The Mistress of the Manse Part 13

XXII.

Oh piteous waste of hopes and fears!

Oh cruel stretch of long delay!

Oh homes bereft! Oh useless tears!

Oh war! that ravened on its prey Through pain's immeasurable years!

The town was mourning for its dead; The streets were black with widowhood; While orphaned children begged for bread, And Rachel, for the brave and good, Mourned, and would not be comforted.

The regiment that, straight and crisp, Shone like a wheat-field in the sun, Its swift voice deafened to a lisp, Fell, ere the war was well begun, And waned and withered to a wisp.

And Philip, grown to higher rank, Crowned with the bays of splendid deeds, Of the full cup of glory drank, And lived, though all his reeking steeds In the red front of conflict sank.

The star of conquest waxed or waned, Yet still the call came back for men; Still the lamenting town was drained, And still again, and still again, Till only impotence remained!

XXIII.

There came at length an eve of gloom-- Dread Gettysburg's eventful eve-- When all the gathering clouds of doom Hung low, the breathless air to cleave With scream of sh.e.l.l and cannon-boom!

Man knew too well; and woman felt, That when the next-wild morn should rise, A blow of battle would, be dealt Before whose fire ten thousand eyes-- As in a furnace flame--would melt.

And on this eve--her flock asleep-- Knelt Mildred at her lonely bed.

She could not pray, she did not weep, But only moaned, and moaning, said: "Oh G.o.d! he sows what I must reap!

"He will not live: he must not die!

But oh, my poor, prophetic heart!

It warns me that there lingers nigh The hour when love and I must part!"

And then she startled with a cry,

For, from beneath her lattice, came A low and once repeated call!

She knew the voice that spoke her name, And swiftly, through the midnight hall She fluttered noiseless as a flame,

And on its unresisting hinge Threw wide her hospitable door, To one whose spirit did not cringe Though he was weak, and knew he bore No right her freedom to infringe.

She wildly clasped his neck of bronze; She rained her kisses; on his face, Grown tawny with a thousand suns, And holding him in her embrace, She led him to her little ones,

Who, reckless of his coming, slept.

Then down the stair with silent feet, And through the shadowy hall she swept, And saw, between her and the street, A form that into darkness crept.

She closed the door with speechless dread; She fixed the bolt with trembling hand; Then led the rebel to his bed, Whom love and safety had unmanned, And left him less alive than dead.

Through nights and days of fear and grief, She kept her faithful watch and ward, But love and rest brought no relief; And all he begged for of his Lord Was death, with pa.s.sion faint and brief.

XXIV.

Around the house were prying eyes, And gossips hiding under trees; And Mildred heard the steps of spies At midnight, when, upon her knees, She sought the comfort of the skies.

Strange voices rose upon the night; Strange errands entered at the gate; Her hours were months of pale affright; But still her prisoner of state Was s.h.i.+elded from their eager sight.

They did not dare to force the lock Of one whose deeds had been divine, Or carry to her heart the shock Of violence, although condign Toward one who dared the laws to mock.

But there were hirelings in pursuit, Who thirsted for his golden price; And, swift allied with pimp and brute, And quick to purchase and entice, They found the tree that held their fruit.

XXV.

The day of Gettysburg had set; The smoke had drifted from the scene, And burnished sword and bayonet Lay rusting where, but yestere'en, They dropped with life-blood red and wet!

The swift invader had retraced His march, and left his fallen braves, Covered at night in voiceless haste, To, sleep, in memorable graves, But knew that all his loss was waste.

The nation's legions, stretching wide, Too sore to chase, too weak to cheer, Gave sepulture to those who died, And saw their foemen disappear Without the loss of power or pride.

And then, swift-sweeping like a gale, Through all the land, from end to end, Grief poured its wild, untempered wail, And father, mother, wife, and friend Forgot their country in their bale.

And Philip, with his fatal wound, Was borne beyond the battle's blaze, Across the torn and quaking ground,-- His ear too dull to heed the praise, That spoke him hero, robed and crowned.

They bent above his blackened face, And questioned of his last desire; And with his old, familiar grace, And smiling mouth, and eye of fire, He answered them: "My wife's embrace!"

They wiped his forehead of its stain, They bore him tenderly away, Through teeming mart and wide champaign, Till on a twilighty cool and gray, And wet with weeping of the rain,

They gave him to a silent crowd That waited at the river's marge, Of men with age and sorrow bowed, Who raised and bore their precious charge, Through groups that watched and wailed aloud.

XXVI.

The hounds of power were at her gate; And at their heels, a yelping pack Of graceless mongrels stood in wait, To mark the issue of attack, With lips that slavered with their hate.

With window raised and portal barred, The mistress scanned the darkening s.p.a.ce, And with a visage hot and hard-- At bay before the cruel chase-- She held them in her fierce regard.

"What would ye--spies and hirelings--what?"

She asked with accent, stern and brave; "Why come ye to this sacred spot, Led by the counsel of a knave, And flanked by slanderer and sot?

"You have my husband: has he earned No meed of courtesy for me?

Is this the recompense returned, That she he loved the best should be Suspected, persecuted, spurned?

"My home is wrecked: what would ye more?

My life is ruined--what new boon?

My children's hearts are sad and sore With weeping for the wounds that soon Will plead for healing at my door!

"I hold your prisoner--stand a.s.sured: Safe from his foes: aye, safe from you!

Safe in a sister's love immured, And by a warden kept as true As e'er the test of faith endured,

"Why, men, he was my brother born!