A Grave near Petersburg, Virginia.[19][19]Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem.Head-board and foot-board duly placed—Grassed in the mound between;Daniel Drouth is the slumberer’s name—Long may his grave be green!Quick was his way—a flash and a blow,Full of his fire was he—A fire of hell—’tis burnt out now—Green may his grave long be!May his grave be green, though heWas a rebel of iron mould;Many a true heart—true to the Cause,Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold.May his grave be green—still greenWhile happy years shall run;May none come nigh to disinterThe—Buried Gun.
[19]Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem.
[19]Shortly prior to the evacuation of Petersburg, the enemy, with a view to ultimate repossession, interred some of his heavy guns in the same field with his dead, and with every circumstance calculated to deceive. Subsequently the negroes exposed the stratagem.
Head-board and foot-board duly placed—Grassed in the mound between;Daniel Drouth is the slumberer’s name—Long may his grave be green!
Head-board and foot-board duly placed—
Grassed in the mound between;
Daniel Drouth is the slumberer’s name—
Long may his grave be green!
Quick was his way—a flash and a blow,Full of his fire was he—A fire of hell—’tis burnt out now—Green may his grave long be!
Quick was his way—a flash and a blow,
Full of his fire was he—
A fire of hell—’tis burnt out now—
Green may his grave long be!
May his grave be green, though heWas a rebel of iron mould;Many a true heart—true to the Cause,Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold.
May his grave be green, though he
Was a rebel of iron mould;
Many a true heart—true to the Cause,
Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold.
May his grave be green—still greenWhile happy years shall run;May none come nigh to disinterThe—Buried Gun.
May his grave be green—still green
While happy years shall run;
May none come nigh to disinter
The—Buried Gun.
“Formerly a Slave.”An idealized Portrait, by E. Vedder, in the Spring Exhibition of the National Academy, 1865.The sufferance of her race is shown,And retrospect of life,Which now too late deliverance dawns upon;Yet is she not at strife.Her children’s children they shall knowThe good withheld from her;And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer—In spirit she sees the stirFar down the depth of thousand years,And marks the revel shine;Her dusky face is lit with sober light,Sibylline, yet benign.
The sufferance of her race is shown,And retrospect of life,Which now too late deliverance dawns upon;Yet is she not at strife.
The sufferance of her race is shown,
And retrospect of life,
Which now too late deliverance dawns upon;
Yet is she not at strife.
Her children’s children they shall knowThe good withheld from her;And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer—In spirit she sees the stir
Her children’s children they shall know
The good withheld from her;
And so her reverie takes prophetic cheer—
In spirit she sees the stir
Far down the depth of thousand years,And marks the revel shine;Her dusky face is lit with sober light,Sibylline, yet benign.
Far down the depth of thousand years,
And marks the revel shine;
Her dusky face is lit with sober light,
Sibylline, yet benign.
The Apparition.(A Retrospect.)Convulsions came; and, where the fieldLong slept in pastoral green,A goblin-mountain was upheaved(Sure the scared sense was all deceived),Marl-glen and slag-ravine.The unreserve of Ill was there,The clinkers in her last retreat;But, ere the eye could take it in,Or mind could comprehension win,It sunk!—and at our feet.So, then, Solidity’s a crust—The core of fire below;All may go well for many a year,But who can think without a fearOf horrors that happen so?
Convulsions came; and, where the fieldLong slept in pastoral green,A goblin-mountain was upheaved(Sure the scared sense was all deceived),Marl-glen and slag-ravine.
Convulsions came; and, where the field
Long slept in pastoral green,
A goblin-mountain was upheaved
(Sure the scared sense was all deceived),
Marl-glen and slag-ravine.
The unreserve of Ill was there,The clinkers in her last retreat;But, ere the eye could take it in,Or mind could comprehension win,It sunk!—and at our feet.
The unreserve of Ill was there,
The clinkers in her last retreat;
But, ere the eye could take it in,
Or mind could comprehension win,
It sunk!—and at our feet.
So, then, Solidity’s a crust—The core of fire below;All may go well for many a year,But who can think without a fearOf horrors that happen so?
So, then, Solidity’s a crust—
The core of fire below;
All may go well for many a year,
But who can think without a fear
Of horrors that happen so?
