THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. Vv „ '<•,-? §^i^mi: 7^^-^ Hii .isr,^ *-;ii^-f BEECHENBROOK^ |>Iii|mc 0f the SffilHi\ BY MARGARET J. PRESTON BALTIMORE: KELLY & PIET, rUBLIS|jERS 174 Baltimore Street M 18GG. I' Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year ISGfi, by KET.I.V & PIKT, In the Clerk".-* Ottico of the District Court fur the ])i.ve to he husy ahout ; Theknapsaek wcdl furnished, the eanteen all bright. The soldier's grey dress and his gauntlets in sight, The hLanket tight straj)i)ed, and the haversack stored, And. lying beside them, the eaj* and the sword ; Xo last, little office, — no further commandsj — Xo 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. On the fresh, shining knapsack she pillows her head. And Aveeps as a mourner might Aveej) for the dead. »She heeds not the three-year old baity at play. As donning the cap. on the carpet he lay : Till she feels on her forehead, his fingers' soft tips. And on her shut eyelids, the touch of his lips. A RHYME OF THE WAR. / '^ Mamma is so sorry ! — Mamma is so sad ! But Arcliie can. make her look up and be glad : Txe been praying to God, as you told me to do, That Papa may come hack when the battle is thro':— He says when we pray, that our prayers shall be heard ; And Mamma, don't you alicays know, God keeps his w^ord?" Around the young comforter stealthily press The arms of his father wdth sudden caress ; Then fast to Iris heart, — love and duty at strife, — - He snatches with fondest emotion, his wdfe. '- My own love ! my precious ! — I feel I am strong ; I know I am brave in opposing the wrong ; I could stand where the battle w^as fiercest, nor feel One quiver of nerve at the flash of the steel ; I could gaze on the enemy guiltless of fears, But I quail at the sight of your passionate tears : My calmness forsakes me,— my thoughts are a-wdiirl, And the stout-hearted man is as weak as a girl. b A IIUV.MK <.F Till-: WAn. I ^■e Ik'l'Ii jn'ttud of your lortitihU' : lu-vcr ;i traro Of yiol(lin<;. all day, coiiM J read in your face; But a lo(dv tliat was res(dut('. dauntless and liigli, As ever flashed iortli fnun a ]»atriot"s eye. I know liow you cling to ine.^ — know tliat to ])art Is tearing the tcnderest cords of your luart : Through the length and the hreadth of our ^'alley to-day. No hand will a costlier sacritice lay On the altar of C()untry : ami Alice, — sweet wife ! I never have worshi]ij)ed you so in my life ! Poor heart. — that has held up so hrave in the ]>ast. — ro(U' heart! must it hreak with its hurdcn at last?" The arms thrown about him, hut tighten their hold, The cheek that he kisses, is ashy and cold. And howed with the grief she so long has sup- ])ressed. She wee])S herself (juiet and calm on his breast. At length, in a voice just as steady and clear As if it had never l>een choked by a tear. 81ie raises her eyes with a softened control. And thr(»ugli them her Inisband hndcs int<.) her soul. A RHYME OF THE WAR. ' ^ <' I feel that we eacli for the other couhl die ; Your heart to my own makes the instant reply : But dear as you are, Love -my life and my light,— I would not consent to your stay, if I might : Ko !— 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 will be wet. Yet never, believe me, with selfish regret : My ardor abates not one jot of its glow, Though the tears of the wife and the woman loiM flow. ^^ 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 that we fight for— dare I Hold back my best treasure, with plaint or with sigh ? My cheek would blush crimson,— my spirit be galled. If he were not there when the muster was called ! 10 . A Kll\ MK OK Tin: \V.\K. When \\\' pk'adcfl Im- jicacc. C'vci-v ri^lit was (U*ni(_Ml; Kvery ])ressiiii;- jM-tition tiinii'il |»i-nii(lly aside; Kow (jjod JihIl^c lictwixt us! (n»d joospcr tin.' jio'lit I o To l)iave men ilicic's nothing' remains. l»ut tuliglit: I grudge yon not. l>ouglass, die. ratlier than yield, — And like tiie old heroes, eoine lionn- on vour The morning is hi-eaking : -tlie tlusli of the (hiwn Is warning tlie soldier, 'tis time to l)e gone ; The eliildren around liini exj)eetantly wait, — His liorse, all eaparisoned, ])aws at the gate : AVitli i'aee strangely ])allid.— iio sohhings, — no sighs.— But only a luminous mist in her eyes. His wife is suhduing the heart-throhs that swell, And ealming herself i'or a quiet farewell. There hills a ielt silenee :— -the note of a hird, A tremulous twitter, — is all that is lieard : The eirele has knelt hy tin.' holly-l)Usli there, — And listen. --tliei-e c-omes the low hreathing of ])i-ayer. A RHYME OF TlIK AVAR. 11 '' Father I fold thine arms of pity Round lis as we h^wly bow ; Never have we kneeled before Thee With snch burden "d hearts as now ! Joy has been our constant portion, And if ill must now befall^ With a iilial acquiescence, We would thank thee for it all. In the path of present duty, With Thy hand to lean upon, Questioning not the hidden future, May Ave walk serenely on. For this holy, happy home-love, Purest bliss that croAvns my life, — For these tender, trusting children, — For this fondest. iViithful wiie, — Here I pour my lull thanksgiving ; And, when heart is torn I'rom heart, Be our sAveetest tryst-Avord, ' 3Iizj)ah,'— Watch betAvixt us Avhile Ave part I 12 A KIIYMK UF Till-: WAR. And if never round this altar. We slioTild kneel as lieretofore, — • If these arms in benediction Fohl inv ]ireeiuns ones no more, — Thou, Avlio in lier direst anguish, Sootli'dst thy motlier"s lonely h)t, In thy still unchanged compassion, Son of ^lan I forsake them not !'' The little ones each he has caught to his breast, And clasped thenv. 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 his saddle. — the rein is drawn tight, — And Beechcnbrook Cottaoie is lost to his sierht. A khymf: (vf the war. 13 II. The feathery folijige has broadened its leaves, And June, with its beautiful mornings and eves, Its magical atmosphere, breezes and blooms, Its woods all delicious with 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 : With 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 hands, — The hours come tenderly, ceaselessly fraught, And leave her small space for the broodings of thought. 