“ To wash and iron and scrub and cook, And always be cheerful, neat, and sprightly; To give up liberty, home, and friends, Nay, even the name of a mother’s giving,— To do all this for one’s board and clothes, Why, the life of an angel isn’t worth living!”
And Bessie gayly went her way Down through the fields of scented clover, But never again since that summer day Has she won a glance from her rustic lover. The lark sings out to the bending sky, The clouds sail on as white as ever; The clovers toss in the summer wind, But Bessie has lost that chance forever. ”

“ Deal with me, Clifford, as my brother. Be The jealous guardian of my spotless name. Scan thou my cause as ’twere thy sister’s. Let Thy scrutiny o’erlook no point of it, And turn it o’er not once, but many a time, That flaw, speck, yea, the shade of one,—a soil So slight not one out of a thousand eyes Could find it out,—may not escape thee; then Say if these nuptials can be shunned with honor!
Clif. They can.
Jul. Then take me, Clifford—
Festus. Stop one moment. (Looks at watch.) Time’s up.
Stella. So soon?
Festus. The tone of your voice expresses regret. What is your decision? ”

“ There is the foe—advance and attack! Drive every enemy—back—back—BACK! Who cares for pain or for danger or woe? Here are our colors—and there is the foe!” [Pg 22]
And so begins the fight, (God knows how it may end!) But we strive for the right, (May God the right defend!) For country and for home, For freedom and for truth, And freely to that cause we give the sturdy strength of youth, And freely in that cause we shed the blood that makes it strong, While we march to death and glory to the drum’s inspiring song. ”

“ I think he is going, John,” she said, With an anxious look on her pallid face.
He gazed with pride on his baby boy. “He is handsome, wife!” and a look of joy Just for a moment dried the tears. “How does he look in the glad daylight? I have never seen him, except at night;” And he sighed as he thought of the weary years.
Labor the blessing of life should be, But it seemed like a curse to “Ninety-three,” For twice too long were the toiling hours; Never the time to improve the mind, Or joy in his little ones to find: Grasping and thoughtless are human powers. ”

“ And to Our Lady of Lorette I promised in my cruel fright To wear—and see, I wear it yet— A ruff with pilgrim’s cockles set, Close hid from curious sight.
No loving letters has he penned While far away where battles rage: Though life and love be near their end. The vassal has no squire to send, The vassal’s sweetheart has no page.
To-day the duke returns in state, With him my love, a soldier tried, No longer lowly in estate. I lift my head, bowed down of late, And my bliss blossoms into pride.
The duke brings home triumphantly, Worn and soiled, the flag that’s floated O’er his camp. ”

“ A man Whom I can never love! I should before Have thought of that. To-morrow night. This hour To-morrow,—how I tremble! At what means Will not the desperate snatch! What’s honor’s price? Nor friends, nor lovers,—no, nor life itself! Clifford, this moment leave me! (Clifford retires up the stage out of her sight.) Is he gone? Oh, docile lover! Do his mistress’ wish That went against his own! Do it so soon, Ere well ’twas uttered! No good-by to her! No word, no look! ’Twas best that so he went. Alas the strait of her who owns that best Which last she’d wish were done! ”

“ Tater! tater! Good Nater creator! If an angel said per, I belave I should bate her.
O how shall I praise you? I don’t want to hurt you By making you vain and destroying your virtue; But—baked, fried, boiled, roasted, you’re equally good, And in pigpen or palace alike understood.
Tater! tater! First and best boon of Nater! When I stop being poet, I’d turn to a tater.
What makes all men kin? It is “one touch of Nater!” And what is that touch, but the touch of a tater? Of all flowers of the field, tater flour I most prize, Best bread for the body and meet for the eyes. ”

“ Down! down! down! Beneath the castle’s frown! Surely, I fell! For blood is flowing, and wounds are wide: I know it, I know it, ’tis life’s full tide, In crimson swell! The boat is empty, I lie on the sand, Far from those bells of my own dear land! I am dying, alone, but free! Out in God’s glorious sun and light, Loyal in heart, and true in hand, To the royal flag of my native land! Dying, but free, By the solemn sea! Mother, good-night!
THE OLD CANTEEN. ”

