His love for you comes second?
The Maiden.
Would you have
A mortal love come first?
A mortal love come first?
The Lady.
Sweet heart, I crave
Your pardon. For your gentle Christian zeal
I thank you. Wear this gem—’twill make me feel
That I am something to you when we part.
But what the “silence?”
Your pardon. For your gentle Christian zeal
I thank you. Wear this gem—’twill make me feel
That I am something to you when we part.
But what the “silence?”
The Maiden.
Ten months (they seem years!)
Since Willie joined the army; and my heart
Bore it until his letters ceased; then tears
Would come—would come!
Since Willie joined the army; and my heart
Bore it until his letters ceased; then tears
Would come—would come!
The Lady.
Why should the letters cease?
The Maiden.
I know not; I could only pray for peace,
And his return. No doubt he could not write,
Perplexed with many duties; his the care
Of a thronged camp, where, ever in his sight,
The new recruits are drilled.
And his return. No doubt he could not write,
Perplexed with many duties; his the care
Of a thronged camp, where, ever in his sight,
The new recruits are drilled.
The Lady (thinking).
Oh, faith most rare! (Speaks.) Had you no doubts?
The Maiden.
Why should I doubt? We are
Betrothed—the same forever, near or far!
—He knew my trust
Was boundless as his own.
Betrothed—the same forever, near or far!
—He knew my trust
Was boundless as his own.
The Lady.
But still you must
In reason have known something—must have heard
Or else imagined—
In reason have known something—must have heard
Or else imagined—
The Maiden.
The Lady.
—Where?
The Maiden.
They did not say. I hope to bear him home
To-morrow; for in truth I scarce could come,
So ill my mother, and so full my hands
Of household cares; but, Willie understands.
To-morrow; for in truth I scarce could come,
So ill my mother, and so full my hands
Of household cares; but, Willie understands.
The Lady (thinking).
Ciel! faith like this is senseless—or sublime!
Which is it?
(Speaks). But three months—so long a time—
Which is it?
(Speaks). But three months—so long a time—
The Maiden.
Were it three years, ’twould be the same. The troth
We plighted, freely, lovingly, from both
Our true hearts came.
We plighted, freely, lovingly, from both
Our true hearts came.
The Lady (thinking).
The Maiden.
Not unto death; but fever bound
His senses. When the troops moved on, they found
A kindly woman near by Benton’s Mill;
And there he lies, poor Willie, up above
In her small loft, calling, in tones that thrill:
“Oh, come to me, my love, my love, my love!”—
Here is his picture.
His senses. When the troops moved on, they found
A kindly woman near by Benton’s Mill;
And there he lies, poor Willie, up above
In her small loft, calling, in tones that thrill:
“Oh, come to me, my love, my love, my love!”—
Here is his picture.
The Lady.
What! ’tis Meredith!
The girl is mad!—Give it me forthwith!
How came you by it?
The girl is mad!—Give it me forthwith!
How came you by it?
The Maiden.
Madam, you will break
The chain. I beg—
The chain. I beg—
The Lady.
Here is some strange mistake.
This picture shows me Meredith Reid.
This picture shows me Meredith Reid.
The Maiden.
The Lady.
O ye Powers above!
The “pet name Willie!” Would you try to chain
Phœbus Apollo with your baby-love
And baby-titles? Scarce can I refrain
My hands from crushing you!—
You are that girl,
Then, the boy’s fancy. Yes, I heard the tale
He tried to tell me; but it was so old,
So very old! I stopped him with a curl
Laid playfully across his lips. “Nay, hold!
Enough, enough,” I said; “of what avail
The rest? I know it all; ’tis e’er the same
Old story of the country lad’s first flame
That burns the stubble out. Now by this spell
Forget it all.” He did; and it was well
He did.
The “pet name Willie!” Would you try to chain
Phœbus Apollo with your baby-love
And baby-titles? Scarce can I refrain
My hands from crushing you!—
You are that girl,
Then, the boy’s fancy. Yes, I heard the tale
He tried to tell me; but it was so old,
So very old! I stopped him with a curl
Laid playfully across his lips. “Nay, hold!
Enough, enough,” I said; “of what avail
The rest? I know it all; ’tis e’er the same
Old story of the country lad’s first flame
That burns the stubble out. Now by this spell
Forget it all.” He did; and it was well
He did.
The Maiden.
Never! oh, never! Though you prove
The whole as clear as light, I’d ne’er receive
One word. As in my life, so I believe
In Willie!
The whole as clear as light, I’d ne’er receive
One word. As in my life, so I believe
In Willie!
The Lady.
Fool and blind! your God above
Knows that I lie not when I say that he
You dwarf with your weak names is mine, mine, mine!
He worships me—dost hear? He worships me,
Me only! What art thou, a feeble child,
That thou shouldst speak of loving? Haste, aside,
Lest we should drown you in the torrent wild
Of our strong meeting loves, that may not bide
Nor know your dying, even; feeble weed
Tossed on the shore—[The maiden faints.
Why could I not divine
The truth at first? [Fans her.
Fierce love, why shouldst thou kill
This little one? The child hath done no ill,
Poor wounded, broken blossom. I should pour
My gentlest pity—
Knows that I lie not when I say that he
You dwarf with your weak names is mine, mine, mine!
He worships me—dost hear? He worships me,
Me only! What art thou, a feeble child,
That thou shouldst speak of loving? Haste, aside,
Lest we should drown you in the torrent wild
Of our strong meeting loves, that may not bide
Nor know your dying, even; feeble weed
Tossed on the shore—[The maiden faints.