Magnanimity Baffled.“Sharp words we had before the fight;But—now the fight is done—Look, here’s my hand,” said the Victor bold,“Take it—an honest one!What, holding back? I mean you well;Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man;The odds were great; I honor you;Man honors man.“Still silent, friend? can grudges be?Yet am I held a foe?—Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies—Never I’ll leave him so!Brave one! I here implore your hand;Dumb still? all fellowship fled?Nay, then, I’ll have this stubborn hand”He snatched it—it was dead.
“Sharp words we had before the fight;But—now the fight is done—Look, here’s my hand,” said the Victor bold,“Take it—an honest one!What, holding back? I mean you well;Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man;The odds were great; I honor you;Man honors man.
“Sharp words we had before the fight;
But—now the fight is done—
Look, here’s my hand,” said the Victor bold,
“Take it—an honest one!
What, holding back? I mean you well;
Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man;
The odds were great; I honor you;
Man honors man.
“Still silent, friend? can grudges be?Yet am I held a foe?—Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies—Never I’ll leave him so!Brave one! I here implore your hand;Dumb still? all fellowship fled?Nay, then, I’ll have this stubborn hand”He snatched it—it was dead.
“Still silent, friend? can grudges be?
Yet am I held a foe?—
Turned to the wall, on his cot he lies—
Never I’ll leave him so!
Brave one! I here implore your hand;
Dumb still? all fellowship fled?
Nay, then, I’ll have this stubborn hand”
He snatched it—it was dead.
On the Slain Collegians.[20][20]The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched who never returned except on the shield.Youth is the time when hearts are large,And stirring warsAppeal to the spirit which appeals in turnTo the blade it draws.If woman incite, and duty show(Though made the mask of Cain),Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause,Who can aloof remainThat shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snowOf wisdom or sordid gain?The liberal arts and nurture sweetWhich give his gentleness to man—Train him to honor, lend him graceThrough bright examples meet—That culture which makes never wanWith underminings deep, but holdsThe surface still, its fitting place,And so gives sunniness to the faceAnd bravery to the heart; what troopsOf generous boys in happiness thus bred—Saturnians through life’s Tempe led,Went from the North and came from the South,With golden mottoes in the mouth,To lie down midway on a bloody bed.Woe for the homes of the North,And woe for the seats of the South;All who felt life’s spring in prime,And were swept by the wind of their place and time—All lavish hearts, on whichever side,Of birth urbane or courage high,Armed them for the stirring wars—Armed them—some to die.Apollo-like in pride,Each would slay his Python—caughtThe maxims in his temple taught—Aflame with sympathies whose blazePerforce enwrapped him—social laws,Friendship and kin, and by-gone days—Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors,And launches into the seas of wars.What could they else—North or South?Each went forth with blessings givenBy priests and mothers in the name of Heaven;And honor in both was chief.Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?So be it; but they both were young—Each grape to his cluster clung,All their elegies are sung.The anguish of maternal heartsMust search for balm divine;But well the striplings bore their fated parts(The heavens all parts assign)—Never felt life’s care or cloy.Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mereSliding into some vernal sphere.They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf—Which storms lay low in kindly doom,And kill them in their flush of bloom.
[20]The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched who never returned except on the shield.
[20]The records of Northern colleges attest what numbers of our noblest youth went from them to the battle-field. Southern members of the same classes arrayed themselves on the side of Secession; while Southern seminaries contributed large quotas. Of all these, what numbers marched who never returned except on the shield.
Youth is the time when hearts are large,And stirring warsAppeal to the spirit which appeals in turnTo the blade it draws.If woman incite, and duty show(Though made the mask of Cain),Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause,Who can aloof remainThat shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snowOf wisdom or sordid gain?
Youth is the time when hearts are large,
And stirring wars
Appeal to the spirit which appeals in turn
To the blade it draws.
If woman incite, and duty show
(Though made the mask of Cain),
Or whether it be Truth’s sacred cause,
Who can aloof remain
That shares youth’s ardor, uncooled by the snow
Of wisdom or sordid gain?
The liberal arts and nurture sweetWhich give his gentleness to man—Train him to honor, lend him graceThrough bright examples meet—That culture which makes never wanWith underminings deep, but holdsThe surface still, its fitting place,And so gives sunniness to the faceAnd bravery to the heart; what troopsOf generous boys in happiness thus bred—Saturnians through life’s Tempe led,Went from the North and came from the South,With golden mottoes in the mouth,To lie down midway on a bloody bed.
