Afterwhiles Part 8

Though his valiant life is a nation's pride, And his death heroic and half divine, And our grief as great as the world is wide, There breaks in speech but a single line--: We loved him living, revere him dead--!

A silence then on our lips is laid: We can say no thing that has not been said, Nor pray one prayer that has not been prayed.

But a spirit within us speaks: and lo, We lean and listen to wondrous words That have a sound as of winds that blow, And the voice of waters and low of herds; And we hear, as the song flows on serene, The neigh of horses, and then the beat Of hooves that skurry o'er pastures green, And the patter and pad of a boy's bare feet.

A brave lad, wearing a manly brow, Knit as with problems of grave dispute, And a face, like the bloom of the orchard bough, Pink and pallid, but resolute; And flushed it grows as the clover-bloom, And fresh it gleams as the morning dew, As he reins his steed where the quick quails boom Up from the gra.s.ses he races through.

And ho! As he rides what dreams are his?

And what have the breezes to suggest--?

Do they whisper to him of sh.e.l.ls that whiz O'er fields made ruddy with wrongs redressed?

Does the hawk above him an Eagle float?

Does he thrill and his boyish heart beat high, Hearing the ribbon about his throat Flap as a Flag as the winds go by?

And does he dream of the Warrior's fame-- This Western boy in his rustic dress?

For in miniature, this is the man that came Riding out of the Wilderness--!

The selfsame figure-- the knitted brow-- The eyes full steady-- the lips full mute-- And the face, like the bloom of the orchard bough, Pink and pallid, but resolute.

Ay, this is the man, with features grim And stoical as the Sphinx's own, That heard the harsh guns calling him, As musical as the bugle blown, When the sweet spring heavens were clouded o'er With a tempest, glowering and wild, And our country's flag bowed down before Its bursting wrath as a stricken child.

Thus, ready mounted and booted and spurred, He loosed his bridle and dashed away--!

Like a roll of drums were his hoof-beats heard, Like the shriek of the fife his charger's neigh!

And over his shoulder and backward blown, We heard his voice, and we saw the sod Reel, as our wild steeds chased his own As though hurled on by the hand of G.o.d!

And still, in fancy, we see him ride In the blood-red front of a hundred frays, His face set stolid, but glorified As a knight's of the old Arthurian days: And victor ever as courtly too, Gently lifting the vanquished foe, And staying him with a hand as true As dealt the deadly avenging blow.

So brighter than all of the cl.u.s.ter of stars Of the flag enshrouding his form to-day, His face s.h.i.+nes forth from the grime of wars With a glory that shall not pa.s.s away: He rests at last: he has borne his part Of salutes and salvos and cheers on cheers-- But O the sobs of his country's heart, And the driving rain of a nations tears!

In Dialect

_Old Fas.h.i.+oned Roses_

They ain't no style about 'em, And they're sorto' pale and faded, Yit the doorway here, without 'em, Would be lonesomer, and shaded With a good 'eal blacker shudder Than the morning-glories makes, And the suns.h.i.+ne would look sadder Fer their good old-fas.h.i.+on' sakes.

I like 'em 'cause they kindo'-- Sorto' make a feller like 'em!

And I tell you, when I find a Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em, It allus sets me thinkin'

O' the ones 'at used to grow And peek in thro' the c.h.i.n.kin'

O' the cabin, don't you know!

And then I think o' mother, And how she ust to love 'em-- When they wuzn't any other, 'Less she found 'em up above 'em!

And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, Whispered with a smile and said We must pick a bunch and putt 'em In her hand when she wuz dead.

But as I wuz a-sayin', They ain't no style about 'em Very gaudy er displayin', But I wouldn't be without 'em--, 'Cause I'm happier in these posies, And the hollyhawks and sich, Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses In the roses of the rich.

_Griggsby's Station_

Pap's got his patent-right, and rich is all creation; But where's the peace and comfort that we all had before?

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station-- Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

The likes of us a-livin' here! It's jest a mortal pity To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the stairs, And the pump right in the kitchen! And the city! City! City And nothin' but the city all around us ever'wheres!

Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree!

And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' people, And none that neighbors with us or we want to go and see!

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station-- Back where the latch-strings a-hangin' from the door, And ever' neighbor round the place is dear as a relation-- Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin', A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday through; And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-law's and pilin'

Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do!

I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin'; And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled hired hand, And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh a-takin', Till her Pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save his land.

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station-- Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' any more, Shet away safe in the woods around the old location-- Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

I want to see Marindy and he'p her with her sewin', And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead and gone, And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he's growin', And smile as I have saw her 'fore she putt her mournin' on.

And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower eighty, Where John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and burried-- for His own sake and Katy's--, and I want to cry with Katy As she reads all his letters over, writ from The War.

What's in all this grand life and high situation, And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin' at the door--?

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station-- Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

_Knee Deep in June_

1 Tell you what I like the best-- 'Long about knee-deep in June, 'Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine--, some afternoon Like to jes' git out and rest, And not work at nothin' else!

2 Orchard's where I'd ruther be-- Needn't fence it in fer me--!

Jes' the whole sky overhead, And the whole airth underneath-- Sorto' so's a man kin breathe Like he ort, and kindo' has Elbow-room to keerlessly Sprawl out len'thways on the gra.s.s Where the shadders thick and soft As the kivvers on the bed Mother fixes in the loft Allus, when they's company!

3 Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there-- S'lazy, 'at you peeks and peer Through the wavin' leaves above, Like a feller 'ats in love And don't know it, ner don't keer!

Ever'thing you hear and see Got some sort o' interest-- Maybe find a bluebird's nest Tucked up there conveenently Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be Up some other apple-tree!

Watch the swallers skootin' past 'Bout as peert as you could ast; Er the Bob-white raise and whiz Where some other's whistle is.

4 Ketch a shadder down below, And look up to find the crow-- Er a hawk--, away up there 'Pearantly froze in the air--!

Hear the old hen squawk, and squat Over ever' chick she's got, Suddent-like--! And she knows where That-air hawk is, well as you--!

You jes' bet yer life she do--!

Eyes a-glittern' like gla.s.s, Waitin' till he makes a pa.s.s!

5 Pee-wees' singin', to express My opinion, 's second cla.s.s, Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, Weedin' out the lonesomeness; Mr. Bluejay, full o' sa.s.s, In them base-ball clothes o' his, Sportin' round the orchard jes'

Life he owned the premises!

Sun out in the fields kin sizz, But flat on yer back, I guess, In the shade's where glory is!

That's jes' what I'd like to do Stiddy fer a year er two!

6 Plague! Ef they ain't somepin' in Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in'

My convictions--! 'Long about Here in June especially--!

Under some old apple-tree, Jes' a-restin' through and through, I could git along without Nothin' else at all to do Only jes' a-wis.h.i.+n' you Wuz a-gittin' there like me, And June was eternity!