14 A rJIVMK nl' THK WAR. Thank God I — ]>iisy iini::ers a solace ran tiinl, To lighten the l)ur(U'n of liody or mind : And Edens uhl enrse proves a blessing instead, — '^In the sweat of thy hrow shalt thon toil for thy hi'ead."' For the hless'd relief in all lahonrs that Inrk'. Aye. thank Hini. niihaj»]>y ones, tliank Jlini tor work : Tims Alice engages hei- tlionglits and lici- jiowrrs. And indnsti-y kindly lemls wings to the honrs : Poor, ]>etty eni])loynR'nts tliey sometimes ajijicar, And on her hright needle there jdashes a tear. - Half sliame and half jia^^sion : — what wonld she not (hire ller ferviil eo]n})atriots" strnggles to sliai-ey It irks her. — the weakness of wonnmhood then. — Yet such are the tears that make heroes of men ! h>he ieehs the liot Idood oi the inition l>eat high ; With ra})tnre she catches the rallying cry : From mountain and valley and hamlet they come ! On every side echoes the roll of the dium. A people as firm, as united, as hold. As ever drew hlade for the hlessings they hold, A RIIYMi: OF TIIK VVAIl, Step sternly and solemnly I'urtli in their might, And swear on their altars to die fur the ris-lit ! 'O' The clangor of mnskets, — the Hashing of steel, — • The clatter of spurs on the stout-hooted lieel, — ^ The waving of hanners, — the resonant tramp Of marching hattalions, — the fiery stamp Of steeds in tneir war-harness, newly decked out, — The blast of the hugle, — the hurry, the shout, — The terrible energy, eager and Avild, That lights up the face of man, woman and child,— That burns on all lips, that arouses all powders ; Did ever we dream that such times Avould be ours? One thought is al)sorbing, with giant c;)ntrol, — With deadliest earnest, the national soul : — '^ The right of self-government, crovrn of our pride, — Eight, bought with the sacredest l)lood, — is denied! Shall we tamely resign what our enemy craves? No I martyrs Ave niai/ l)e I — we cannot be slaves !"' Fair women who miught but indulgence have seen, Who never have learned what denial could mean, — 16 A RHYME OF THK WAK. Who dc'i,!j;ii not to .sli])]»cr tlicir i»\sii dainty t'ect, Whoso wants swartliy liaiidinaids stand ready to meet. Whose fingers decline the liglit k<'iehiet' to hem, — What aid in this struggle is IiujxmI i'nr i'roni tliem? Yet see I liow tliey liaste from their howcrs of ease, Their dormant capacities hied, — to seize Every feminine weapon their skill can command, — To hibor with head, and with heart, and with hand. They stitch the rough jacket, they shape the coarse shirt. Unheeding though delicate fingers he hurt ; They hind the strong haversack, knit the grey glove. Nor falter nor jiause in their service of love. When ever were people subdued, overthrown, With women to cheer them on, hrave ;is our own? With maidens and mothers at work on their knees, When ever Avere soldiers as fearless as these? June's flower-wreathed sceptre is drop])ed with a sigh. And forth like an empress steps stately July : A REIYxME OF THE WAR. 17 She sits till unveiled, amidst giinsliine and balms, As Zenobia sat in lier City of Palms ! Not yet has the martial liorizon growii dun, JSfot yet has the terrible confliet begun : But the tumult of legions, — the rnsh and the roar, Break over our borders, like waves on the shore. Alona; the Potomac, tlie confident foe Stands marshalled for onset,- — prepared, at a blow, To vanquish the daring rebellion, and fling Utter ruin at once on the arrogant thing ! How sovran the silence that broods o'er the sky. And ushers the twenty-lirst morn of July ; — Date, written in iire on history's scroll, — — Date, drawn in deep blood-lines on many a soul ! There is qniet at Beechenbrook : Alice's brow Is wearing a Sabbatli tranquility now, As softly she reads from the page on her knee, — ^' Thou Avilt keep him in peace who is stayed upon Thee!" When Sophy bursts breathleysly into the room, — '^ Oh ! mother ! we hear it,— we hear it ! ... the boom 18 A RHYME <>F TFIK WAH. Of tlic liist aiiy tliL' Lmok " One instant the listener .sways in her seat,-— The ])aralysc(l heart lias forgotten to beat ; The next. Avith tlie s]>ee(l and the frenzy ("f fear, She gains tlie gi-een hillock, and jiauses to lieai*. Again and again the reverberant sound Is fearfully felt in tlie treninbnis ground ; Again and again on their senses it thrills. Like thunderous echoes astray in tlie hills. Ou tip-toe, — tlie summer wind lifting his liair, Witli nostril expauded, and scenting the air Like a mettled young war-lnjise tluxt tosses his mane. And frettingly cham})s at the bit and the rein, — Stands eager, exultant, a twelve-year-old bo}-. His face all aflame with a ra]>turous joy. '■ T/taf's music for heroes iu battle ai'i-ay I Oh, mother I I feel like a Roman to-day I The Romans 1 read of in Plutarch : — Yes, men Thouo-lit it noble to die for their lil>erties then I A RHYME OF THE AVAR. ^"^ And I've wondered if soldiers were ever so bold, So gallant and brave, as those heroes of old. .„T|^^^,^ , _ lij^ten ! -- 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 t —And lean do nothing : I'm only a boy !" The fervid hand drops as he ceases to speak, And tne elo crack, — tlie artillery's roar, — 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 ! A lUlYMK OF THE ^VAll. 21 She pauses again and again on the iioor, Whicli tlie nioonliglit has hrightened so mockingly o'er : She wrings her eokl hands with a groan of despair ; i'Oh, God I have compassion !— my darling is tliere 1" All placidly, dewily, freshly, the dawn Comes stealing in pulseless tranc[uility on : More freely she breathes, in its balminess,, though The forehead it kisses is pallid with woe. Through the long summer sunshine the Cottage is stirred By passers, who brokenly fling them a word : Such tidings of slaughter ! ^' The enemy cowers ;"— ''He breaks!"— ^'^ He is flying !"—'' Manassas is ours !' 'Tis evening : and Archie, alone on the grass, Sits watching the fire-flios gleam as they pass, When sudden he rushes, too eager to wait, — ^' Mamma! there's an ambulance stops . at the irate !' 22 nriVMK nr tiik wat:, .Suspense tli"n is past : lie is Ix.nic iVoin the lidd,- *'(i«»-ht-mare on Alice's breast.. 