And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
In golden glory at last may wane.

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb, And under the silent evening skies

Together they followed the cattle home.

Harpers' Magazine.

ON PICKET DUTY.

WITHIN a green and shadowy wood,
Circled with spring, alone I stood :
The nook was peaceful, fair, and good.

The wild-plum blossoms lured the bees,
The birds sang madly in the trees,
Magnolia-scents were on the breeze.

All else was silent; but the ear
Caught sounds of distant bugle clear,
And heard the bullets whistle near,

When from the winding river's shore
The Rebel guns began to roar,
And ours to answer, thundering o'er;

And echoed from the wooded hill,
Repeated and repeated still,

Through all my soul they seemed to thrill.

For, as their rattling storm awoke,
And loud and fast the discord broke,
In rude and trenchant words they spoke.

ON PICKET DUTY.

"We hate!" boomed fiercely o'er the tide; We fear not!" from the other side;

66

“We strike!” the Rebel guns replied.

Quick roared our answer, "We defend!
"Our rights!" the battle-sounds contend;
"The rights of all!" we answer send.

"We conquer!" rolled across the wave; "We persevere!" our answer gave;

"Our Chivalry!" they wildly rave.

"Ours are the brave!" "Be ours the free!" "Be ours the slave, the masters we!"

"On us their blood no more shall be!"

As when some magic word is spoken,
By which a wizard spell is broken,
There was a silence at that token.

The wild birds dared once more to sing,
I heard the pine bough's whispering,
And trickling of a silver spring.

Then, crashing forth with smoke and din,
Once more the rattling sounds begin,
Our iron lips roll forth, “We win !”

And dull and wavering in the gale
That rushed in gusts across the vale
Came back the faint reply, "We fail!"

And then a word, both stern and sad,
From throat of huge Columbiad, -
"Blind fools and traitors! ye are mad!”

223

Again the Rebel answer came,
Muffled and slow, as if in shame,
"All, all is lost!" in smoke and flame.

Now bold and strong and stern as Fate The Union guns sound forth, "We wait!" Faint comes the distant cry, "Too late!”

"Return! return!" our cannon said;
And, as the smoke rolled overhead,
"We dare not!" was the answer dread.

Then came a sound, both loud and clear, A godlike word of hope and cheer, Forgiveness!" echoed far and near;

66

As when beside some death-bed still
We watch, and wait God's solemn will,
A bluebird warbles his soft trill.

I clenched my teeth at that blest word,
And, angry, muttered, “Not so, Lord!
The only answer is the sword!"

I thought of Shiloh's tainted air,
Of Richmond's prisons, foul and bare,
And murdered heroes, young and fair,

Of block and lash and overseer,
And dark, mild faces pale with fear,
Of baying hell-hounds panting near.

But then the gentle story told
My childhood, in the days of old,
Rang out its lessons manifold.

THE HEART OF THE WAR.

O prodigal, and lost! arise

And read the welcome blest that lies
In a kind Father's patient eyes!

Thy elder brother grudges not

The lost and found should share his lot,
And wrong in concord be forgot.

Thus mused I, as the hours went by,
Till the relieving guard drew nigh,
And then was challenge and reply.

And as I hastened back to line,
It seemed an omen half divine

That "Concord " was the countersign.

225

Atlantic Monthly.

THE HEART OF THE WAR.

PEACE in the clover-scented air,
And stars within the dome;
And underneath, in dim repose,
A plain New-England home.
Within, a murmur of low tones

And sighs from hearts oppressed,
Merging in prayer at last, that brings
The balm of silent rest.

I've closed a hard day's work, Marty, —

The evening chores are done;

And you are weary with the house,
And with the little one.

-

But he is sleeping sweetly now,
With all our pretty brood;
So come and sit upon my knee,
And it will do me good.

Oh, Marty! I must tell you all
The trouble in my heart,

And you must do the best you can
To take and bear your part.
You've seen the shadow on my face,
You've felt it day and night;
For it has filled our little home,
And banished all its light.

I did not mean it should be so,
And yet I might have known
That hearts that live as close as ours
Can never keep their own.
But we are fallen on evil times,
And, do whate'er I may,
My heart grows sad about the war,
And sadder every day.

I think about it when I work,

And when I try to rest,

And never more than when your head

Is pillowed on my breast;

For then I see the camp-fires blaze,

And sleeping men around,

Who turn their faces toward their homes, And dream upon the ground.

think about the dear, brave boys,

My mates in other years,

Who pine for home and those they love,

Till I am choked with tears.

With shouts and cheers they marched away On glory's shining track,