“ The flush of youth is on his cheek; the fire that lights his eye Tells of the noble heart within, the spirit pure and high. No braver knight holds charger’s reign, or wields the glittering lance. Than proud and lordly D’Assas, bold chevalier of France.
The sound of war strikes on the air from far beyond the Rhine, Its clarions ring across the fields, rich with the purple vine. France calls her best and bravest: “Up, men, and take the sword! Of German vales and hillsides, Louis would fain be lord; Go forth, and for your sovereign win honor and renown ”

“ Art thou not he whom I snatched from the war-club of the Mohegan, when the lips of the foe thirsted for thy blood, and their warriors had sung thy death-song? Say unto these people that they have bought thy tongue, and that thy coward heart has uttered a lie. Slave of the whites, go! (stabs him) follow Sassawan! White man, beware! the wrath of the wronged Indian shall fall on you like a mighty cataract that dashes the uprooted oak down its mighty chasm; the dread war-cry shall start you from dreams at night, and the red hatchet gleam in the blaze of your burning dwellings. ”

“ With drums, with banners flying, with triumph in each eye, The grand review are marching. He sees them passing by As saw in dream. Napoleon, from that triumphal arch, That night in phantom phalanx his splendid heroes march.
’Twas like a shield all gory, that sun of Austerlitz! No bloody, ghostly phantom before our hero flits! Ye idols of the people, who lead an army well, Shall wield a nation’s sceptre, in capitols shall dwell!
Past ages grim and hoary their victors loved to crown: The flaming sword of conquest still wins sublime renown. All echo and re-echo the glories of the brave ”

“ Who had thought, until he suggested it, that the trouble with the Potomac army, the pride of the nation, was, that it had not fought its battles through? Who then living has forgotten the utter downfall of hope, the absolute despair throughout the North, as the moan from the Wilderness came rolling up on the southern breeze? Is the task hopeless? Is this last mighty effort only more disastrous than that of McClellan, of Pope, of Burnside, of Hooker? No! listen to the assurance, “I’ll fight it out on this line if it takes all summer.” Every loyal heart in the land is inspired. ”

“ Thing of beauty ’tis not; but a joy none the less, As my hot lips remember its old-time caress, And I think on the solace once gurgling between My lips from that old battered tin canteen. [Pg 35]
It has hung by my side in the long, weary tramp; Been my friend in the bivouac, barracks, and camp, In the triumph, the capture, advance, and retreat, More than light to my path, more than guide to my feet. Sweeter nectar ne’er flowed, howe’er sparkling and cold, From out chalice of silver or goblet of gold, For a king or emperor, princess or queen, Than to me, from the mouth of that old canteen. ”

“ But I think on the time when in lulls of the strife It has called the far look in dim eyes back to life, Helped to stanch the quick blood beginning to pour, Softened broad, gaping wounds that were stiffened and sore, Moistened thin, livid lips, so despairing of breath, They could only speak thanks in the quiver of death. If an angel of mercy ever hovered between This world and the next, ’twas that old canteen. ”

“ Will you take a chair? will you take a chair? This is an honor, we do declare!” Sir Hildebrand strode up to see, Saying, “Who may this maiden be? Ladies, this is the wife for me!” Almost before they could understand, He took up Cicely by the hand, And danced with her a saraband. Her hair was rough as a parlor broom; It swung, it swirled all round the room— Those ladies were vexed, we may presume. Sir Nicholas kissed her on the face, And set her beside him on the dais, And made her the lady of the place. ”

“ When the cannon’s boom o’er Sumter broke, And the air was filled with traitorous smoke; When brave men sprang with willing hearts To their Country’s flag to repel the darts Which treason had hurled with malice wild At the life of the mother, so good and mild,— My boy stepped down from the preacher’s stand, And started forth, with life in hand, To sell it dear, but to battle strong With the loyal North against fearful wrong. I know that he carries a magic spell ’Gainst the curse of our race to guard him well ”