The liberal arts and nurture sweet
Which give his gentleness to man—
Train him to honor, lend him grace
Through bright examples meet—
That culture which makes never wan
With underminings deep, but holds
The surface still, its fitting place,
And so gives sunniness to the face
And bravery to the heart; what troops
Of generous boys in happiness thus bred—
Saturnians through life’s Tempe led,
Went from the North and came from the South,
With golden mottoes in the mouth,
To lie down midway on a bloody bed.
Woe for the homes of the North,And woe for the seats of the South;All who felt life’s spring in prime,And were swept by the wind of their place and time—All lavish hearts, on whichever side,Of birth urbane or courage high,Armed them for the stirring wars—Armed them—some to die.Apollo-like in pride,Each would slay his Python—caughtThe maxims in his temple taught—Aflame with sympathies whose blazePerforce enwrapped him—social laws,Friendship and kin, and by-gone days—Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors,And launches into the seas of wars.What could they else—North or South?Each went forth with blessings givenBy priests and mothers in the name of Heaven;And honor in both was chief.Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?So be it; but they both were young—Each grape to his cluster clung,All their elegies are sung.
Woe for the homes of the North,
And woe for the seats of the South;
All who felt life’s spring in prime,
And were swept by the wind of their place and time—
All lavish hearts, on whichever side,
Of birth urbane or courage high,
Armed them for the stirring wars—
Armed them—some to die.
Apollo-like in pride,
Each would slay his Python—caught
The maxims in his temple taught—
Aflame with sympathies whose blaze
Perforce enwrapped him—social laws,
Friendship and kin, and by-gone days—
Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors,
And launches into the seas of wars.
What could they else—North or South?
Each went forth with blessings given
By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven;
And honor in both was chief.
Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong?
So be it; but they both were young—
Each grape to his cluster clung,
All their elegies are sung.
The anguish of maternal heartsMust search for balm divine;But well the striplings bore their fated parts(The heavens all parts assign)—Never felt life’s care or cloy.Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mereSliding into some vernal sphere.They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf—Which storms lay low in kindly doom,And kill them in their flush of bloom.
The anguish of maternal hearts
Must search for balm divine;
But well the striplings bore their fated parts
(The heavens all parts assign)—
Never felt life’s care or cloy.
Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy;
Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere
Sliding into some vernal sphere.
They knew the joy, but leaped the grief,
Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf—
Which storms lay low in kindly doom,
And kill them in their flush of bloom.
America.I.Where the wings of a sunny Dome expandI saw a Banner in gladsome air—Starry, like Berenice’s Hair—Afloat in broadened bravery there;With undulating long-drawn flow,As rolled Brazilian billows goVoluminously o’er the Line.The Land reposed in peace below;The children in their gleeWere folded to the exulting heartOf young Maternity.II.Later, and it streamed in fightWhen tempest mingled with the fray,And over the spear-point of the shaftI saw the ambiguous lightning play.Valor with Valor strove, and died:Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;And the lorn Mother speechless stood,Pale at the fury of her brood.III.Yet later, and the silk did windHer fair cold form;Little availed the shining shroud,Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.A watcher looked upon her low, and said—She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.But in that sleep contortion showedThe terror of the vision there—A silent vision unavowed,Revealing earth’s foundation bare,And Gorgon in her hidden place.It was a thing of fear to seeSo foul a dream upon so fair a face,And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.IV.But from the trance she sudden broke—The trance, or death into promoted life;At her feet a shivered yoke,And in her aspect turned to heavenNo trace of passion or of strife—A clear calm look. It spake of pain,But such as purifies from stain—Sharp pangs that never come again—And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,Power dedicate, and hope grown wise,And youth matured for age’s seat—Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.So she, with graver air and lifted flag;While the shadow, chased by light,Fled along the far-drawn height,And left her on the crag.
I.Where the wings of a sunny Dome expandI saw a Banner in gladsome air—Starry, like Berenice’s Hair—Afloat in broadened bravery there;With undulating long-drawn flow,As rolled Brazilian billows goVoluminously o’er the Line.The Land reposed in peace below;The children in their gleeWere folded to the exulting heartOf young Maternity.
Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand
I saw a Banner in gladsome air—
Starry, like Berenice’s Hair—
Afloat in broadened bravery there;
With undulating long-drawn flow,
As rolled Brazilian billows go
Voluminously o’er the Line.
The Land reposed in peace below;
The children in their glee
Were folded to the exulting heart
Of young Maternity.
II.Later, and it streamed in fightWhen tempest mingled with the fray,And over the spear-point of the shaftI saw the ambiguous lightning play.Valor with Valor strove, and died:Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;And the lorn Mother speechless stood,Pale at the fury of her brood.