24 A RIIVMK OF TlIK WAH. Days come aiul days ^^j^o, and .slic watches the strife So evenly haUmced, twixt death and twixt life ; Thanks ( Jod lie still hrcatlies, as each evenini; takes Aving, And dares not to think w!iat the morrow may l»rin;T. 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 acrain. '' 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 cannons' 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 readv, Q;ood fellows ! — be cool wdien lie calls A RHYME OF THE WAR. 25 To the charge : Oh ! we'll beat them, — we'll turn them, — and then We'll ride them down madly !— On ! Onward ! my men ! " • The feverish frenzy o'erwearies him soon, And back on his pillows he sinks in a swoon. And sometimes, when Alice 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 flxce he would fasten the wistfullest gaze : — '' You are kind, but a hospital nurse cannot be Like Alice, — my tenderest Alice, — to me. Oh ! I know there's at Beechenbrook, many a tear. As she asks all the day, — 'Will he never be here?' " But Nature, kind healer ! brings sovereignest balm, And strokes the wild pulses with coolness and calm ; 3 26 A RIIYMK OF THE WAR. The conflict sn c(|U;il, so stul»l)<>ni. is past. And life gains tlie liardly-won battle at last. How sweet through the lung convalescence to lie. And from 'the low window, gaze nut at the sky. And float, as the ze})hyrs so tranquilly d«>. Aloft in the depths of inettahle hlue : — In painless, delicious half consciousness hrood, — Xo duties to cunil)er. no claims t his wife ; And never in motherhood's earliest l)liss. Had she tasted ;i happiness rounded like this ! A RHYME OF THE WAR. 27 And Douglass, sale slieltered from war's rude alarms, Finds Eden's lost precincts again in her arms : He hears afar oif, in the distance, the roar And the Lash ^of the billoAvs that break on the shore Of his isk^ of enchantment, — his haven of rest, — And ra])turous languor steals over his breast. He bathes in the sunlight of Alice's smiles ; He Avraps himself round with love's magical wiles : His sweet iterations pall not on her ear, — ^' Hove you — Hove you .'" — she never can hear That cadence too often ; its musical roll Wakes ever an echoed reply in her soul. — 13o A'isions of trial, of warning, of woe. Loom dark in the future of doubt ? Do they know They are hiving, of honied remembrance, a store To live on, when summer and sunshine 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 ao;ain? 28 A RHYME OF THE WAR. — 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 douht. 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 w^ind plaintively moan through the pines ; His children around him, with frolic and play. Cheat autumn's mild listlessness out of the day : And Alice, the sunshine all flecking her book. Beads low to the chime of the murmuring brook. But the world's rushing tide washes up to his feet. And leaps the soft barriejrs 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 fliil at his post. A RHYME OF THE WAR. 29 The gums by the brook-side are crimson and brown ; The leaves of the ash flicker goldenly down ; The roses that trellis the porches, have lost Their brio:htness and bloom at the touch of the frost The ozier-twined seat by the beeches, no more Looks tempting, and cheerful, and sweet, as of yore; The water glides darkly and mournfully on, As Alice sits watching it : — Douglass has gone ! A RIIYVE OF THE WAR, IV. '' I am weary and wuni, — I am hungry and chill. And cuttingly strikes the keen blast o'er the hill ; All day I have ridden through snnw and through sleet, With nothing, — not even a cracker to eat : But n.w, as I rest by the bivouac fire, AVhose blaze leaps up merrily, higher and higher, Impatient as Roland, who neighs to be fed, — For Caleb to bring me my bacon and bread. — 111 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 white, Is tauntingly filling my vision to-night. A RHYME or THE AVAR. 31 I catch mv sweet little ones' innocent mirth. I watch your dear face, as you sit at the hearth ; And I know, by the tender expression I see, I know, that my darling is musing of me. Does her thought dim the blaze ? — Does it shed through the room A chilly, unseen, and yet palpable gloOm? Ah ! then we are equal ! You share all my pain, And I halve your blessedness with you again I ^^ Don't think that my hardships are bitter to bear ; Don't think I repine at tlie 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 prouder, my own. Oh ! Beverly, boy ! — on his white steed, I ween, A princelier presence has never been seen ; And as yonder he lies, from the groups all apart, I bow to him loyally, — bow with my heart. '' What brave, buoyant letters you Avrite, sweet ! — they ring Through my soul like the blast of a trumpet, and bring 32 A RHYME OF THE WAR. Such a flame to my eye, such a flush to my cheek, — That often my liand will unconsciously seek The hilt of my sword as I read, — and I feel As the warrior does, wdien he flashes the steel f In fiery circles, and shouts in his might. For the heroes hehind him, to follow its light ! True wife of' a soldier ! — If douht or dismay Had ever, within me, one instant held sway, Your words wield a spell that would hid them he gone. Like hodiless ghosts at the touch of the dawn. ^' Gould the veriest craven that cowers and quails Before the vast horde that insults and assails 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, 'V^Jho have toiled all the day over mountain, through glen,— Half-clothed and unfed, — would he doubt ? — would he dare. In the face of such proof, yield again to despair ? '^ The hum of their voices comes laden with cheer, As the wind wafts a musical swell to mv ear, — A RHYME OF THE WAR. 33 Wild, clarion catches, — now flute-like and low ; — Would YOU like me to give you their Song of the Snow? Halt ! — the march is over ! Day is almost done ; Loose the cumhrous knapsack, Drop the heavy gun : Chilled and wet and weary, Wander to and fro, Seeking wood to kindle Fires amidst the snow. Round the bright blaze gather, Heed not sleet nor cold, — Ye are Spartan soldiers. Stout and brave and bold : Never Xerxian army Yet subdued a foe, Who but asked a blanket On a bed of snow. Shivering midst the darkness Christian men are found. There devoutly kneeling On the frozen ground. — 34 A KHV.MK nV TIIK WAR. Pleadiiii:; t'oi- their i-ounti-v, 111 its hour <>t" \V(»(.'