Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War | Page 8

their yell;?Till on this slope we patient turned?With cannon ordered well;?Reverse we proved was not defeat;?But ah, the sod what thousands meet!--
Does Malvern Wood?Bethink itself, and muse and brood?
_We elms of Malvern Hill?Remember every thing;?But sap the twig will fill:?Wag the world how it will,?Leaves must be green in Spring._
The Victor of Antietam.[5]?(1862.)
When tempest winnowed grain from bran;?And men were looking for a man,?Authority called you to the van,
McClellan:?Along the line the plaudit ran,?As later when Antietam's cheers began.
Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move?Each Cause and Man, dear to the stars and Jove;?Nor always can the wisest tell?Deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell--?The struggler from the floundering ne'er-do-well.?A pall-cloth on the Seven Days fell,
Mcclellan--?Unprosperously heroical!?Who could Antietam's wreath foretell?
Authority called you; then, in mist?And loom of jeopardy--dismissed.?But staring peril soon appalled;?You, the Discarded, she recalled--?Recalled you, nor endured delay;?And forth you rode upon a blasted way,?Arrayed Pope's rout, and routed Lee's array,
McClellan:?Your tent was choked with captured flags that day,
McClellan.?Antietam was a telling fray.
Recalled you; and she heard your drum?Advancing through the glastly gloom.?You manned the wall, you propped the Dome,?You stormed the powerful stormer home,
McClellan:?Antietam's cannon long shall boom.
At Alexandria, left alone,
McClellan--?Your veterans sent from you, and thrown?To fields and fortunes all unknown--?What thoughts were yours, revealed to none,?While faithful still you labored on--?Hearing the far Manassas gun!
McClellan,?Only Antietam could atone.
You fought in the front (an evil day,
McClellan)--?The fore-front of the first assay;?The Cause went sounding, groped its way;?The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay;?Quills thwarted swords; divided sway;?The rebel flushed in his lusty May:?You did your best, as in you lay,
McClellan.?Antietam's sun-burst sheds a ray.
Your medalled soldiers love you well,
McClellan:?Name your name, their true hearts swell;?With you they shook dread Stonewall's spell,[6]?With you they braved the blended yell?Of rebel and maligner fell;?With you in shame or fame they dwell,
McClellan:?Antietam-braves a brave can tell.
And when your comrades (now so few,
McClellan--?Such ravage in deep files they rue)?Meet round the board, and sadly view?The empty places; tribute due?They render to the dead--and you!?Absent and silent o'er the blue;?The one-armed lift the wine to _you_,
McClellan,?And great Antietam's cheers renew.
Battle of Stone River, Tennessee.?A View from Oxford Cloisters.?(January, 1863.)
With Tewksbury and Barnet heath?In days to come the field shall blend,?The story dim and date obscure;?In legend all shall end.?Even now, involved in forest shade?A Druid-dream the strife appears,?The fray of yesterday assumes?The haziness of years.
In North and South still beats the vein?Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.
Our rival Roses warred for Sway--?For Sway, but named the name of Right;?And Passion, scorning pain and death,?Lent sacred fervor to the fight.?Each lifted up a broidered cross,?While crossing blades profaned the sign;?Monks blessed the fraticidal lance,?And sisters scarfs could twine.
Do North and South the sin retain?Of Yorkist and Lancastrian?
But Rosecrans in the cedarn glade,?And, deep in denser cypress gloom,?Dark Breckenridge, shall fade away
Or thinly loom.?The pale throngs who in forest cowed?Before the spell of battle's pause,?Forefelt the stillness that shall dwell?On them and on their wars.
North and South shall join the train?Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.
But where the sword has plunged so deep,?And then been turned within the wound?By deadly Hate; where Climes contend
On vasty ground--?No warning Alps or seas between,?And small the curb of creed or law,?And blood is quick, and quick the brain;?Shall North and South their rage deplore,
And reunited thrive amain?Like Yorkist and Lancastrian?
Running the Batteries,?As observed from the Anchorage above Vicksburgh.?(April, 1863.)
A moonless night--a friendly one;?A haze dimmed the shadowy shore?As the first lampless boat slid silent on;?Hist! and we spake no more;?We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw.
We felt the dew, and seemed to feel?The secret like a burden laid.?The first boat melts; and a second keel?Is blent with the foliaged shade--?Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made?
Unspied as yet. A third--a fourth--?Gun-boat and transport in Indian file?Upon the war-path, smooth from the North;?But the watch may they hope to beguile??The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile.
A flame leaps out; they are seen;?Another and another gun roars;?We tell the course of the boats through the screen?By each further fort that pours,?And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores.
Converging fires. We speak, though low:?"That blastful furnace can they thread"?"Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego?Came out all right, we read;?The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned."
How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun?A golden growing flame appears--?Confirms to a silvery steadfast one:?"The town is afire!" crows Hugh: "three cheers"?Lot stops his mouth: "Nay, lad, better three tears."
A purposed light; it shows our fleet;?Yet a little late in its searching ray,?So far and strong, that in phantom cheat?Lank on the deck our shadows lay;?The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play.
How dread to mark her near the glare?And glade of death the beacon throws?Athwart the racing waters there;?One by one each plainer grows,?Then speeds a blazoned