“ The rich man’s son inherits wants: His stomach craves for dainty fare; With sated heart, he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easy chair,— A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee.
What doth the poor man’s son inherit? Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; King of two hands, he does his part In every useful toil and art,— A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. ”

“ Be to them ever more than I who perish sadly here.” No word has passed his pallid lips, no sound his voice has made. ’Twas but the utterance of his heart, this prayer the soldier prayed. But then? ah, then! No voice on earth e’er rang more loud and clear: “Auvergne!” he cried, “Auvergne, Auvergne! Behold! the foe is here!”
The forest echoes with the shout. Appalled his captors stand. The courage of that dauntless heart has stayed each murderous hand. A moment’s pause,—then who can tell how quick their bayonets’ thrust Reached D’Assas’ heart, and laid him there, a helpless heap of dust! ”

“ Not age that cheers as it draweth near Yon heaven which seemeth more bright and clear, But age which causes the heart to lag In its onward course, and the spirit to flag; That prays for death as but a release From earthly care, and finds no peace In that sweet belief that at last I hail,— ‘There is rest for the weary beyond the vale.’ For to me has come a spirit of light, Bringing the morning, and chasing the night ”

“ And as in faltering tone and slow The last few names were said, Across the field some missing horse Toiled up with weary tread. It caught the sergeant’s eye, and quick Bay Billy’s name was read.
Yes! there the old bay hero stood, All safe from battle’s harms; And ere an order could be heard, Or the bugle’s quick alarms, Down all the front, from end to end, The troops presented arms!
Not all the shoulder-straps on earth Could still our mighty cheer; And ever from that famous day, When rang the roll-call clear, Bay Billy’s name was read, and then The whole line answered “Here!” ”

“ Some strike for hope of booty, Some to defend their all— I battle for the joy I have To see the white man fall: I love, among the wounded, To hear his dying moan, And catch, while chanting at his side, The music of his groan.
Ye’ve trailed me through the forest, Ye’ve tracked me o’er the stream; And struggling through the everglade, Your bristling bayonets gleam: But I stand as should the warrior, With his rifle and his spear; The scalp of vengeance still is red, And warns ye, “Come not here!” ”

“ Rosabel, in her terror, had thrown her arms around his neck, clinging to him with all her might. When he paused, she felt, reposing on his powerful muscles, that she was safe—she confessed it afterwards; though, in that terrible sea and near those cruel rocks, the strength of the strongest man was but weakness. Leopold waited. If the sea would only recede for an instant, it would give him the opportunity to reach the broader beach beyond the shelf, over which he could pass to the Hole in the Wall. It was a moment of hope, mingled with a mighty fear. ”

“ Yes; ’tis the eternal law, that where guilt is, Sorrow shall answer it; and thou hast not A poor man’s privilege to bear alone, Or in the narrow circle of his kinsmen, The penalties of evil; for in thine, A nation’s fate lies circled. King Adrastus! Steeled as thy heart is with the usages Of pomp and power, a few short summers since Thou wert a child, and canst not be relentless. Oh, if maternal love embraced thee then, Think of the mothers who with eyes unwet Glare o’er their perishing children ”

“ Thou hast given to that gentle, timid, shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute note, muscles of iron, and a heart of steel. Thou hast taught him to drive his sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the stomach of his foe; to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of a fierce Numidian lion, even as the smooth-cheeked senator looks into the laughing eyes of the chambermaid. And he shall pay thee back till the rushing Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled. ”

“ In that vast sepulchre repose The thousands reaped from every fray; The men in blue who once uprose In battle front to smite their foes— The Spartan bands who wore the gray. [Pg 16] The combat o’er, the death-hug done, In summer blaze or winter’s snows, They keep the truce at Arlington.
And, almost lost in myriad graves Of those who gained the unequal fight, Are mounds that hide Confederate braves, Who reck not how the north wind raves, In dazzling day or dimmest night. O’er those who lost and those who won Death holds no parley which was right— Jehovah judges Arlington. ”