Later, and it streamed in fight
When tempest mingled with the fray,
And over the spear-point of the shaft
I saw the ambiguous lightning play.
Valor with Valor strove, and died:
Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;
And the lorn Mother speechless stood,
Pale at the fury of her brood.
III.Yet later, and the silk did windHer fair cold form;Little availed the shining shroud,Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.A watcher looked upon her low, and said—She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.But in that sleep contortion showedThe terror of the vision there—A silent vision unavowed,Revealing earth’s foundation bare,And Gorgon in her hidden place.It was a thing of fear to seeSo foul a dream upon so fair a face,And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.
Yet later, and the silk did wind
Her fair cold form;
Little availed the shining shroud,
Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm.
A watcher looked upon her low, and said—
She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.
But in that sleep contortion showed
The terror of the vision there—
A silent vision unavowed,
Revealing earth’s foundation bare,
And Gorgon in her hidden place.
It was a thing of fear to see
So foul a dream upon so fair a face,
And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.
IV.But from the trance she sudden broke—The trance, or death into promoted life;At her feet a shivered yoke,And in her aspect turned to heavenNo trace of passion or of strife—A clear calm look. It spake of pain,But such as purifies from stain—Sharp pangs that never come again—And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,Power dedicate, and hope grown wise,And youth matured for age’s seat—Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.So she, with graver air and lifted flag;While the shadow, chased by light,Fled along the far-drawn height,And left her on the crag.
But from the trance she sudden broke—
The trance, or death into promoted life;
At her feet a shivered yoke,
And in her aspect turned to heaven
No trace of passion or of strife—
A clear calm look. It spake of pain,
But such as purifies from stain—
Sharp pangs that never come again—
And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,
Power dedicate, and hope grown wise,
And youth matured for age’s seat—
Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.
So she, with graver air and lifted flag;
While the shadow, chased by light,
Fled along the far-drawn height,
And left her on the crag.
VersesInscriptive and Memorial
On the Home Guardswho perished in the Defense of Lexington, Missouri.The men who here in harness diedFell not in vain, though in defeat.They by their end well fortifiedThe Cause, and built retreat(With memory of their valor tried)For emulous hearts in many an after fray—Hearts sore beset, which died at bay.
The men who here in harness diedFell not in vain, though in defeat.They by their end well fortifiedThe Cause, and built retreat(With memory of their valor tried)For emulous hearts in many an after fray—Hearts sore beset, which died at bay.
The men who here in harness died
Fell not in vain, though in defeat.
They by their end well fortified
The Cause, and built retreat
(With memory of their valor tried)
For emulous hearts in many an after fray—
Hearts sore beset, which died at bay.
Inscriptionfor Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkansas.Let none misgive we died amissWhen here we strove in furious fight:Furious it was; nathless was thisBetter than tranquil plight,And tame surrender of the CauseHallowed by hearts and by the laws.We here who warred for Man and Right,The choice of warring never laid with us.There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice.Nor long we stood to trim and poise,But marched, and fell—victorious!
Let none misgive we died amissWhen here we strove in furious fight:Furious it was; nathless was thisBetter than tranquil plight,And tame surrender of the CauseHallowed by hearts and by the laws.We here who warred for Man and Right,The choice of warring never laid with us.There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice.Nor long we stood to trim and poise,But marched, and fell—victorious!
Let none misgive we died amiss
When here we strove in furious fight:
Furious it was; nathless was this
Better than tranquil plight,
And tame surrender of the Cause
Hallowed by hearts and by the laws.
We here who warred for Man and Right,
The choice of warring never laid with us.
There we were ruled by the traitor’s choice.
Nor long we stood to trim and poise,
But marched, and fell—victorious!
The Fortitude of the Northunder the Disaster of the Second Manassas.They take no shame for dark defeatWhile prizing yet each victory won,Who fight for the Right through all retreat,Nor pause until their work is done.The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe;Vainly against that foreland beatWild winds aloft and wilder waves below:The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleetWhen the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow.
They take no shame for dark defeatWhile prizing yet each victory won,Who fight for the Right through all retreat,Nor pause until their work is done.The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe;Vainly against that foreland beatWild winds aloft and wilder waves below:The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleetWhen the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow.
They take no shame for dark defeat
While prizing yet each victory won,
Who fight for the Right through all retreat,
Nor pause until their work is done.
