Southern maid nor wife 
 
 Has grudged the cost or pain. 
 
 So now, when might has won the day, 
 
 "When hopes and aims are crossed, 
 We cheer, uphold — as best we may. 
 
 The hearts whose all is lost. 
 Rebellious — outlawed — what you will. 
 
 We dare a boon to crave; 
 We trust that calm forbearance still. 
 
 Against such odds, so brave ! 
 
 For sons, for husbands — not one plea! 
 
 For men to whom you give. 
 With unupbraiding leniency. 
 
 Free right, broad room — to live! 
 But with a tender woman's claim. 
 
 Warm in our souls, we come. 
 Armed with the spell-word of a name. 
 
 That holds denial dumb. 
 
 He, in whose more than regal chair 
 You sit supreme to-day, — 
 
ARLINGTON". 101 
 
 Could he unmoved, uncensuring, bear 
 
 Thcat wrong should wrest away 
 What calmed a dying father's breast,* 
 
 As with rare tear and moan, 
 Within Ids childless arms he prest 
 
 The babes thence named 'his own'? 
 
 His own! — yet she — sole daughter left, 
 
 Of all that stately race, 
 An exile wanders sad, bereft 
 
 Of certain dwelling-place: 
 Within her old ancestral halls. 
 
 The hearths no beams reflect. 
 And over lawn and garden falls 
 
 The mildew of neglect. 
 
 The blood allied to Washington, 
 
 Spurned from the rights he gave ! — 
 Denied the vaunted justice done 
 
 To every home-born slave ! 
 — Tell not the brood of Askalon, 
 
 Let Gath not hear afar. 
 Lest Kingdoms sneer it, one to one, — 
 
 "How base Republics are!" 
 
 * See Irving's Washington : Death op Col. Custis. 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 ARLINGTON. 
 
 You do not war with women . . . Good ! 
 
 Let such your boast still be : 
 We do not ask a single rood 
 
 Of ground for Mary Lee. 
 Yet though our Hero's wufe be banned, ' 
 
 As touehed with treason's stain, — 
 For Mary Custis we demand 
 
 Her Arlington arain! 
 
REGULUS.* 
 
 I. 
 
 TT AVE ye no mercy ? — Punic rage 
 -*--*- Boasted small skill in torture, when 
 The sternest patriot of his age — 
 
 And Romans all were patriots then — 
 Was doomed, with his unwinking eyes, 
 To stand beneath the fiery skies. 
 Until the sun-shafts pierced his brain. 
 And he grew blind with j)oignant pain. 
 While Carthage jeered and taunted. Yet, 
 When day's slow-moving orb had set. 
 And pitying Nature — kind to all — 
 
 In dewy darkness bathed her hand. 
 And laid it on each lidless ball. 
 
 So crazed with gusts of scorching sand,- 
 They yielded, — nor forbade the grace 
 By flashing torches in his face. 
 
 * See Dr. Craven's Prisun-Li'fc of J/r. Davis, p. 166. 
 
 (103) 
 
104 REGULUS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ye flash the torches! — Never night 
 
 Brings the blank dark to that worn eye: 
 In pitiless, perpetual light, 
 
 Our tortured Regulus must lie ! 
 Yet tropic suns soemed tender: they 
 Eyed not with purpose to betray : 
 No human vengeance, like a spear 
 Whetted to sharpness, keen and clear. 
 By settled hatred, pricked its way 
 Eight through the blood-shot iris! — Nay, 
 Ye have refined the torment. Glare 
 
 A little longer through the bars, 
 At the bay'd lion in his lair, — 
 
 And God's dear hand, from out the stars, 
 To shame inhuman man, mny cast 
 Its shadow o'er these lids at last. 
 And end their aching, with the blest 
 Signet and seal of perfect rest ! 
 
ACCEPTATION. 
 
 I. 
 
 TT7E do accept thee, heavenly Peace 1 
 Albeit thou comcst in a guise 
 Unlooked for — undesired, our eyes 
 Welcome through tears the sweet release 
 From war, and woe, and want, — surcease, 
 For which we bless thee, blessed Peace ! 
 
 II. 
 
 We lift our foreheads from the dust; 
 And as we meet thy brow's clear calm, 
 There falls a freshening sense of balm 
 Upon our spirits. Fear — distrust — 
 The hopeless present on us thrust — 
 We'll meet them as we can, and must. 
 
 (105) 
 
106 
 
 ACCEPTATION?. 
 
 III. 
 
 War lias not wholly wrecked us: still 
 Strong hands, brave hearts, high souls are ours- 
 Proud consciousness of quenchless powers — 
 
 A Past M-hose memory makes us thrill — 
 
 Futures un charactered, to fill 
 
 With heroisms — if we will. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then courage, brothers! — Though each breast 
 Feel oft the rankling thorn, despair, 
 That failure plants so sharply there — 
 No pain, no pang shall be confest: 
 We'll work and watch the brightening west, 
 And leave to God and Heaven the rest. 
 
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