. — F<»r its s(il(li(_'i-s iiiarcliing SlldC'lt'SS tllldU^ll tilt' SllMW. Lnst in lieavv slumlieis. Free iVuiii toil and stiilc* : Dix'aiiiiiig of their deai- ones, — Home, and child, and wite : Tentle.ss they are lying. While the fires hurn low. — Lying in their blankets. Midst December s snow ! Come, 8o})hy. my l)lossoni ! I've something to say Will chase lor a moment your gambols away : To-day as we climbed the steep mountain-path o'er, I nctticed a bare-footed lad in my corps ; '' How eomes it." — I asked, — *' you look careful and bold.— How eomes it you"i-e marching, unslntd, through the C(dd y ''Ah, sir ! Tm a poor, lonely oritlian. you see ; No m«»ther. no friends that are caring for me : A IIHYME OF THE WAR. 35 If I'm wouiuled, or captured, or killed, in the war, "Twill matter to nobody, Colonel Dunbar." Now, 8opliy! — your needles, dear! — Knit him some socks. And send the poor fellow a pair in my box ; Then he'll know, — and his heart with the thought Avill be filled, — There is one little maiden Avill care if he's killed. The fire burns dimly, and scattered around. The men lie asleep on the snow-cuvered ground ; But ere in my blanket I wrap me to rest, I hold you, my darling, close, — close, to my breast : Grod love you ! God grant you His comforting light ! I kiss YOU a thousand times over ! — Good ni^dit !"' 36 A RHYME OF THE '.VAR. V. '^^ To-morrow is Christmas!" — and clapping his handsj Little Archie in joyful expectancy stands, And watches the shadows, now short and now tall, That momently dance up and down on the wall. Drawn curtains of crimson shut out the cold night, And the parlor is pleasant w^th odours and light ; The soft lamp suspended, its mellowness throws O'er cluster'd geranium, jasmine and rose ; The sleeping canary hangs caged midst the hlooms, 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?" A RHYME OF THE WAR. 37 And the face that i.s tricksy and blythe as can he, Tries vainly to temper its shadowless glee. ^'For you, i)Qi, I'm snre it is right to be glad ; 'Tis a jDitiful thing to see little ones sad ; But for Sophy and me, wdio are older, you know, — We dare not he glad when we look at the snow ! I shrink from this comfort, this liglit and tliis heat, This plenty to wear, and this plenty to eat. When the soldiei's wlio figlit 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 father "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 romps, — till the battles are done ! ' " And the face of the bo}^, so heroic and fair. Is touched with the singular shadow of care. 4 38 A KllYME OF TIIK ^VAK. Sophy ceases lier warbling, subdues her soft luirtli, And draws her low ottoman up to the hearth : ''But, brother, what good would it do to refuse The comforts and blessings God gives us, or use Them quite witli indifference, as much as to say. We care not how soon they are taken away ! I am sure I would give my last blanket^ and spread My pretty, blue cloak, at night, over my bed, — (Mamma, you know, covers herself Avith her shawl. Since we've sent all our blankets,) — but. then, it's too small ! Would Papa be less hungry or cold, do you think, If ice had too little to eat or to drink ? So I mean to be busy, — I mean to be glad ; Mamma says there's time enough yet to be sad ; I'll work for the soldiers, — I'll pray, and I'll plan, And just be as happy as ever I can ; I've made the grey shirt, and I've finished the socks : — So come, let us help, — they are packing the box/' How grateful the task is to Alice I her cares Are quite put aside, and her countenance wears ' A RHYME OF THE WAK. 39 A look of enjoyment as eager, as bright, As Santa Clans brings little dreamers to-night ; For Douglass away in his camp^ is to share Tlio daintiest eates that her larder can spare. The turkey, Avell seasoned, and tenderly browned, Is flanked by the spiciest a la mode " round ;" The great ^' priestly ham," in its juiciest pride, Is there, — with the tenderest surloin beside ; E"eat bottles, suggestive of ketchups and wines, And condiments racy, of various kinds ; And firm rolls of butter as yellow as gold, And patties and biscuit most rare to behold, And sauces that richest of odors betray, — Are marshalled in most appetizing array. Then Beverly brings of \uf, nuts a full store, And Archie has apples, a dozen or. more ; While Sophy, with gratified housewifery, makes Her present of spicy ^' Confederate cakes."' And then in a snug little corner, there lies A pacquet will brighten the orphan boy's eyes ; For Beverly claims it a pleasure to use His last cherish'd hoardinsjs in buvino- him shoes. 40 A RHYME OF THE WAR. * Sophy's socks too are there ; aiid she catches afar — '' There's somebody cares for me, Colonel Dunbar I" What subtlest of essences, sovereign to cheer — What countless J iincatalogu'd tokens are here ! What lavender'd memories, tenderly green, Lie hidden, these grosser of viands between ! What food for the heart-life, — unreckon'd, 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 I A KIIYME OF THE AVAR. 41 VI. The lull of the Winter is over ; and Spring Comes back J 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 sj)lendour 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 valley, alas ! of the shadow of death. 