The Cape-of-Storms is proof to every throe;
Vainly against that foreland beat
Wild winds aloft and wilder waves below:
The black cliffs gleam through rents in sleet
When the livid Antarctic storm-clouds glow.
On the Men of Mainekilled in the Victory of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.Afar they fell. It was the zoneOf fig and orange, cane and lime(A land how all unlike their own,With the cold pine-grove overgrown),But still their Country’s clime.And there in youth they died for her—The Volunteers,For her went up their dying prayers:So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie.What doubt shall come, then, to deterThe Republic’s earnest faith and courage high.
Afar they fell. It was the zoneOf fig and orange, cane and lime(A land how all unlike their own,With the cold pine-grove overgrown),But still their Country’s clime.And there in youth they died for her—The Volunteers,For her went up their dying prayers:So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie.What doubt shall come, then, to deterThe Republic’s earnest faith and courage high.
Afar they fell. It was the zone
Of fig and orange, cane and lime
(A land how all unlike their own,
With the cold pine-grove overgrown),
But still their Country’s clime.
And there in youth they died for her—
The Volunteers,
For her went up their dying prayers:
So vast the Nation, yet so strong the tie.
What doubt shall come, then, to deter
The Republic’s earnest faith and courage high.
An Epitaph.When Sunday tidings from the frontMade pale the priest and people,And heavily the blessing went,And bells were dumb in the steeple;The Soldier’s widow (summering sweerly here,In shade by waving beeches lent)Felt deep at heart her faith content,And priest and people borrowed of her cheer.
When Sunday tidings from the frontMade pale the priest and people,And heavily the blessing went,And bells were dumb in the steeple;The Soldier’s widow (summering sweerly here,In shade by waving beeches lent)Felt deep at heart her faith content,And priest and people borrowed of her cheer.
When Sunday tidings from the front
Made pale the priest and people,
And heavily the blessing went,
And bells were dumb in the steeple;
The Soldier’s widow (summering sweerly here,
In shade by waving beeches lent)
Felt deep at heart her faith content,
And priest and people borrowed of her cheer.
Inscriptionfor Marye’s Heights, Fredericksburg.To them who crossed the floodAnd climbed the hill, with eyesUpon the heavenly flag intent,And through the deathful tumult wentEven unto death: to them this Stone—Erect, where they were overthrown—Of more than victory the monument.
To them who crossed the floodAnd climbed the hill, with eyesUpon the heavenly flag intent,And through the deathful tumult wentEven unto death: to them this Stone—Erect, where they were overthrown—Of more than victory the monument.
To them who crossed the flood
And climbed the hill, with eyes
Upon the heavenly flag intent,
And through the deathful tumult went
Even unto death: to them this Stone—
Erect, where they were overthrown—
Of more than victory the monument.
The Mound by the Lake.The grass shall never forget this grave.When homeward footing it in the sunAfter the weary ride by rail,The stripling soldiers passed her door,Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,She left her household work undone—Duly the wayside table spread,With evergreens shaded, to regaleEach travel-spent and grateful one.So warm her heart—childless—unwed,Who like a mother comforted.
The grass shall never forget this grave.When homeward footing it in the sunAfter the weary ride by rail,The stripling soldiers passed her door,Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,She left her household work undone—Duly the wayside table spread,With evergreens shaded, to regaleEach travel-spent and grateful one.So warm her heart—childless—unwed,Who like a mother comforted.
The grass shall never forget this grave.
When homeward footing it in the sun
After the weary ride by rail,
The stripling soldiers passed her door,
Wounded perchance, or wan and pale,
She left her household work undone—
Duly the wayside table spread,
With evergreens shaded, to regale
Each travel-spent and grateful one.
So warm her heart—childless—unwed,
Who like a mother comforted.
On the Slain at Chickamauga.Happy are they and charmed in lifeWho through long wars arrive unscarredAt peace. To such the wreath be given,If they unfalteringly have striven—In honor, as in limb, unmarred.Let cheerful praise be rife,And let them live their years at ease,Musing on brothers who victorious died—Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.And yet mischance is honorable too—Seeming defeat in conflict justifiedWhose end to closing eyes is his from view.The will, that never can relent—The aim, survivor of the bafflement,Make this memorial due.
Happy are they and charmed in lifeWho through long wars arrive unscarredAt peace. To such the wreath be given,If they unfalteringly have striven—In honor, as in limb, unmarred.Let cheerful praise be rife,And let them live their years at ease,Musing on brothers who victorious died—Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.
