[May 4 to December 21, 1864] 1
OUR camp-fires shone bright on the mountains
That frowned on the river below,
While we stood by our guns in the morning
And eagerly watched for the foe,
When a rider came out of the darkness
That hung over the mountain and tree,
And shouted, “Boys, up and be ready!
For Sherman will march to...
-
-
Daughter of God! that sitt’st on high
Amid the dances of the sky,
And guidest with thy gentle sway
The planets on their tuneful way;
Sweet Peace! shall ne’er again
The smile of thy most holy face,
From thine ethereal dwelling-place,
Rejoice the wretched, weary race
Of discord-breathing men?
Too long, O gladness-giving... -
“put up the sword!” the voice of Christ once more
Speaks, in the pauses of the cannon’s roar,
O’er fields of corn by fiery sickles reaped
And left dry ashes; over trenches heaped
With nameless dead; o’er cities starving slow
Under a rain of fire; through wards of woe
Down which a groaning diapason runs
From tortured brothers, husbands,... -
Old Tubal Cain was a man of might,
In the days when earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright,
The strokes of his hammer rung:
And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and the spear.
And he sang: “Hurrah for... -
Come hither lads and hearken,
for a tale there is to tell,
Of the wonderful days a-coming,
when all shall be better than well.And the tale shall be told of a country,
a land in the midst of the sea,
And folk shall call it England
in the days that are going to be.There more than one in a thousand,
in the... -
On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billows
Assail the stern rock, and the loud tempests rave,
The hero lies still, while the dew-drooping willows,
Like fond weeping mourners, lean over the grave.
The lightnings may flash, and the loud thunders rattle:
He heeds not, he hears not, he ’s free from all pain;—
He sleeps his last sleep... -
[Dedication of a monument to Kentucky volunteers, killed at Buena Vista, Mexico]
THE MUFFLED drum’s sad roll has beat
The soldier’s last tattoo;
No more on Life’s parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame’s eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac... -
This is the arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.Ah! what a sound will rise—how wild and dreary—
When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal miserere
Will mingle with... -
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...
-
The Angel of the nation’s peace
Has wreathed with flowers the battle-drum;
We see the fruiting fields increase
Where sound of war no more shall come.The swallow skims the Tennessee,
Soft winds play o’er the Rapidan;
There only echo notes of glee,
Where gleamed a mighty army’s van!Fair Chattanooga’s wooded slope...