Beechenbrook

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Title: Beechenbrook
A Rhyme of the War
Author: Margaret J. Preston
Release Date: August 8, 2005 [EBook #16480]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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BEECHENBROOK ***
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BEECHENBROOK;
A Rhyme of the War.

BY
MARGARET J. PRESTON.

BALTIMORE:
KELLY & PIET, PUBLISHERS,
174
BALTIMORE STREET,
1866.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by KELLY &

PIET, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Maryland.
Dedication.
TO EVERY SOUTHERN WOMAN, WHO HAS BEEN Widowed by
the War,
I DEDICATE THIS RHYME, PUBLISHED DURING
THE PROGRESS OF THE STRUGGLE AND NOW
RE-PRODUCED--AS A Faint Memorial of Sufferings,
OF WHICH
THERE CAN BE NO FORGETFULNESS.
M.J.P.

BEECHENBROOK;
A
RHYME OF THE WAR.

I.
There is sorrow in Beechenbrook Cottage; the day
Has been bright
with the earliest glory of May;
The blue of the sky is as tender a blue

As ever the sunshine came shimmering through:
The songs of the
birds and the hum of the bees,
As they merrily dart in and out of the
trees,--
The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows,
It mingles
its odors with hawthorn and rose,--
The voice of the brook, as it
lapses unseen,--
The laughter of children at play on the green,--

Insist on a picture so cheerful, so fair,
Who ever would dream that a
grief could be there!
The last yellow sunbeam slides down from the wall,
The purple of
evening is ready to fall;
The gladness of daylight is gone, and the
gloom
Of something like sadness is over the room.
Right bravely

all day, with a smile on her brow,
Has Alice been true to her
duty,--but now
Her tasks are all ended,--naught inside or out,
For
the thoughtfullest love to be busy about;
The knapsack well furnished,
the canteen all bright,
The soldier's grey dress and his gauntlets in
sight,
The blanket tight strapped, and the haversack stored,
And
lying beside them, the cap and the sword;
No last, little office,--no
further commands,--
No service to steady the tremulous hands;
All
wife-work,--the sweet work that busied her so,
Is finished:--the dear
one is ready to go.
Not a sob has escaped her all day,--not a moan;
But now the tide
rushes,--for she is alone.
On the fresh, shining knapsack she pillows
her head,
And weeps as a mourner might weep for the dead.
She
heeds not the three-year old baby at play,
As donning the cap, on the
carpet he lay;
Till she feels on her forehead, his fingers' soft tips, And
on her shut eyelids, the touch of his lips.
"Mamma is so_ sorry!--Mamma is _so sad!
But Archie can make her
look up and be glad:
I've been praying to God, as you told me to do,

That Papa may come back when the battle is thro':--
He says when
we pray, that our prayers shall be heard;
And Mamma, don't you
always know, God keeps his word?"
Around the young comforter stealthily press
The arms of his father
with sudden caress;
Then fast to his heart,--love and duty at strife,--

He snatches with fondest emotion, his wife.
"My own love! my precious!--I feel I am strong;
I know I am brave in
opposing the wrong;
I could stand where the battle was fiercest, nor
feel
One quiver of nerve at the flash of the steel;
I could gaze on the
enemy guiltless of fears,
But I quail at the sight of your passionate
tears:
My calmness forsakes me,--my thoughts are a-whirl,
And the
stout-hearted man is as weak as a girl.
I've been proud of your
fortitude; never a trace
Of yielding, all day, could I read in your face;


But a look that was resolute, dauntless and high,
As ever flashed
forth from a patriot's eye.
I know how you cling to me,--know that to
part
Is tearing the tenderest cords of your heart:
Through the length
and the breadth of our Valley to-day, No hand will a costlier sacrifice
lay
On the altar of Country; and Alice,--sweet wife!
I never have
worshipped you so in my life!
Poor heart,--that has held up so brave
in the past,--
Poor heart! must it break with its burden at last?"
The arms thrown about him, but tighten their hold,
The cheek that he
kisses, is ashy and cold,
And bowed with the grief she so long has
suppressed,
She weeps herself quiet and calm on his breast.
At
length, in a voice just as steady and clear
As if it had never been
choked by a tear,
She raises her eyes with a softened control,
And
through them her husband looks into her soul.
"I feel that we each for the other could die;
Your heart to my own
makes the