Happy are they and charmed in life
Who through long wars arrive unscarred
At peace. To such the wreath be given,
If they unfalteringly have striven—
In honor, as in limb, unmarred.
Let cheerful praise be rife,
And let them live their years at ease,
Musing on brothers who victorious died—
Loved mates whose memory shall ever please.
And yet mischance is honorable too—Seeming defeat in conflict justifiedWhose end to closing eyes is his from view.The will, that never can relent—The aim, survivor of the bafflement,Make this memorial due.
And yet mischance is honorable too—
Seeming defeat in conflict justified
Whose end to closing eyes is his from view.
The will, that never can relent—
The aim, survivor of the bafflement,
Make this memorial due.
An uninscribed Monumenton one of the Battle-fields of the Wilderness.Silence and Solitude may hint(Whose home is in yon piny wood)What I, though tableted, could never tell—The din which here befell,And striving of the multitude.The iron cones and spheres of deathSet round me in their rust,These, too, if just,Shall speak with more than animated breath.Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,Not narrowed down to personal cheer,Take in the import of the quiet here—The after-quiet—the calm full fraught;Thou too wilt silent stand—Silent as I, and lonesome as the land.
Silence and Solitude may hint(Whose home is in yon piny wood)What I, though tableted, could never tell—The din which here befell,And striving of the multitude.The iron cones and spheres of deathSet round me in their rust,These, too, if just,Shall speak with more than animated breath.Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,Not narrowed down to personal cheer,Take in the import of the quiet here—The after-quiet—the calm full fraught;Thou too wilt silent stand—Silent as I, and lonesome as the land.
Silence and Solitude may hint
(Whose home is in yon piny wood)
What I, though tableted, could never tell—
The din which here befell,
And striving of the multitude.
The iron cones and spheres of death
Set round me in their rust,
These, too, if just,
Shall speak with more than animated breath.
Thou who beholdest, if thy thought,
Not narrowed down to personal cheer,
Take in the import of the quiet here—
The after-quiet—the calm full fraught;
Thou too wilt silent stand—
Silent as I, and lonesome as the land.
On Sherman’s Menwho fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia.They said that Fame her clarion droppedBecause great deeds were done no more—That even Duty knew no shining ends,And Glory—’twas a fallen star!But battle can heroes and bards restore.Nay, look at Kenesaw:Perils the mailed ones never knewAre lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue,And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war.
They said that Fame her clarion droppedBecause great deeds were done no more—That even Duty knew no shining ends,And Glory—’twas a fallen star!But battle can heroes and bards restore.Nay, look at Kenesaw:Perils the mailed ones never knewAre lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue,And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war.
They said that Fame her clarion dropped
Because great deeds were done no more—
That even Duty knew no shining ends,
And Glory—’twas a fallen star!
But battle can heroes and bards restore.
Nay, look at Kenesaw:
Perils the mailed ones never knew
Are lightly braved by the ragged coats of blue,
And gentler hearts are bared to deadlier war.
On the Graveof a young Cavalry Officer killed in the Valley of Virginia.Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends—Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had heWhom here low violets veil from eyes.But all these gifts transcended be:His happier fortune in this mound you see.
Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends—Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had heWhom here low violets veil from eyes.But all these gifts transcended be:His happier fortune in this mound you see.
Beauty and youth, with manners sweet, and friends—
Gold, yet a mind not unenriched had he
Whom here low violets veil from eyes.
But all these gifts transcended be:
His happier fortune in this mound you see.
A Requiemfor Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports.When, after storms that woodlands rue,To valleys comes atoning dawn,The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn,Caroling fly in the languid blue;The while, from many a hid recess,Alert to partake the blessedness,The pouring mites their airy dance pursue.So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,Every finny hider wakes—From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;Through the delightsome sea he sails,With shoals of shining tiny thingsFrolic on every wave that flingsAgainst the prow its showery spray;All creatures joying in the morn,Save them forever from joyance torn,Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;Save them that by the fabled shore,Down the pale stream are washed away,Far to the reef of bones are borne;And never revisits them the light,Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flightRound the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.
When, after storms that woodlands rue,To valleys comes atoning dawn,The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn,Caroling fly in the languid blue;The while, from many a hid recess,Alert to partake the blessedness,The pouring mites their airy dance pursue.So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,Every finny hider wakes—From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;Through the delightsome sea he sails,With shoals of shining tiny thingsFrolic on every wave that flingsAgainst the prow its showery spray;All creatures joying in the morn,Save them forever from joyance torn,Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;Save them that by the fabled shore,Down the pale stream are washed away,Far to the reef of bones are borne;And never revisits them the light,Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flightRound the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.
