Complete Poetical Works | Page 8

no
banners, save the ones
The forest waves to me:
Upon the mountain
side, where Spring
Her farthest picket sets,
My reveille awakes a
host

Of grassy bayonets.

"I visit every humble roof;
I mingle with the low:
Only upon the
highest peaks
My blessings fall in snow;
Until, in tricklings of the
stream
And drainings of the lea,
My unspent bounty comes at last

To mingle with the sea."
And thus all night, above the wind,
I heard the welcome rain,--
A
fusillade upon the roof,
A tattoo on the pane:
The keyhole piped;
the chimney-top
A warlike trumpet blew;
But, mingling with these
sounds of strife,
This hymn of peace stole through.
THE OLD MAJOR EXPLAINS
(RE-UNION, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, 12TH MAY, 1871)
Well, you see, the fact is, Colonel, I don't know as I can come: For the
farm is not half planted, and there's work to do at home; And my leg is
getting troublesome,--it laid me up last fall,-- And the doctors, they
have cut and hacked, and never found the ball.
And then, for an old man like me, it's not exactly right,
This kind o'
playing soldier with no enemy in sight.
"The Union,"--that was well
enough way up to '66;
But this "Re-Union," maybe now it's mixed
with politics?
No? Well, you understand it best; but then, you see, my lad, I'm deacon
now, and some might think that the example's bad. And week from next
is Conference. . . . You said the twelfth of May? Why, that's the day we
broke their line at Spottsylvan-i-a!
Hot work; eh, Colonel, wasn't it? Ye mind that narrow front: They
called it the "Death-Angle"! Well, well, my lad, we won't Fight that old
battle over now: I only meant to say
I really can't engage to come
upon the twelfth of May.
How's Thompson? What! will he be there? Well, now I want to know!
The first man in the rebel works! they called him "Swearing Joe." A
wild young fellow, sir, I fear the rascal was; but then-- Well, short of

heaven, there wa'n't a place he dursn't lead his men.
And Dick, you say, is coming too. And Billy? ah! it's true We buried
him at Gettysburg: I mind the spot; do you?
A little field below the
hill,--it must be green this May;
Perhaps that's why the fields about
bring him to me to-day.
Well, well, excuse me, Colonel! but there are some things that drop
The tail-board out one's feelings; and the only way's to stop. So they
want to see the old man; ah, the rascals! do they, eh? Well, I've
business down in Boston about the twelfth of May.
CALIFORNIA'S GREETING TO SEWARD
(1869)
We know him well: no need of praise
Or bonfire from the windy hill

To light to softer paths and ways
The world-worn man we honor
still.
No need to quote the truths he spoke
That burned through years of
war and shame,
While History carves with surer stroke
Across our
map his noonday fame.
No need to bid him show the scars
Of blows dealt by the Scaean gate,

Who lived to pass its shattered bars,
And see the foe capitulate:
Who lived to turn his slower feet
Toward the western setting sun,

To see his harvest all complete,
His dream fulfilled, his duty done,
The one flag streaming from the pole,
The one faith borne from sea to
sea:
For such a triumph, and such goal,
Poor must our human
greeting be.
Ah! rather that the conscious land
In simpler ways salute the Man,--

The tall pines bowing where they stand,
The bared head of El
Capitan!

The tumult of the waterfalls,
Pohono's kerchief in the breeze,
The
waving from the rocky walls,
The stir and rustle of the trees;
Till, lapped in sunset skies of hope,
In sunset lands by sunset seas,

The Young World's Premier treads the slope
Of sunset years in calm
and peace.
THE AGED STRANGER
AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR
"I was with Grant"--the stranger said;
Said the farmer, "Say no more,

But rest thee here at my cottage porch,
For thy feet are weary and
sore."
"I was with Grant"--the stranger said;
Said the farmer, "Nay, no
more,--
I prithee sit at my frugal board,
And eat of my humble
store.
"How fares my boy,--my soldier boy,
Of the old Ninth Army Corps?

I warrant he bore him gallantly
In the smoke and the battle's roar!"
"I know him not," said the aged man,
"And, as I remarked before,
I
was with Grant"-- "Nay, nay, I know,"
Said the farmer, "say no more:
"He fell in battle,--I see, alas!
Thou'dst smooth these tidings o'er,--

Nay, speak the truth, whatever it be,
Though it rend my bosom's core.
"How fell he? With his face to the foe,
Upholding the flag he bore?

Oh, say not that my boy disgraced
The uniform that he wore!"
"I cannot tell," said the aged man,
"And should have remarked before.

That I was with Grant,--in Illinois,--
Some three years before the
war."
Then the farmer spake him never a word,
But beat with his fist full

sore
That aged man who had worked for Grant
Some