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قراءة كتاب Beechenbrook A Rhyme of the War
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 2
stout-hearted man is as weak as a girl.
I've been proud of your fortitude; never a trace
Of yielding, all day, could I read in your face;
But a look that was resolute, dauntless and high,
As ever flashed forth from a patriot's eye.
I know how you cling to me,—know that to part
Is tearing the tenderest cords of your heart:
Through the length and the breadth of our Valley to-day,
No hand will a costlier sacrifice lay
On the altar of Country; and Alice,—sweet wife!
I never have worshipped you so in my life!
Poor heart,—that has held up so brave in the past,—
Poor heart! must it break with its burden at last?"
Of yielding, all day, could I read in your face;
But a look that was resolute, dauntless and high,
As ever flashed forth from a patriot's eye.
I know how you cling to me,—know that to part
Is tearing the tenderest cords of your heart:
Through the length and the breadth of our Valley to-day,
No hand will a costlier sacrifice lay
On the altar of Country; and Alice,—sweet wife!
I never have worshipped you so in my life!
Poor heart,—that has held up so brave in the past,—
Poor heart! must it break with its burden at last?"
The arms thrown about him, but tighten their hold,
The cheek that he kisses, is ashy and cold,
And bowed with the grief she so long has suppressed,
She weeps herself quiet and calm on his breast.
At length, in a voice just as steady and clear
As if it had never been choked by a tear,
She raises her eyes with a softened control,
And through them her husband looks into her soul.
The cheek that he kisses, is ashy and cold,
And bowed with the grief she so long has suppressed,
She weeps herself quiet and calm on his breast.
At length, in a voice just as steady and clear
As if it had never been choked by a tear,
She raises her eyes with a softened control,
And through them her husband looks into her soul.
"I feel that we each for the other could die;
Your heart to my own makes the instant reply:
But dear as you are, Love,—my life and my light,—
I would not consent to your stay, if I might:
No!—arm for the conflict, and on, with the rest;
Virginia has need of her bravest and best!
My heart—it must bleed, and my cheek will be wet,
Yet never, believe me, with selfish regret:
My ardor abates not one jot of its glow,
Though the tears of the wife and the woman will flow.
Your heart to my own makes the instant reply:
But dear as you are, Love,—my life and my light,—
I would not consent to your stay, if I might:
No!—arm for the conflict, and on, with the rest;
Virginia has need of her bravest and best!
My heart—it must bleed, and my cheek will be wet,
Yet never, believe me, with selfish regret:
My ardor abates not one jot of its glow,
Though the tears of the wife and the woman will flow.
"Our cause is so holy, so just, and so true,—
Thank God! I can give a defender like you!
For home, and for children,—for freedoms—for bread,—
For the house of our God,—for the graves of our dead,—
For leave to exist on the soil of our birth,—
For everything manhood holds dearest on earth:
When these are the things that we fight for—dare I
Hold back my best treasure, with plaint or with sigh?
My cheek would blush crimson,—my spirit be galled,
If he were not there when the muster was called!
When we pleaded for peace, every right was denied;
Every pressing petition turned proudly aside;
Now God judge betwixt us!—God prosper the right!
To brave men there's nothing remains, but to fight:
I grudge you not, Douglass,—die, rather than yield,—
And like the old heroes,—come home on your shield!"
Thank God! I can give a defender like you!
For home, and for children,—for freedoms—for bread,—
For the house of our God,—for the graves of our dead,—
For leave to exist on the soil of our birth,—
For everything manhood holds dearest on earth:
When these are the things that we fight for—dare I
Hold back my best treasure, with plaint or with sigh?
My cheek would blush crimson,—my spirit be galled,
If he were not there when the muster was called!
When we pleaded for peace, every right was denied;
Every pressing petition turned proudly aside;
Now God judge betwixt us!—God prosper the right!
To brave men there's nothing remains, but to fight:
I grudge you not, Douglass,—die, rather than yield,—
And like the old heroes,—come home on your shield!"