When, after storms that woodlands rue,
To valleys comes atoning dawn,
The robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;
And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn,
Caroling fly in the languid blue;
The while, from many a hid recess,
Alert to partake the blessedness,
The pouring mites their airy dance pursue.
So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,
When laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,
Every finny hider wakes—
From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;
Through the delightsome sea he sails,
With shoals of shining tiny things
Frolic on every wave that flings
Against the prow its showery spray;
All creatures joying in the morn,
Save them forever from joyance torn,
Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;
Save them that by the fabled shore,
Down the pale stream are washed away,
Far to the reef of bones are borne;
And never revisits them the light,
Nor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;
Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight
Round the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.
On a natural Monumentin a field of Georgia.[21][21]Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople.No trophy this—a Stone unhewn,And stands where here the field immuresThe nameless brave whose palms are won.Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh—Pure fame of deeds, not doers;Nor deeds of men who bleeding dieIn cheer of hymns that round them float:In happy dreams such close the eye.But withering famine slowly wore,And slowly fell disease did gloat.Even Nature’s self did aid deny;They choked in horror the pensive sigh.Yea, off from home sad Memory bore(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way),Lest wreck of reason might befall.As men in gales shun the lee shore,Though there the homestead be, and call,And thitherward winds and waters sway—As such lorn mariners, so fared they.But naught shall now their peace molest.Their fame is this: they did endure—Endure, when fortitude was vainTo kindle any approving strainWhich they might hear. To these who rest,This healing sleep alone was sure.
[21]Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople.
[21]Written prior to the founding of the National Cemetery at Andersonville, where 15,000 of the reinterred captives now sleep, each beneath his personal head-board, inscribed from records found in the prison-hospital. Some hundreds rest apart and without name. A glance at the published pamphlet containing the list of the buried at Andersonville conveys a feeling mournfully impressive. Seventy-four large double-columned page in fine print. Looking through them is like getting lost among the old turbaned head-stones and cypresses in the interminable Black Forest of Scutari, over against Constantinople.
No trophy this—a Stone unhewn,And stands where here the field immuresThe nameless brave whose palms are won.Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh—Pure fame of deeds, not doers;Nor deeds of men who bleeding dieIn cheer of hymns that round them float:In happy dreams such close the eye.But withering famine slowly wore,And slowly fell disease did gloat.Even Nature’s self did aid deny;They choked in horror the pensive sigh.Yea, off from home sad Memory bore(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way),Lest wreck of reason might befall.As men in gales shun the lee shore,Though there the homestead be, and call,And thitherward winds and waters sway—As such lorn mariners, so fared they.But naught shall now their peace molest.Their fame is this: they did endure—Endure, when fortitude was vainTo kindle any approving strainWhich they might hear. To these who rest,This healing sleep alone was sure.
No trophy this—a Stone unhewn,
And stands where here the field immures
The nameless brave whose palms are won.
Outcast they sleep; yet fame is nigh—
Pure fame of deeds, not doers;
Nor deeds of men who bleeding die
In cheer of hymns that round them float:
In happy dreams such close the eye.
But withering famine slowly wore,
And slowly fell disease did gloat.
Even Nature’s self did aid deny;
They choked in horror the pensive sigh.
Yea, off from home sad Memory bore
(Though anguished Yearning heaved that way),
Lest wreck of reason might befall.
As men in gales shun the lee shore,
Though there the homestead be, and call,
And thitherward winds and waters sway—
As such lorn mariners, so fared they.
But naught shall now their peace molest.
Their fame is this: they did endure—
Endure, when fortitude was vain
To kindle any approving strain
Which they might hear. To these who rest,
This healing sleep alone was sure.
Commemorative of a Naval Victory.Sailors there are of gentlest breed,Yet strong, like every goodly thing;The discipline of arms refines,And the wave gives tempering.The damasked blade its beam can fling;It lends the last grave grace:The hawk, the hound, and sworded noblemanIn Titian’s picture for a king,Are of Hunter or warrior race.In social halls a favored guestIn years that follow victory won,How sweet to feel your festal fame,In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:Repose is yours—your deed is known,It musks the amber wine;It lives, and sheds a litle from storied daysRich as October sunsets brown,Which make the barren place to shine.But seldom the laurel wreath is seenUnmixed with pensive pansies dark;There’s a light and a shadow on every manWho at last attains his lifted mark—Nursing through night the ethereal spark.Elate he never can be;He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth,Sleep in oblivion.—The sharkGlides white through the prosphorus sea.
