The Mistress of the Manse Part 14

My hero, all my youthful years!

My counsellor, to guide and warn!

My s.h.i.+eld alike from foes and fears!

And when he came to me, forlorn,

"What could I do but hail him guest, And bind his cruel wounds with balm, And give him on his sister's breast That which he asked, the humble alm Of a safe pillow where to rest?

"Come, then, and dare the wrath of fate!

Come, if you must, or if you will!

But know that I am desperate; And shafts that wound, and wounds that kill Your deed of dastardy await!"

A murmur swept through all the mob; The base informer slunk afar; And l.u.s.ty cheer and stifled sob Rose to her at the window-bar, While those whose hands were come to rob

Her dwelling of its treasure, cursed; For round their heads the menace flew That he who dared adventure first, Or first an arm of murder drew, Should taste of vengeance at its worst.

XXVII.

A heavy tramp, a murmuring sound, Low mingling with the murmuring rain,-- Heard in the wind and in the ground,-- Came up the street--a tide of pain, In which the angry din was drowned.

The leaders of the tumult fled; The door flew open with a crash; And down the street wild Mildred sped, Piercing the darkness like a flash, And walked beside her husband's bed.

Slowly the solemn train advanced; The crowd fell back with parted ranks; And like a giant, half entranced, Sailing between strange, spectral banks, From side to side the soldier glanced.

The sobbing rain, the evening dim, The dusky forms that pushed and peered, The swaying couch, the aching limb, The lights and shadows, sharp and weird, Were but a troubled dream to him.

He knew his love--all else unknown, Or seen through reason's sad eclipse-- And with her, hand within his own, Or fondly pressed upon his lips, He clung to it, as if alone

It had the power to stay, his feet Still longer on the verge of life; And thus they vanished from the street-- The shepherd-warrior and his wife-- Within the manse's closed retreat.

XXVIII.

Embraced by home, his soul grew light; And though he moaned: "My head! my head!"

His life turned back its outward flight, Like his, who, from the prophet's bed, Startled the wondering Shunammite.

He greeted all with tender speech; He told his children he should die; He gave his fond farewell to each, With messages, and fond good-by To all he loved beyond his reach.

And then he spoke her brother's name: "Tell him," he said, "that, in my death, I cherished his untarnished fame, And, to my life's expiring breath, Held his brave spirit free from blame.

"We strove alike for truth's behoof, With honest faith and love sincere,-- For G.o.d and-country, right and roof, And issues that do not appear; But wait with Heaven the awful proof."

A tottering figure reached the door; The brother fell upon the bed, And, in each other's arms once more, With breast to breast, and head to head,-- Twin barks, they drifted from the sh.o.r.e;

And backward on the sobbing air Came the same words from warring lips: "G.o.d save my country!" and the prayer Still wailing from the drifting s.h.i.+ps, Returned in measures of despair;

Till far, at the horizon's verge, They pa.s.sed beyond the tearful eyes That could not know if in the surge They sank at last, or in the skies Forgot the burden of their dirge!

XXIX.

In Northern blue and Southern brown, Twin coffins and a single grave, They laid the weary warriors down; And hands that strove to slay and save Had equal rest and like renown.

For in the graveyard's hallowed close A woman's love made neutral soil, Where it might lay the forms of those Who, resting from their fateful broil, Had ceased forever to be foes.

To her and those who clung to her-- From manly eldest down to least-- The obsequies, the sepulchre, The chanting choir, the weeping priest, And all the throng and all the stir

Of sympathetic country-folk, And all the signs of death and dole, Were but a dream that beat and broke In chilling waves on heart and soul, Till in the silence they awoke.

She was a widow, and she wept; She was a mother, and she smiled; Her faith with those she loved was kept, Though still the war-cry, fierce and wild, Around the harried country swept.

No more with this had she to do; G.o.d and her little ones were left; And unto these, serene and true, She gave the life so soon bereft Of its first gifts, and rose anew

At duty's call to make amends For all her loss of loves and lands; And found, to speed her n.o.ble ends, The succor of uplifting hands, And solace of a thousand friends.

And o'er her precious graves she built A stone whereon the yellow boss Of sword on sword with naked hilt Lay as the symbol of her cross, In mournful meaning, carved and gilt.

And underneath were graved the lines:--

"THEY DID THE DUTY THAT THEY SAW; BOTH WROUGHT AT G.o.d'S SUPREME DESIGNS AND, UNDER LOVE'S ETERNAL LAW, EACH LIFE WITH EQUAL BEAUTY s.h.i.+NES."

x.x.x.

Peace, with its large and lilied calms, Like moonlight sleeps on land and lake, With healing in its dewy balms, For pride that pines and hearts that ache, From Huron to the land of palms!

From rock-bound Ma.s.sachusetts Bay To San Francisco's Golden Gate; From where Itasca's waters play, To those which plunge or palpitate A thousand happy leagues away,

And drink, among her dunes and bars, The Mississippi's boiling tide, Still floating from a million spars, The nation's ensign, undefied, Blazons its galaxy of stars.

No more to party strife the slave, And freed from Hate's infernal spells, Love pays her tribute to the brave, And snows her holy immortelles O'er friend and foe, where'er his grave.

On every Decoration Day The white-haired Mildred finds her mounds Decked with the garnered bloom of May-- Flowers planted first within her wounds, And fed by love as white as they.

And Philip's first-born, strong and sage, Through Heaven's design or happy chance Finds the old church his heritage, And still, The Mistress of the Manse, Sits Mildred, in her silver age!