4* 42 A RFIVMK <»F THK WAll. The crash of the onset, — the plunge and the roll, Eeach 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 hlanches tlie cheek, <>r is Avrunjx from the mouth. Or lurks in the eve of the sons of the South. What 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 : i 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 1 A RHYME OF THE WAR. 43 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 rush of the storm. Yet pale as Cassandra, unconscious of joy. With visions of Greeks at the gates of her Troy, All day she 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 inter- vene 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 : They 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 : 44 A RIIVMK OF THE WAK, The booming no longer makes sullen the air, And the silence of night seems as holy as prayer. Gray shadows still linger the beeches among, And scarce has the earliest matin been sung, Ere Alice with Beverly pale at her side, Yet firm as liis mother, is ready to ride. With sympathy, womanly, tender, divine, — With lint and with bandage, with bread and with wine, — She hastes to the battle-held, 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 w^oe, One word. — and the bitter-brimm'd heart would o'crflow : But speechless, and moveless, and stony of eye. Scarce conscious of aught in the earth or the sky, In a swoon of the licart, all her senses have reeled, — But she prays for endurance, — for here is the field. A KHYME OF THE AVAR. 45 The flight and puvsiiit, so harassing, so hot, Have drifted all combatants far from the spot : And through tlio sparse woodlands, and over the plain, Lie gorily scattered, the Avounded and slain. Oh ! the sickness, -^the shudder, — the quailing of fear. As it leaps to lier lips, — "What if Douglass be liere I"' Yet she frames not a question ; her spirit can bear Oh ! anything, — all things, but hoj)el6ss despair : Does her 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 : — 46 A ujivMn OF THE waii. ^' Oil I Surgeon ! — .soiuu luandy ! Ik-'s iUiiitiiig I — All ! now The colour comes back to his cheek and his bruw; — He breathes again — speaks again — listen ! — you arc ^ An orderly' — is it? — ^ of Colonel Dunbar?' ' He fought like a lion !' (I knew it !) and passed Untouched through the battle, ^unhurt to the last?' — My fatlier is safe, — mother! — safe! — what a And here is Macjilicrson. — our barefooted bov !' Poor Alice ! — her grief lias been tearless and dumb, But the pressure once lifted, her senses succumb : Too quick the revulsion, — too glad the surprise, — The mists of unconsciousness curtain her eyes : "Tis only a moment they suffer eclipse. And words of thanksgiving soon tlirill on her lips. To Beechenbrook's quiet, witli 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 breatliing his spirit away. A KHYME OF THE WAR. 47 He kno^vs that existence is ebbing ; his brain Is lucid and calm^ in the pauses of pain ; But his round boyisli cheek with no weeping is wet, And liis smile is not touched with a shade of regret. No murmur is lettered — no lingering sigh Escapes him ; — so young, — yet so willing to die ! His garment of flesh he has worn undefiled, His faith is the beautiful faith of a child : He know^s 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 can find Not a drop of the w^ath that had 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 slie is waiting for him. But the present comes back : — and on Alice's ear, Fall whispers like these, as she pauses to hear : 48 A RIIYMK OF TIIK WAR. '• Only a ])rivate : — and who will care When I may })ass away. — Or how, or why I ]>erisli, or where I mix Avitli the common clay ? They will fill my emj^ty place again. AVith another as hold and hrave ; And theyll blot ]ne out, ere the Autumn rain Has freshened mv nameless ugle, tliat summons to prayer : The signal is answered, and soon in the glen Sits Colonel Diinl)ar 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 we feel thy presence nigh, — Nothing 'twixt our souls and thee ! We are weai-y, — 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 ; Thou canst walk these waves and say To their restless tossino-s — '' Peace !' 52 A IllIYMK UF TllK WAR. AVe are tempted ; — snares a])Oinid, — Sin its treaelierons nieslies weaves : And teni)>tati()ns strew ns rountl, Thicker tlian the Autnnm leaves. Midst these ]»erils, mark <>ur juith. Thou wh(t art ' tlie lite, tlie way Rend eaeli fatal wile that hath Power to lead our sonls astrav. Prince of Peace I we follow Thee ! Phmt thy banner in our sight : Let th}' shadowy legions be Guards around our tents to-night.'' Through the aisles of the forest, tar-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 lireathing to hear : Now swelling, a Infty. triumphant refrain. — • Now sobbin«j: itself into sadness a^ain. A RHYME OF THE WAR. 53 The Bible is opened, and stillness profound Broods over the listeners scattered around ; And warning, and comfort, and blessing, and balm, Distil from the beautiful Avords of the Psalm. Then simply and earnestly pleading, — his face Lit up with 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 light. 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 iled before defeat. 54 A RHY.MK OF THE WAR. Behind you lie your cheerful lionies. And all of sweet or fair. — The only remnants earth has left ( )f Ivlen-life. are there. Ve know that many a once brip^ht 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-morrow's grave. Yet not a murmur meets the ear, Kor discontent has sway. And not a sullen brow is seen. Through all the camp to-day. No Greek, in Greece's palmiest days. His javelin ever threw, Impelled by more heroic zeal. Or nobler aim than vou. A RHYME OK THE WAR. 55 No mailed warrior ever bore Aloft his shining lance, More proudly through the tales that iire The page of old romance. Oh ! soldiers ! — well ye bear your part ; The world awards its praise : Be sure. — this grandest tourney o'er, — 'Twill crown you with its bays! But there's sublimer work than even To free your native sod ; — Ye may be loyal to your land. Yet traitors to your God ! Ko Moslem heaven for him who falls, A bribed requital doles ; And while ye save your country, — ye, Alas ! may lose your souls I No glorious deeds can urge their claim, — No merits, entrance win, — The pierced hand of Christ alone, Must freelv let vou in. 56 A RHYME or THE WAR. Oh ! sirs ! — there lurks a fiercer foe, Than this that treads your soil, Who springs from unseen ambuscades, To drag you as his spoil. lie drugs tlie lieedless conscience, till. No wary watch it keeps. And parleys with the treacheruus heart, While fast the warder sleeps. He captive leads tlie wavering will With specious words, and fair, And enters the beleaguered soul. And rules, a conqueror there. Will ye who tiing deliance forth, Against a temporal foe. And rather die. than stoop to wear .The chains tliat gall you so, — Will ye si.ccumb beneath a ])n\ver. That grasps at full control. And binds its helpless victims