Sailors there are of gentlest breed,Yet strong, like every goodly thing;The discipline of arms refines,And the wave gives tempering.The damasked blade its beam can fling;It lends the last grave grace:The hawk, the hound, and sworded noblemanIn Titian’s picture for a king,Are of Hunter or warrior race.
Sailors there are of gentlest breed,
Yet strong, like every goodly thing;
The discipline of arms refines,
And the wave gives tempering.
The damasked blade its beam can fling;
It lends the last grave grace:
The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman
In Titian’s picture for a king,
Are of Hunter or warrior race.
In social halls a favored guestIn years that follow victory won,How sweet to feel your festal fame,In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:Repose is yours—your deed is known,It musks the amber wine;It lives, and sheds a litle from storied daysRich as October sunsets brown,Which make the barren place to shine.
In social halls a favored guest
In years that follow victory won,
How sweet to feel your festal fame,
In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:
Repose is yours—your deed is known,
It musks the amber wine;
It lives, and sheds a litle from storied days
Rich as October sunsets brown,
Which make the barren place to shine.
But seldom the laurel wreath is seenUnmixed with pensive pansies dark;There’s a light and a shadow on every manWho at last attains his lifted mark—Nursing through night the ethereal spark.Elate he never can be;He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth,Sleep in oblivion.—The sharkGlides white through the prosphorus sea.
But seldom the laurel wreath is seen
Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;
There’s a light and a shadow on every man
Who at last attains his lifted mark—
Nursing through night the ethereal spark.
Elate he never can be;
He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth,
Sleep in oblivion.—The shark
Glides white through the prosphorus sea.
Presentation to the Authorities,by Privates, of Colors captured in Battles ending in the Surrender of Lee.These flags of armies overthrown—Flags fallen beneath the sovereign oneIn end foredoomed which closes war;We here, the captors, lay beforeThe altar which of right claims all—Our Country. And as freely we,Revering ever her sacred call,Could lay our lives down—though life beThrice loved and precious to the senseOf such as reap the recompenseOf life imperiled for just cause—Imperiled, and yet preserved;While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved,Whose wives were all as dear, lie low.But these flags given, glad we goTo waiting homes with vindicated laws.
These flags of armies overthrown—Flags fallen beneath the sovereign oneIn end foredoomed which closes war;We here, the captors, lay beforeThe altar which of right claims all—Our Country. And as freely we,Revering ever her sacred call,Could lay our lives down—though life beThrice loved and precious to the senseOf such as reap the recompenseOf life imperiled for just cause—Imperiled, and yet preserved;While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved,Whose wives were all as dear, lie low.But these flags given, glad we goTo waiting homes with vindicated laws.
These flags of armies overthrown—
Flags fallen beneath the sovereign one
In end foredoomed which closes war;
We here, the captors, lay before
The altar which of right claims all—
Our Country. And as freely we,
Revering ever her sacred call,
Could lay our lives down—though life be
Thrice loved and precious to the sense
Of such as reap the recompense
Of life imperiled for just cause—
Imperiled, and yet preserved;
While comrades, whom Duty as strongly nerved,
Whose wives were all as dear, lie low.
But these flags given, glad we go
To waiting homes with vindicated laws.
The Returned Volunteer to his Rifle.Over the hearth—my father’s seat—Repose, to patriot-memory dear,Thou tried companion, whom at last I greetBy steepy banks of Hudson here.How oft I told thee of this scene—The Highlands blue—the river’s narrowing sheen.Little at Gettysburg we thoughtTo find such haven; but God kept it green.Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen.
Over the hearth—my father’s seat—Repose, to patriot-memory dear,Thou tried companion, whom at last I greetBy steepy banks of Hudson here.How oft I told thee of this scene—The Highlands blue—the river’s narrowing sheen.Little at Gettysburg we thoughtTo find such haven; but God kept it green.Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen.
Over the hearth—my father’s seat—
Repose, to patriot-memory dear,
Thou tried companion, whom at last I greet
By steepy banks of Hudson here.
How oft I told thee of this scene—
The Highlands blue—the river’s narrowing sheen.
Little at Gettysburg we thought
To find such haven; but God kept it green.
Long rest! with belt, and bayonet, and canteen.