Dreams and Days: Poems Part 16

Stern was our task in the field where the reaping Spared the ripe harvest, but laid our men low: Grim was the sorrow that held us from weeping: Awful the rush of the strife's ebb and flow.

Swift came the silence--our enemy hiding Sudden retreat in the cloud-m.u.f.fled night: Swift as a hawk-pounce our hill-and-dale riding; Hundreds on hundreds we caught in their flight!

Hard and incessant the danger and trial, Laid on our squadrons, that gladly bore all, Scorning to meet with delay or denial The summons that rang in the battle-days' call!

II

Wild days that woke to glory or despair, And smote the coward soul with sudden shame, But unto those whose hearts were bold to dare All things for honor brought eternal fame:-- Lost days, undying days!

With undiminished rays Here now on us look down, Illumining our crown Of leaves memorial, wet with tender dew For those who n.o.bly died In fierce self-sacrifice of service true, Rapt in pure fire of life-disdaining pride; Men of this soil, who stood Firm for their country's good, From night to night, from sun to sun, Till o'er the living and the slain A woful dawn that streamed with rain Wept for their victory dearly won.

III

Days of the future, prophetic days,-- Silence engulfs the roar of war; Yet, through all coming years, repeat the praise Of those leal comrades brave, who come no more!

And when our voices cease, Long, long renew the chant, the anthem proud, Which, echoing clear and loud Through templed aisles of peace, Like blended tumults of a joyous chime, Shall tell their valor to a later time.

s.h.i.+ne on this field; and in the eyes of men Rekindle, if the need shall come again, That answering light that springs In beaconing splendor from the soul, and brings Promise of faith well kept and deed sublime!

KEENAN'S CHARGE

[CHANCELLORSVILLE, MAY, 1863]

I

The sun had set; The leaves with dew were wet: Down fell a b.l.o.o.d.y dusk On the woods, that second of May, Where Stonewall's corps, like a beast of prey, Tore through, with angry tusk.

"They've trapped us, boys!"-- Rose from our flank a voice.

With a rush of steel and smoke On came the rebels straight, Eager as love and wild as hate; And our line reeled and broke;

Broke and fled.

No one stayed--but the dead!

With curses, shrieks, and cries, Horses and wagons and men Tumbled back through the shuddering glen, And above us the fading skies.

There's one hope, still-- Those batteries parked on the hill!

"Battery, wheel!" ('mid the roar) "Pa.s.s pieces; fix prolonge to fire Retiring. Trot!" In the panic dire A bugle rings "Trot"--and no more.

The horses plunged, The cannon lurched and lunged, To join the hopeless rout.

But suddenly rode a form Calmly in front of the human storm, With a stern, commanding shout:

"Align those guns!"

(We knew it was Pleasonton's.) The cannoneers bent to obey, And worked with a will at his word: And the black guns moved as if _they_ had heard.

But ah, the dread delay!

"To wait is crime; O G.o.d, for ten minutes' time!"

The General looked around.

There Keenan sat, like a stone, With his three hundred horse alone, Less shaken than the ground.

"Major, your men?"

"Are soldiers, General." "Then, Charge, Major! Do your best: Hold the enemy back, at all cost, Till my guns are placed;--else the army is lost.

You die to save the rest!"

II

By the shrouded gleam of the western skies, Brave Keenan looked into Pleasonton's eyes For an instant--clear, and cool, and still; Then, with a smile, he said: "I will."

"Cavalry, charge!" Not a man of them shrank.

Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, Rose joyously, with a willing breath--- Rose like a greeting hail to death.

Then forward they sprang, and spurred and clashed; Shouted the officers, crimson-sash'd; Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, In their faded coats of the blue and yellow; And above in the air, with an instinct true, Like a bird of war their pennon flew.

With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds, And blades that s.h.i.+ne like sunlit reeds, And strong brown faces bravely pale For fear their proud attempt shall fail, Three hundred Pennsylvanians close On twice ten thousand gallant foes.

Line after line the troopers came To the edge of the wood that was ring'd with flame; Rode in and sabred and shot--and fell; Nor came one back his wounds to tell.

And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall, In the gloom like a martyr awaiting his fall, While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung 'Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung.

Line after line, aye, whole platoons, Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons By the maddened horses were onward borne And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn; As Keenan fought with his men, side by side.

So they rode, till there were no more to ride.

But over them, lying there shattered and mute, What deep echo rolls?--'T is a death-salute, From the cannon in place; for heroes, you braved Your fate not in vain: the army was saved!

Over them now--year following year-- Over their graves the pine-cones fall, And the whip-poor-will chants his spectre-call; But they stir not again: they raise no cheer: They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease, Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace.

The rush of their charge is resounding still That saved the army at Chancellorsville.

MARTHY VIRGINIA'S HAND

"There, on the left!" said the colonel: the battle had shuddered and faded away, Wraith of a fiery enchantment that left only ashes and blood-sprinkled clay-- "Ride to the left and examine that ridge, where the enemy's sharpshooters stood.

Lord, how they picked off our men, from the treacherous vantage-ground of the wood!

But for their bullets, I'll bet, my batteries sent them something as good.

Go and explore, and report to me then, and tell me how many we killed.

Never a wink shall I sleep till I know our vengeance was duly fulfilled."

Fiercely the orderly rode down the slope of the corn-field--scarred and forlorn, Rutted by violent wheels, and scathed by the shot that had plowed it in scorn; Fiercely, and burning with wrath for the sight of his comrades crushed at a blow, Flung in broken shapes on the ground like ruined memorials of woe: These were the men whom at daybreak he knew, but never again could know.

Thence to the ridge, where roots outthrust, and twisted branches of trees Clutched the hill like clawing lions, firm their prey to seize.

"What's your report?"--and the grim colonel smiled when the orderly came back at last.

Strangely the soldier paused: "Well, they were punished." And strange his face, aghast.

"Yes, our fire told on them; knocked over fifty-- laid out in line of parade.

Brave fellows, colonel, to stay as they did! But one I 'most wish had n't stayed.