down In servitude of soul ? A RIIYMK OF Tin-: WAR. ."it Xay, — act like brave men, as ye are, — Nor let the despot, sin, 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 ! A UHVMl:: OF TilK WAR. V IT 1 . ^'Mv Doughiss ! my cl;irliiiL;- ! — tliere once was a time. When we to eacli other confessed the sublime And perfect sufficiency love could bestow. On the hearts that have learned its completeness to know : We felt that we too had a well-spring of joy, That earthly convulsions could never destroy, — A mossy, sealed fountain, so cool and s.. bright, It could solace the soul, let it thirst as it might. '^ 'Tis easy, while happiness strews in our j^ath. The richest and costliest blessings it liatli, 'Tis easy to say tliat no sorrow, no j)ain. Could utterly beggar our spirits again : *Tis easy to sit in the sunshine, and speak Of the darkness and storm, with a smile (.hi the cheek ! ^■••^• A RHYME OF THE WAR. 59 "'As hungry and cold, and Avitli weariness spent, You droop in your saddle, or crouch in your 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 i'eel you are wholly bereft. While the bosom that beats for you only, is left? While the birdlings are spared that have made it so blest, Can you look, undismayed, on the Avreck of the nest? '*' There's a love that is tenderer, sweeter than this— That is fuller of comfort, and blessing, and bliss ; That never can fail us, whatever befall — Unchanging, unwearied, undying, through all : We have need of the support — the staff and the rod ; — Beloved ! we'll lean on tlie bosom of (lod ! '"• You guess what I fain would keep hidden : — you know, Ere now, that the trail of the insolent foe BO A RHYME OF THE WAR. Leaves ruin beliiml it, disastrous and dire. And hums tlirou<;li our \'allev, a ])athway «tl" tire. — Our heautit'iil liome, — ^as 1 write it, I wee]), — ( )ur ln-autitul lionie is a smouldering licap I And Maekened. and blasted, and utIiii, and Inr- loi'n. Its c-hinmevs stainl stark in the mists <»f the nmrn ! '^I stood in my womanly hel}>lessness. weak — Thougli I felt a l)rave color was kindlin-- my cheek — And I plead hy the sacredest things of their lives — By the love that they hore to their children, — their wives. By the homes left hehind them, whusc joys they had shared. By tlie God that should judge them. — that mine should be spared. ^'As well might 1 plead with the whirlwind to stay As it crashingly cuts through the forest its way ! I know that my eye tiashed a ])assionate ire, As thev scornfullv flung me tlicir answer of — tire! A TvlIYME OF THE WAR. 61 ^^ Why liarrow your licart with the grief and the pain ? Why ])aint you the picture that's scorching my brain ? Why speak of the night when I stood on the lawn, And watched the hist flame die away in the dawn ? 'Tis over, — that vision of terror, — of woe ! Its liorrors I would not recall ; — let them go ! I am calm when I think what I suffered them for ; I grudge not the (|Uota / pay to the war ! ^^But, Douglass! — deep down in the core of my heart. There's a throbbing, an acliing, that will not de2:)art : 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, wliere at twilight I leaned at your side — G ^>2 A KlIYME nF THE WAK. The low-cushioned window-scat, where I woukl lie, With my head on your knee, and look out on the sky :— The chamber all holy with Invc and witli }»rayer, The motherhood memories clustering there — The vines that your hand has delighted to train, The trees that ijou planted ; — Oh ! never again Can love build us u]) such a bower of bliss : Oh ! never can home be as hallou'M as this ! '• Thank God I there's a dwelling not builded with hands, Whose pearly foundation, immovable stands ; There struggles, alarms, and disrjuietudes cease. And the blissfulest balm of the spirit is — peace ! Small trial 'twill seem when our perils are past. And we enter the house of our Father at last, — Light trouble, that here, in the night of our stay. The blast swept our wilderness lodging away ! '* The children — dear hearts I — it is touching to see My Beverly's beautiful kindness to me ; So buoyant his mein — so heroic — resigned — The boy has the soul of his lather, I find ! A RHYME OF THE WAR. (.O Kot a childish compkiint or regret have I heard, — Not even from Archie, a })etiihiiit word : Once only — a tear moistened Sophy's bright cheek : ^Papa has no home noiv !' — "twas all she could speak. ^^ A stranger I wander midst strangers ; and yet I never, — no, not for a moment forget That my heart has a home, — ^just as real, as true. And as warm as if Be-echenhrook sheltered' me too. God grant that this refuge from sorrow and pain — This hlessedest 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 wife !" 64 A EHYME OF TJIE WAR. IX. When liercc ainl l"ast-tliroii:2;iiii!; calami tics riisli 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 we have touched the far limit at last, — One throe, and the point 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, Xo respite, no pause, and no hopefulness bring ; The demon of carnage still breathes his hot breath, And fiercely goes forward the harvest of death. Days painfully drag their slow burden along ; And the jnilse that is beating so steady and strong, A KIIYME OF THE AVAR. 65 Stcinds stillj as there comes, from the echoing shore Of the winding and clear Rappahannock, the roar Of conflict so fell, that the silvery flood Runs purple and rapid and ghastly with blood. — Grand army of martyrs ! — though victory waves Them onward, her march must be over tlieir 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 'neath the calm of the sky. The air of the forest is spicy and sweet. And dreamily babbles a brook at lier feet 6=*'- G6 A RHYME OF THE WAR. Her cliildrc'ii ;iio 'round her. (uul sunshine and flowers. Try vainly to banish the gduoni of the hours. "With a volume she fiiiu her wild tlioughts would J)Ut her vision ean trace not a line on the l>age. And the poet's dear strains, once so soft to her ear. Have lost all their mystical power to cheer. The evening approaches — the i)ressure — the woe Growls drearer and 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, AVho 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 : A