“To fall on the battle-field fighting for my dear country,—that would not be hard.”—The Neighbors.
O NO, no,—let me lie
Not on a field of battle when I die!
Let not the iron tread
Of the mad war-horse crush my helmèd head;
Nor let the reeking knife,
That I have drawn against a brother’s life,
Be in my hand when...
[In Bavaria, August 13, 1704, between the English and Austrians on one side, under the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, and the French and Bavarians on the other side, led by Marshal Tallart and the Elector of Bavaria. The latter party was defeated, and the schemes of Louis XIV. of France were materially checked.]
IT was a summer evening,—
Old Kaspar’s work was done...
The Softest whisperings of the scented South,
And rust and roses in the cannon’s mouth;
And, where the thunders of the fight were born,
The wind’s sweet tenor in the standing corn;
With song of larks, low-lingering in the loam,
And blue skies bending over love and home.
But still the thought: Somewhere,—upon the hills,
Or where the...
Once this soft turf, this rivulet’s sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and armèd hands
Encountered in the battle-cloud.
Ah! never shall the land forget
How gushed the life-blood of her brave,—
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they fought to save.
Now all is calm and fresh...
Ye martial gods of ancient date
Grant me assistance to relate
A battle, such as ne'er before,
Was witnessed in the days of yore.
'Twas on a summer's eve there stood,
Upon a bridge that crossed a flood,
Dark Groups of wild mysterious forms
Like thunder clouds portending storms,
...
'Twas in James River, not long ago,
When the tide was falling, sluggish and slow,
That from Newport News and Fortress Monroe
A Nondescript vessel was seen:
A thing like a house-roof, iron clad,
That, saucily waving over it, had
The flag of the country gone to the bad…
The...
THERE are countless fields the green earth o'er,
Where the verdant turf has been dyed with gore;
Where hostile ranks in their grim array,
With the battle's smoke have obscured the day;
Where hate has stamped on each rigid face
As foe met foe in the death embrace;...
When the goodman's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom,
And the good wife reads her Plato
In her own sequestered room;
With weeping and with laughter
Still shall the tale be told,
How pretty Pollia won the Bridge
In the brave days of old.
A Lay Sung at the Feast of Castor and Pollux on the Ides of
Quintilis in the year of the City CCCCLI.
I
Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note!
Ho, lictors, clear the way!
The Knights will ride, in all their pride,
Along the streets to-day.
...
The Battle fought between the Soul
And No Man — is the One
Of all the Battles prevalent —
By far the Greater One —
No News of it is had abroad —
Its Bodiless Campaign
Establishes, and terminates —
Invisible — Unknown —
Nor History — record it —
As Legions...
