The pedlar then sloped quickly to The land he was begotten in; With woeful visage, feelings blue, He sadly questioned what to do, When none would buy his model Universal nigger-cotton-ginniversal nigger-cotton-gin.
From out his pocket then he drew
A rag that blood was clotting in;
It had a field of heavenly blue,
Was flecked with stars
That glimmered on his model Universal nigger-cotton-gin
niversal nigger-cotton-gin.
He gazed long on its tarnished hue,
And mourned the fix he'd gotten in; Then filled his eyes with contrite dew, As in its folds his nose he blew, And thus addressed his model Universal nigger-cotton-ginniversal nigger-cotton-gin.
"Then, crownless king, thy days are few; The world thou art forgotten in ; Ere thou dost die, thy life review, Repent thy crimes, thy wrongs undo, Give freedom to the dusky crew Whose blood now stains the model Universal nigger-cotton-ginniversal nigger-cotton-gin."
UPON THE Hill before CENTREVILLE. 33
UPON THE HILL BEFORE CENTREVILLE.
BY GEORGE H. BOKER.
I'LL tell you what I heard that day:
I heard the great guns, far away,
Boom after boom. Their sullen sound
Shook all the shuddering air around;
And shook, ah me! my shrinking ear,
And downward shook the hanging tear
That, in despite of manhood's pride,
Rolled o'er my face, a scalding tide.
And then I prayed. O God! I prayed,
As never stricken saint, who laid
His hot cheek to the holy tomb
Of Jesus, in the midnight gloom.
"What saw I?" Little. Clouds of dust;
Great squares of men, with standards thrust
Against their course; dense columns crowned
With billowing steel. Then, bound on bound,
The long black lines of cannon poured
Behind the horses, streaked and gored
With sweaty speed. Anon shot by,
Like a lone meteor of the sky,
A single horseman; and he shone
His bright face on me, and was gone.
All these with rolling drums, with cheers,
*The day of the battle of Bull Run, in which the reserve of the Union Army rested upon Centreville. In regard to the mere time at which it was written, this poem is here out of place, as will be seen by an allusion toward its close. But it paints so faithfully that disastrous, shameful day, and so truthfully expresses the feelings which it roused throughout the Free States, that this is its proper position.
With songs familiar to my ears,
Passed under the far-hanging cloud,
And vanished, and my heart was proud!
For mile on mile the line of war
Extended; and a steady roar,
As of some distant stormy sea,
On the south-wind came up to me.
And high in air, and over all,
Grew, like a fog, that murky pall,
Beneath whose gloom of dusty smoke
The cannon flamed, the bombshell broke,
And the sharp rattling volley rang,
And shrapnel roared, and bullets sang,
And fierce-eyed men, with panting breath,
Toiled onward at the work of death.
I could not see, but knew too well,
That underneath that cloud of hell,
Which still grew more by great degrees,
Man strove with man in deeds like these.
But when the sun had passed his stand
At noon, behold! on every hand
The dark brown vapor backward bore,
And fainter came the dreadful roar
From the huge sea of striving men.
Thus spoke my rising spirit then:
"Take comfort from that dying sound,
Faint heart, the foe is giving ground!”
And one, who taxed his horse's powers,
Flung at me, "Ho! the day is ours!"
And scoured along. So swift his pace,
I took no memory of his face.
Then turned I once again to Heaven;
All things appeared so just and even;
So clearly from the highest Cause
Traced I the downward-working laws
UPON THE HILL BEFORE CENTREVILLE. 35
Those moral springs, made evident,
In the grand, triumph-crowned event.
So half I shouted, and half sang,
Like Jephtha's daughter, to the clang
Of my spread, cymbal-striking palms,
Some fragments of thanksgiving psalms.
Meanwhile a solemn stillness fell
Upon the land. O'er hill and dell
Failed every sound. My heart stood still,
Waiting before some coming ill.
The silence was more sad and dread,
Under that canopy of lead,
Than the wild tumult of the war
That raged a little while before.
All Nature, in her work of death,
Paused for one last, despairing breath;
And, cowering to the earth, I drew
From her strong breast my strength anew.
When I arose, I wondering saw
Another dusty vapor draw
From the far right, its sluggish way
Toward the main cloud, that frowning lay
Against the western-sloping sun;
And all the war was re-begun,
Ere this fresh marvel of my sense
Caught from my mind significance.
And then why ask me?
Would I had lain beneath the sod,
A patient clod, for many a day,
And from my bones and mouldering clay
The rank field grass and flowers had sprung,
Ere the base sight, that struck and stung
My very soul, confronted me,
Shamed at my own humanity.
O happy dead! who early fell,
Ye have no wretched tale to tell
Of causeless fear and coward flight,
Of victory snatched beneath your sight,
Of martial strength and honor lost,
Of mere life bought at any cost,
Of the deep, lingering mark of shame,
Forever scorched on brow and name,
That no new deeds, however bright,
Shall banish from men's loathful sight!
Ye perished in your conscious pride,
Ere this vile scandal opened wide
A wound that cannot close or heal.
Ye perished steel to levelled steel,
Stern votaries of the god of war,
Filled with his godhead to the core !
Ye died to live, these lived to die,
Beneath the scorn of every eye!
How eloquent your voices sound
From the low chambers under ground!
How clear each separate title burns
From your high set and laurelled urns!
While these, who walk about the earth,
Are blushing at their very birth!
And, though they talk, and go, and come,
Their moving lips are worse than dumb.
Ye sleep beneath the valley's dew,
And all the nation mourns for you;
So sleep till God shall wake the lands!
For angels, armed with fiery brands,
Await to take you by the hands.
The right-hand vapor broader grew;
It rose, and joined itself unto
The main cloud with a sudden dash.
Loud and more near the cannon's crash
Came toward me, and I heard a sound
As if all hell had broken bound,
|