RHYME OF THE WAR. 67 She turns to the letter with hopeless appeal, But her fingers are helpless to loosen the seal : She lifts her dim eyes w^ith a look of despair, — Her hands for a moment are folded in pra3'er ; The strength she has sought is vouchsafed in her need : — ''I think I can hear it now, Beverly . . . read." The boy, with the resolute nerve of a man. And a voice which he holds as serene as he can. Takes quietly from her the letter, and reads : — ^' Dear Madam, — My heart in its symj)athy 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 ; ^)8 A RIIY3IE OF THE WAR. Erect ill his stirrups, — liis sword flashing high, And the look of a conqueror kindling his eye, His silvery voice rang aloft through the roar Of tlio musketry poured from tlie op})osite shore : — •liememher the Valley! — remember your wives! And on to your duty, boys! — on — with your lives!' '•He turned, and he paused, as lie 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. In liis blanket he lies, on the hospital floor, — So calm, you might deem all his agony o'er ; And here, as I write, on his lace I can see An expression whose radiance is startling to me. His faith is sublime : — he relinquishes life. And craves but one blessing, — to look on Ids icifc!" The Chaplain's recital is ended : — no vrord From Alice's white, breathless lips has been licard ; A nilYME OF THE WAR. 69' 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 anodyne-draught to the madness of grief. 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 con- trol. Through the dusk of the night — through the glare of the day. She urges, unconscious, her desolate way : One image is ever her vision before, — That blanketed form on the hospital iloor ! Her journey is ended ; and yonder she sees The spot where he lies, looming wliite through the trees : Her torpor dissolves with a shuddering start. And a terrible agony clutches lier heart. VO A RHYME OF THE WAR. The Chaplain advaiiCL's to meet lier : — he draws Her silently onward ; — no (question — no pause — Her finger she lavs on her lip ; — if she spake. •She knows that tlie spell that upholds her. would hroak. 'She has strengtli to go forward : they enter the door. — ■ And there, on the crowded and Iduod-tainted tloor, Close wrapped in his hlanket, lies Douglass: — his brow Wore never a look so seraphic as uow ! She stretches her arms the dear form to enfold, — •God help her ! . . . . she shrieks .... it is silent and cold ! A RHYME OF THE WAR. 71 X. ••' Break, my hearty and ease this })ain Cease to throb, thou tortured brain ; Let me die, — since he is slain, — Slain in battle ! Blessed brow, that loved to rest Its dear whiteness on my breast — Gor}^ was the grass it prest, — Slain in battle ! Oh ! tliat still and stately form — Never more will it be w^arm : 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 ! *J2 A lUIYME OF THE WAR. Straightway from that IJoudy .sod. Wlicre the trampling liorsemen trud- Liftcd to the arms of God ; — SLain ill hatth' ! Nut my h»ve to come hetweeii. With its interposing screen — Kaught of earth to intervene : — Shiin in hattk- ! Snatched the purple hillows o'er. Through the iiendish rage and mar. To the far and peaceful shore ; — Slain in hattle I Nunc demitte — thus I pray — "What else left for me to say. Since my life is reft away? —Slain in hattle! Let me die, oh I God '.—the dart Eankles deep within my heart. — Hope, and joy. and peace, depart : — Slain in hattle !' A RHYME OF THE WAR. 73 'Tis thus through her days and lier nights of despair, Her months of bereavement so hitter to hear, That Alice moans ever. Ah ! little they know, Who look on that brow, still and white as the snow, Who watch — but in vain — for the sigh or the tear. That only comes thick when no mortal is near, — Who 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 wTapped in the w^eeds of her widowhood, pale, — Though life seems all sunless and dim through the veil That drearily shadows her sorrowful brow. — Is the cause of her country less dear to her now? 7 74 A RHYME OF THE AVAR. Does the patriot-fltamc in lier heart cease to stir, — Does she feel that the conflict is over for her ? Because the red war-tide has deluged her o'er, — Has wreaked its wild wrath, and can harm her no more, — Does slie stand, self-ahsorbed, on tlie wreck she has braved, Nor care if her country be lost or be saved? By her pride in tlic soil tliat 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, — By the altar where once rose the hymn and the prayer ; By the home that lies scarred in its solitude there, — By the pangs she has suffered, — 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,— A RUYME OF THE WAR. 75 By the blood of the heart that she worshipped, — 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, oh ! Father ! in Thee, She claims that her glorious South must be free ! 76 VIK(;iNIA VIRGLMA. A SONNET. Grandly tliou fillest the world's eye to-day. My i)roiid 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 We 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 t-lie 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 ! JACKSON. TT JACKSON. A SOXXET. Thank God for such a Hero ! — Fearless hohl His diamond character beneath the sun. And brighter scintillations, one by one, Oome 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, — Kor 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 Christ shall wear ! 7* 78 I URGE FOR A.SIIBY. DIRGE FOR ASHBY Heard ye tliat thrilling word- Accent of dread — Flash like a thunderbolt, ' Bowing each head — Crash through the battle dun, Over the booming gun — '• AsJiby, our bravest one, — Ashhy is dead!" Saw ye the veterans — Hearts that had known Never a quail of fear, Xever a groan — Sob 'mid the fight they \\:in, — Tears their stern eyes within *"• Ashby, our Paladin, Ashbv is 2:one !" DIRGE FOR ASHBY. Y9 Dash, — clash the tear away — Crush down the pain ! ^^ Dulce et decus," he Fittest refrain ! Why should the dreary pall Kound him he 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 he it rung — ' '' FolloiD me ! follow me /' ' — Soldier, oh ! could there he P^an or dirge for thee. Loftier sung ! Bold as the Lion-heart, Dauntless and hrave ; Knightly as knightliest Bayard could crave ; Sweet with all Sidney's grace — Tender as Hampden's face — Who — who shall fill the space Void hy his grave ? 