“After the Battle”
I
All day long the sun had wandered,
Through the slowly creeping hours,
And at last the stars were shining
Like some golden-petalled flowers
Scattered o’er the azure bosom
Of the glory-haunted night,
Flooding all the sky with grandeur,
Filling all the earth with light.
II
And the fair moon, with the sweet stars,
Gleamed amid the radiant spheres
Like “a pearl of great price” shining
Just as it had shone for years,
On the young land that had risen,
In her beauty and her might,
Like some gorgeous superstructure
Woven in the dreams of night:
III
With her “cities hung like jewels”
On her green and peaceful breast,
With her harvest fields of plenty,
And her quiet homes of rest.
But a change had fallen sadly
O’er the young and beauteous land,
Brothers on the field fought madly
That once wandered hand in hand.
IV
And “the hearts of distant mountains
Shuddered,” with a fearful wonder,
As the echoes burst upon them
Of the cannon’s awful thunder.
Through the long hours waged the battle
Till the setting of the sun
Dropped a seal upon the record,
That the day’s mad work was done.
V
Thickly on the trampled grasses
Lay the battle’s awful traces,
’Mid the blood-stained clover-blossoms
Lay the stark and ghastly faces,
With no mourners bending downward
O’er a costly funeral pall;
And the dying daylight softly,
With the starlight watched o’er all.
VI
And, where eager, joyous footsteps
Once perchance were wont to pass,
Ran a little streamlet making
One “blue fold in the dark grass;”
And where, from its hidden fountain,
Clear and bright the brooklet burst
Two had crawled, and each was bending
O’er to slake his burning thirst.
VII
Then beneath the solemn starlight
Of the radiant jewelled skies,
Both had turned, and were intently
Gazing in each other’s eyes.
Both were solemnly forgiving—
Hushed the pulse of passion’s breath—
Calmed the maddening thirst for battle,
By the chilling hand of death.
VIII
Then spoke one, in bitter anguish:
“God have pity on my wife,
And my children, in New Hampshire;
Orphans by this cruel strife.”
And the other, leaning closer,
Underneath the solemn sky,
Bowed his head to hide the moisture
Gathering in his downcast eye:
IX
“I’ve a wife and little daughter,
’Mid the fragrant Georgia bloom,”—
Then his cry rang sharper, wilder,
“Oh, God! pity all their gloom.”
And the wounded, in their death-hour,
Talking of the loved ones’ woes,
Nearer drew unto each other,
Till they were no longer foes.
X
And the Georgian listened sadly
As the other tried to speak,
While the tears were dropping softly
O’er the pallor of his cheek:
“How she used to stand and listen,
Looking o’er the fields for me,
Waiting, till she saw me coming,
’Neath the shadowy old plum-tree.
Never more I’ll hear her laughter,
As she sees me at the gate,
And beneath the plum-tree’s shadows,
All in vain for me she’ll wait.”
XI
Then the Georgian, speaking softly,
Said: “A brown-eyed little one
Used to wait among the roses,
For me, when the day was done;
And amid the early fragrance
Of those blossoms, fresh and sweet,
Up and down the old verandah
I would chase my darling’s feet.
But on earth no more the beauty
Of her face my eye shall greet,
Nevermore I’ll hear the music
Of those merry pattering feet—
Ah, the solemn starlight, falling
On the far-off Georgia bloom,
Tells no tale unto my darling
Of her absent father’s doom.”
XII
Through the tears that rose between them
Both were trying grief to smother,
As they clasped each other’s fingers
Whispering: “Let’s forgive each other.”
XIII
When the morning sun was walking
“Up the gray stairs of the dawn,”
And the crimson east was flushing
All the forehead of the morn,
Pitying skies were looking sadly
On the “once proud, happy land,”
On the Southron and the Northman,
Holding fast each other’s hand.
Fatherless the golden tresses,
Watching ’neath the old plum-tree;
Fatherless the little Georgian
Sporting in unconscious glee.
Chicago Journal of Commerce, June, 1868.