The morning is breaking:—the flush of the dawn
Is warning the soldier, 'tis time to be gone;
The children around him expectantly wait,—
His horse, all caparisoned, paws at the gate:
With face strangely pallid,—no sobbings,—no sighs,—
But only a luminous mist in her eyes,
His wife is subduing the heart-throbs that swell,
And calming herself for a quiet farewell.
Is warning the soldier, 'tis time to be gone;
The children around him expectantly wait,—
His horse, all caparisoned, paws at the gate:
With face strangely pallid,—no sobbings,—no sighs,—
But only a luminous mist in her eyes,
His wife is subduing the heart-throbs that swell,
And calming herself for a quiet farewell.
There falls a felt silence:—the note of a bird,
A tremulous twitter,—is all that is heard;
The circle has knelt by the holly-bush there,—
And listen,—there comes the low breathing of prayer.
A tremulous twitter,—is all that is heard;
The circle has knelt by the holly-bush there,—
And listen,—there comes the low breathing of prayer.
"Father! fold thine arms of pity
Round us as we lowly bow;
Never have we kneeled before Thee
With such burden'd hearts as now!
Round us as we lowly bow;
Never have we kneeled before Thee
With such burden'd hearts as now!
Joy has been our constant portion,
And if ill must now befall,
With a filial acquiescence,
We would thank thee for it all.
And if ill must now befall,
With a filial acquiescence,
We would thank thee for it all.
In the path of present duty,
With Thy hand to lean upon,
Questioning not the hidden future,
May we walk serenely on.
With Thy hand to lean upon,
Questioning not the hidden future,
May we walk serenely on.
For this holy, happy home-love,
Purest bliss that crowns my life,—
For these tender, trusting children,—
For this fondest, faithful wife,—
Purest bliss that crowns my life,—
For these tender, trusting children,—
For this fondest, faithful wife,—
Here I pour my full thanksgiving;
And, when heart is torn from heart,
Be our sweetest tryst-word, 'Mizpah,'—
Watch betwixt us while we part!
And, when heart is torn from heart,
Be our sweetest tryst-word, 'Mizpah,'—
Watch betwixt us while we part!
And if never round this altar,
We should kneel as heretofore,—
If these arms in benediction
Fold my precious ones no more,—
We should kneel as heretofore,—
If these arms in benediction
Fold my precious ones no more,—
Thou, who in her direst anguish,
Sooth'dst thy mother's lonely lot,
In thy still unchanged compassion,
Son of Man! forsake them not!"
Sooth'dst thy mother's lonely lot,
In thy still unchanged compassion,
Son of Man! forsake them not!"
The little ones each he has caught to his breast,
And clasped them, and kissed them with fervent caress;
Then wordless and tearless, with hearts running o'er,
They part who have never been parted before:
He springs to his saddle,—the rein is drawn tight,—
And Beechenbrook Cottage is lost to his sight.
And clasped them, and kissed them with fervent caress;
Then wordless and tearless, with hearts running o'er,
They part who have never been parted before:
He springs to his saddle,—the rein is drawn tight,—
And Beechenbrook Cottage is lost to his sight.
II.
The feathery foliage has broadened its leaves,
And June, with its beautiful mornings and eves,
Its magical atmosphere, breezes and blooms,
Its woods all delicious with thousand perfumes,—
First-born of the Summer,—spoiled pet of the year,—
June, delicate queen of the seasons, is here!
And June, with its beautiful mornings and eves,
Its magical atmosphere, breezes and blooms,
Its woods all delicious with thousand perfumes,—
First-born of the Summer,—spoiled pet of the year,—
June, delicate queen of the seasons, is here!
The sadness has passed from the dwelling away,
And quiet serenity brightens the day:
With innocent prattle, her toils to beguile,
In the midst of
And quiet serenity brightens the day:
With innocent prattle, her toils to beguile,
In the midst of