Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War Part 5

Yet this was battle, and intense-- Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm; No pa.s.sion; all went on by crank, Pivot, and screw, And calculations of caloric.

Needless to dwell; the story's known.

the ringing of those plates on plates Still ringeth round the world-- The clangor of that blacksmith's fray.

The anvil-din Resounds this message from the Fates:

War shall yet be, and to the end; But war-paint shows the streaks of weather; War yet shall be, but warriors Are now but operatives; War's made Less grand than Peace, And a singe runs through lace and feather.

s.h.i.+loh.

A Requiem.

(April, 1862.)

Skimming lightly, wheeling still, The swallows fly low Over the field in clouded days, The forest-field of s.h.i.+loh-- Over the field where April rain Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain Through the pause of night That followed the Sunday fight Around the church of s.h.i.+loh-- The church so lone, the log-built one, That echoed to many a parting groan And natural prayer Of dying foemen mingled there-- Foemen at morn, but friends at eve-- Fame or country least their care: (What like a bullet can undeceive!) But now they lie low, While over them the swallows skim, And all is hushed at s.h.i.+loh.

The Battle for the Mississipppi.

(April, 1862.)

When Israel camped by Migdol h.o.a.r, Down at her feet her shawm she threw, But Moses sung and timbrels rung For Pharaoh's standed crew.

So G.o.d appears in apt events-- The Lord is a man of war!

So the strong wind to the muse is given In victory's roar.

Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet-- The fight by night--the fray Which bore our Flag against the powerful stream, And led it up to day.

Dully through din of larger strife Shall bay that warring gun; But none the less to us who live It peals--an echoing one.

The shock of s.h.i.+ps, the jar of walls, The rush through thick and thin-- The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom-- Eddies, and sh.e.l.ls that spin-- The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged, The jam of gun-boats driven, Or fired, or sunk--made up a war Like Michael's waged with leven.

The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled The odds which hard beset; The oaken flag-s.h.i.+p, half ablaze, Pa.s.sed on and thundered yet; While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame, The Ram Mana.s.sas--hark the yell!-- Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright, The River gave a startled swell.

They fought through lurid dark till dawn; The war-smoke rolled away With clouds of night, and showed the fleet In scarred yet firm array, Above the forts, above the drift Of wrecks which strife had made; And Farragut sailed up to the town And anch.o.r.ed--sheathed the blade.

The moody broadsides, brooding deep, Hold the lewd mob at bay, While o'er the armed decks' solemn aisles The meek church-pennons play; By shotted guns the sailors stand, With foreheads bound or bare; The captains and the conquering crews Humble their pride in prayer.

They pray; and after victory, prayer Is meet for men who mourn their slain; The living shall unmoor and sail, But Death's dark anchor secret deeps detain.

Yet glory slants her shaft of rays Far through the undisturbed abyss; There must be other, n.o.bler worlds for them Who n.o.bly yield their lives in this.

Malvern Hill.

(July, 1862.)

Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill In prime of morn and May, Recall ye how McClellan's men Here stood at bay?

While deep within yon forest dim Our rigid comrades lay-- Some with the cartridge in their mouth, Others with fixed arms lifted South-- Invoking so The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!

The spires of Richmond, late beheld Through rifts in musket-haze, Were closed from view in clouds of dust On leaf-walled ways, Where streamed our wagons in caravan; And the Seven Nights and Days Of march and fast, retreat and fight, Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- Does the elm wood Recall the haggard beards of blood?

The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, We followed (it never fell!)-- In silence husbanded our strength-- Received 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 Mana.s.sas gun!

McClellan, Only Antietam could atone.

You fought in the front (an evil day, McClellan)-- The fore-front of the first a.s.say; The Cause went sounding, groped its way; The leadsmen quarrelled in the bay; Quills thwarted swords; divided sway; The rebel flushed in his l.u.s.ty 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 a.s.sumes The haziness of years.

In North and South still beats the vein Of Yorkist and Lancastrian.