80 MIKJK Full ASHHY. 'Tis not one broken heart. Wild with dismay ; Crazed with her agony. Weeps o'er his clay : Ah ! from a thousand eyes Flow the pure tears that rise ; Widowed Virginia lies Stricken to-dav I Yet — thouo'h tliat thrillino- word Accent of dread — Falls like a thunderholt. Bowing each head — Heroes ! be battle done Bravelier every one. Kerved by the thought alone — AsJthi/ is dead .' STONEWALL JACKSON's (iRAVE. 81 STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE.* A simple, sodded mound of earth, Without 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 glory : — 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 the singuhar spectacle was presented at Lexington, Va., of two hostile armies, in turn, reverently visiting Jackson's grave. 82 .sToxKWALr. .iack.-on's crave. A twolveniontli only, since his sword Went flashing through tlie battle — A twelvemonth only^ since his ear Heard war's kst deadly rattle — And yet, have countless pilgrim-feet The pilgrim's guerdon paid him. And weeping Avomen 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. ' W^ho fled in frantic masses. Before the glittering bayonet That triumphed at Manassas : Who witnessed Kernstown's fearful odds, As on their ranks he thundered. Defiant as the storied Greek, Amid his brave three hundred ! STONEWALL JACKSON 'S GRAVE. 83 They well recall the tiger spring, The Avise retreat, the rally, The tireless march, the fierce pursuit. Through many a mountain valley : Cross Keys unlock new paths to fame. And Port Republic's story Wrests from his ever-vanquish'cl 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 longer the dead eagle ? Nay, rather far accept it thus, — An homage true and tender, As soldier unto soldier's worth, — As brave to brave will render. 84 STOXEWALL JACKSOX'S (JRAVE. But who shall weigh tlie wordless grief That leaves in tears its traces. As round tlieir leader crowd again. The hronzed and veteran faces I The '' Old Brigade" he loved so well— The mountain men, who bound him With 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 ^^ cliarge' Above the volley crashing ; — Who oft had watched the lifted liand. 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 dvino; ave.s ! STOXE\VALL JACKSOX's GRAVE. 85 Rare 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 nought may soothe or sever, — If THESE can consecrate, — this spot Is sacred ground forever ! 8C WIIEX THE WAR IS OVER. AVHEN THE WA1{ IS OVER, A CHRISTMAS LAY All ! the happy Christmas times ! Times we all remember ; — Times that flung a ruddy glow O'er the gray December ; — Will they never come again. With their song and story? Kever wear a remnant more Of their olden glory ? Must the little children miss Still the festal token V Must their realm of young romance All he marred and broken ? Must the mother promise on. "While her smiles dissemble. And she speaks right quietly. Lest her voice should tremlile : — WHEN THE WAR IS OVER. 87 '' Darlings ! wait till lather comes — Wait — and w^e'll discover Never were such Christmas times, When the war is over !" II. Underneath the midnight sky. Bright w4th 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 wdth sudden gladness. Kisses all her tears away — Chides her looks of sadness — Talks of Christmas nights to come, — And his step grows lighter. Whispering, while his stiffening hand Grasps his musket tighter : — WHEN' THE WAR IS OVER. '' Patience, level — kee]) lieart I keep liope! To your weary rovei-. What a liome our liume will Itc. When the war is r»ver !" III. By the twilight Christmas tire. All her senses laden With a weight of tenderness. Sits the musinc: maiden : From the parlor's cheerful hlaze. Far her visions wander. To the white tent gleaming bright, On the hill-side yonder. Buoyant in her brave, young love. Flushed with patriot honour, No misgiving, no fond fear, Flings its shade upon her. Though no mortal soul can know Half the love she bears him. Proudly, for her country's sake, From her heart she spares him. WHEN THE WAR IS OVER. 89 — God be thanked ! — she does not dream. That her gallant 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 sej)arate 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 j)recious links — Mourn the empty places — Read the hopeless ^^ Nevermore," In each other's faces ! 8* 90 WIIEX THE WAR IS OVER. — Oh ! what aching. anguisliM hearts O'er kme graves will hover. With a new, fresh sense of pain, AVhen the war is over 1 Stern endurance, bitterer still. Sharp with self-denial. Fraught with loftier sacrifice. Fuller far of trial — Strews our flinty path of thorns- Marks our bloody story — Fits us for the victor's palm — Weaves our robe of glory I Shall we faint with God above, And His strong arm under — And the cold world gazing on. In a maze of wonder y Xo ! with more resistless march, More resolved endeavor. Press we onward — struggle still, Fio-ht and win forever ! WHEN THE WAR LS OVER. 91 — Holy peace will heal all ills, Joy all losses cover, Eaptiires rend our Southern skies, When the war is over ! 92 VIRGINIA CAl'TA. VIRGINIA CATTA. ATKIL 9th, 1865. I. Unconquered ca})tivc' ! — 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 hare ; The hand that held the martial rein, And hurled the spear on many a plain — Stretch — till they clasp the shackles there ! III. The foot that once 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. VIRGINIA CAPTA. 93 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 ! Eend 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 pride : — Xo grander heroes ever died — No sterner, battled to the last ! Weep, if thou wilt, with proud, sad mein. Thy blasted hopes — thy peace undone,- Yet brave, live on, — nor seek to shun Thy fate, like Egypt's conquer' d Queen. 94 VIRGINIA CAPTA. Yin. Though forced a captive's place to liil, In the triumplial traiiij — yet tliere Suj^erbly, like Zenobia, wear Thy chains, — Virginia Victrix still ! \ ^: '•:^ RARE BOOK COLLECTION THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT CHAPEL HILL Wilmer 887