Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War Part 11

The grain of endless acres Was threshed (as in the East) By the trampling of the Takers, Strong march of man and beast; The flails of those earth-shakers Left a famine where they ceased.

The a.r.s.enals were yielded; The sword (that was to be), Arrested in the forging, Rued that marching to the sea: It was glorious glad marching, But ah, the stern decree!

For behind they left a wailing, A terror and a ban, And blazing cinders sailing, And houseless households wan, Wide zones of counties paling, And towns where maniacs ran.

Was it Treason's retribution-- Necessity the plea?

They will long remember Sherman And his streaming columns free-- They will long remember Sherman Marching to the sea.

The Frenzy in the Wake.[14]

Sherman's advance through the Carolinas.

(February, 1865.)

So strong to suffer, shall we be Weak to contend, and break The sinews of the Oppressor's knee That grinds upon the neck?

O, the garments rolled in blood Scorch in cities wrapped in flame, And the African--the imp!

He gibbers, imputing shame.

Shall Time, avenging every woe, To us that joy allot Which Israel thrilled when Sisera's brow Showed gaunt and showed the clot?

Curse on their foreheads, cheeks, and eyes-- The Northern faces--true To the flag we hate, the flag whose stars Like planets strike us through.

From frozen Maine they come, Far Minnesota too; They come to a sun whose rays disown-- May it wither them as the dew!

The ghosts of our slain appeal: "Vain shall our victories be"

But back from its ebb the flood recoils-- Back in a whelming sea.

With burning woods our skies are bra.s.s, The pillars of dust are seen; The live-long day their cavalry pa.s.s-- No crossing the road between.

We were sore deceived--an awful host!

They move like a roaring wind.

Have we gamed and lost? but even despair Shall never our hate rescind.

The Fall of Richmond.

The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis.

(April, 1865.)

What mean these peals from every tower, And crowds like seas that sway?

The cannon reply; they speak the heart Of the People impa.s.sioned, and say-- A city in flags for a city in flames, Richmond goes Babylon's way-- _Sing and pray._

O weary years and woeful wars, And armies in the grave; But hearts unquelled at last deter The helmed dilated Lucifer-- Honor to Grant the brave, Whose three stars now like Orion's rise When wreck is on the wave-- _Bless his glaive._

Well that the faith we firmly kept, And never our aim forswore For the Terrors that trooped from each recess When fainting we fought in the Wilderness, And h.e.l.l made loud hurrah; But G.o.d is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town, And Right through might is Law-- _G.o.d's way adore._

The Surrender at Appomattox.

(April, 1865.)

As billows upon billows roll, On victory victory breaks; Ere yet seven days from Richmond's fall And crowning triumph wakes The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run By sea-sh.o.r.e, streams, and lakes.

The hope and great event agree In the sword that Grant received from Lee.

The warring eagles fold the wing, But not in Caesar's sway; Not Rome o'ercome by Roman arms we sing, As on Pharsalia's day, But Treason thrown, though a giant grown, And Freedom's larger play.

All human tribes glad token see In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee.

A Canticle: Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at the close of the War.

O the precipice t.i.tanic Of the congregated Fall, And the angle oceanic Where the deepening thunders call-- And the Gorge so grim, And the firmamental rim!

Mult.i.tudinously thronging The waters all converge, Then they sweep adown in sloping Solidity of surge.

The Nation, in her impulse Mysterious as the Tide, In emotion like an ocean Moves in power, not in pride; And is deep in her devotion As Humanity is wide.

Thou Lord of hosts victorious, The confluence Thou hast twined; By a wondrous way and glorious A pa.s.sage Thou dost find-- A pa.s.sage Thou dost find: Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, The hosts of human kind.

Stable in its baselessness When calm is in the air, The Iris half in tracelessness Hovers faintly fair.

Fitfully a.s.sailing it A wind from heaven blows, s.h.i.+vering and paling it To blankness of the snows; While, incessant in renewal, The Arch rekindled grows, Till again the gem and jewel Whirl in blinding overthrows-- Till, prevailing and transcending, Lo, the Glory perfect there, And the contest finds an ending, For repose is in the air.

But the foamy Deep unsounded, And the dim and dizzy ledge, And the booming roar rebounded, And the gull that skims the edge!

The Giant of the Pool Heaves his forehead white as wool-- Toward the Iris every climbing From the Cataracts that call-- Irremovable vast arras Draping all the Wall.

The Generations pouring From times of endless date, In their going, in their flowing Ever form the steadfast State; And Humanity is growing Toward the fullness of her fate.

Thou Lord of hosts victorious, Fulfill the end designed; By a wondrous way and glorious A pa.s.sage Thou dost find-- A pa.s.sage Thou dost find: Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, The hosts of human kind.

The Martyr.

Indicative of the pa.s.sion of the people on the 15th of April, 1865.

Good Friday was the day Of the prodigy and crime, When they killed him in his pity, When they killed him in his prime Of clemency and calm-- When with yearning he was filled To redeem the evil-willed, And, though conqueror, be kind; But they killed him in his kindness, In their madness and their blindness, And they killed him from behind.

There is sobbing of the strong, And a pall upon the land; But the People in their weeping Bare the iron hand: Beware the People weeping When they bare the iron hand.

He lieth in his blood-- The father in his face; They have killed him, the Forgiver-- The Avenger takes his place, [15]

The Avenger wisely stern, Who in righteousness shall do What the heavens call him to, And the parricides remand; For they killed him in his kindness, In their madness and their blindness, And his blood is on their hand.

There is sobbing of the strong, And a pall upon the land; But the People in their weeping Bare the iron hand: Beware the People weeping When they bare the iron hand.

"The Coming Storm:"

A Picture by S.R. Gifford, and owned by E.B.

Included in the N.A. Exhibition, April, 1865.