HE WOULD NOT SAY GOOD-BYE.
BEFORE THE BATTLE OF PARATTA, N. M.,
APRIL 23D, '62.
I'm looking at the misty wreaths,
As they gather all around,
And touch with fairy finger
Every bramble on the ground;
Shedding halos light and airy,
Round the dancing, dewy leaves,
And bringing objects nearer,
By the mystic web it weaves,
And I'm thinking, softly thinking,
And not without a sigh,
Of the time he said "Good morning,
I will not say good-bye."
I am looking at the mist-wreaths,
And they seem to thicker grow,
And circle round the tree-tops,
With a motion sad and slow,
As if some spirit bade them press
The earth still closer in,
And cover with their sweetness
Every trace of mortal sin;
And I'm thinking, softly thinking
Of the happy days gone by,
Of the time he said, "Good morning,
I will not say good-bye."
Still I'm looking at the mist-wreaths,
Bright spirits of the air!
In their gossamer apparel,
How they flutter everywhere,
And I'm thinking should his country
Take the sacrifice he gave,
I should like the mist to wreath like this
Above his lonely grave,
And bring whispers from his spirit,
From out the starry sky,
To the one who said "good morning,"
But would not say "good-bye."
CAPTURE OF FORTS JACKSON AND ST. PHILIP, FLA.,
APRIL 24TH, '62.
I DID not dream, when last I said farewell to thee,
I should not look upon thy face again;
That thou so soon would'st lay thine armor by,
And slumber 'neath a Western sky,
On that dark, and bloody plain.
I gazed upon thy proud and manly form,
And joyed to think thy heart was true;
Though born beneath a Southern sky,
I knew that sooner thou would'st die ·
Than tarnish thy fair name.
And I who loved thee, oh, far more than life!
And naught beside to which my heart could cling, Sent thee, with blessings forth, to deadly strife, Ere scarce thy lips had whispered-wife,
They breathed a sad farewell.
Could I have sat by thee and bathed thy noble brow,
When the dark angel came for thee;
Have pillowed thy dear head upon my breast,
And fondly thy dear lips have pressed,
I could have borne it well.
And yet I'd rather be thy widowed bride,
Than aught earth now could give to me.
Honored in life, and thy dear name
Is numbered with the gallant slain,
That nobly fought and died.
My heart is heavy with its great and bitter grief,
Since I no more can welcome thee.
Alone life's dreary round I now must tread,
Unknowing where thy cherished head
Rests in its lowly grave!
WAITING FOR OUR SOLDIERS.
AFTER THE CAPTURE OF FORT MACON, N. C., APRIL 25TH, '62.
In the city, in the village,
In the hamlet far away,
Sit the mothers, watching, waiting,
For their soldier-boys to-day:
They are coming-daily coming,
One by one, and score by score,
In their leaden casings folded,
Underneath the flag they bore.
Thinks the mother, weeping, waiting,
And expectant all the day,-
When his regiment was summoned
How her soldier went away;
With his bayonet a-gleaming,
With his knapsack on his back,
With his blanket strapped and folded,--
And his home-filled haversack.
Thinking of the courage swelling
In his eye and in his heart.
Though a manly tear was welling,
When he kissed her to depart.
Thinking of the precious letters
Written by the camp fire's glow,
Rich in love of home and country,
And of her who bade him go.
Counting now the lagging moments
For the knocking at the door,
For the shuffling and the tramping
Feet of strangers on the floor;
Bringing in their precious burden,
Leaving her to grief and tears,
To the sorrow and the mourning
Darkening all the coming years.
SECOND BATTLE AT YORKTOWN, VA.,
APRIL 26TH, ’61.
ALAS! the weary hours pass slow,
The night is very dark and still,
And in the marshes far below,
I hear the bearded whip-poor-will;
I scarce can see a yard ahead,
My ears are strained to catch each sound
I hear the leaves about me shed,
And the springs bubbling through the ground.
Along the beaten path I pace,
Where white rags mark my sentry's track,
In formless shrubs I seem to trace
The foeman's form, with bending back;
I think I see him crouching low-
I stop and list-I stoop and peer,
Until the neighboring hillocks grow
To groups of soldiers far and near.
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