Why could I not divine
The truth at first? [Fans her.
Fierce love, why shouldst thou kill
This little one? The child hath done no ill,
Poor wounded, broken blossom. I should pour
My gentlest pity—
The Maiden (recovering).
Madam, thanks; no more
Do I require your aid.
Do I require your aid.
The Lady (aside).
How calm she seems,
How cold her far-off eyes! Poor little heart.
The pity of it! all its happy dreams,
With a whole life’s idolatry to part
In one short moment.
(Speaks.) Child, let us be friends;
Not ours the fault, it is the work of Fate.
And now, before your hapless journey ends,
Say, in sweet charity, you do not hate
Me for my love. Trust me, I’ll tend him well;
As mine own heart’s blood, will I care for him
Till strong again. Then shall he come and tell
The whole to you—the cup from dregs to brim—
How, with undoubting faith
In the young fancy that he thought was love
For you, he came a-down the glittering path
Of Washington society; above
The throng I saw his noble Saxon head,
Sunny with curls, towering among the rest
In calm security—scorn that is bred
Of virtue, and that largeness which your West
With its wide sweep of fields gives to her sons—
A certain careless largeness in the look,
As though a thousand prairie-miles it took
Within its easy range.
Ah! blindly runs
Our fate. We met, we two so far apart
In every thought, in life, in soul, in heart—
Our very beings clashed. He, fair, severe;
I, dark and free; his days a routine clear,
Lighted by conscience; I, in waking dream
Of colors, music, warmth, the scents of flowers,
The sweep of velvet, and the diamond’s gleam,
A cloud of romance heavy on the air,
The boudoir curtained from the light of day,
Where all the highest came to call me fair,
And whispered vows I laughed in scorn away.
Was it my fault that Nature chose to give
The splendid beauty of this hair, these eyes,
This creamy skin? And if the golden prize
Of fortune came to me, should I not live
In the rich luxury my being craved?
I give my word, I no more thought of time—
Whether ’twas squandered, trifled with, or saved,
Than the red rose in all her damask prime.
Each day I filled with joys full to the brim—
The rarest fruits and wines, the costliest lace,
The ecstasy of music, every whim
For some new folly gratified, the grace
Of statues idealized in niches, touch
Of softest fabrics. Ah! the world holds much
For those who love her; and I never heard
In all my happy glowing life one word
Against her, till—he came!
We met, we loved,
Like flash of lightning from a cloudless sky,
So sudden, strange, the white intensity—
Intensity resistless! Swift there moved
Within his heart a force unknown before,
That swept his being from that early faith
Across a sea, and cast it on the shore
Prone at my feet.
He minded not if death
Came, so he could but gaze upon my face.
How cold her far-off eyes! Poor little heart.
The pity of it! all its happy dreams,
With a whole life’s idolatry to part
In one short moment.
(Speaks.) Child, let us be friends;
Not ours the fault, it is the work of Fate.
And now, before your hapless journey ends,
Say, in sweet charity, you do not hate
Me for my love. Trust me, I’ll tend him well;
As mine own heart’s blood, will I care for him
Till strong again. Then shall he come and tell
The whole to you—the cup from dregs to brim—
How, with undoubting faith
In the young fancy that he thought was love
For you, he came a-down the glittering path
Of Washington society; above
The throng I saw his noble Saxon head,
Sunny with curls, towering among the rest
In calm security—scorn that is bred
Of virtue, and that largeness which your West
With its wide sweep of fields gives to her sons—
A certain careless largeness in the look,
As though a thousand prairie-miles it took
Within its easy range.
Ah! blindly runs
Our fate. We met, we two so far apart
In every thought, in life, in soul, in heart—
Our very beings clashed. He, fair, severe;
I, dark and free; his days a routine clear,
Lighted by conscience; I, in waking dream
Of colors, music, warmth, the scents of flowers,
The sweep of velvet, and the diamond’s gleam,
A cloud of romance heavy on the air,
The boudoir curtained from the light of day,
Where all the highest came to call me fair,
And whispered vows I laughed in scorn away.
Was it my fault that Nature chose to give
The splendid beauty of this hair, these eyes,
This creamy skin? And if the golden prize
Of fortune came to me, should I not live
In the rich luxury my being craved?
I give my word, I no more thought of time—
Whether ’twas squandered, trifled with, or saved,
Than the red rose in all her damask prime.
Each day I filled with joys full to the brim—
The rarest fruits and wines, the costliest lace,
The ecstasy of music, every whim
For some new folly gratified, the grace
Of statues idealized in niches, touch
Of softest fabrics. Ah! the world holds much
For those who love her; and I never heard
In all my happy glowing life one word
Against her, till—he came!
We met, we loved,
Like flash of lightning from a cloudless sky,
So sudden, strange, the white intensity—
Intensity resistless! Swift there moved
Within his heart a force unknown before,
That swept his being from that early faith
Across a sea, and cast it on the shore
Prone at my feet.
He minded not if death
Came, so he could but gaze upon my face.
—But, bending where he lay (the youthful grace
Of his strong manhood, in humility
Prone, by love’s lightnings), so I bended me
Down to his lips, and gave him—all!
Sweet girl,
Forgive me for the guiltless robbery,
Forgive him, swept by fateful Destiny!
He spoke of one, the child-love of his youth;
I told of my child-marriage. But, in truth,
No barrier, had it been a thousand-fold
Stronger than boyish promise, e’er could hold
Natures like ours!
You see it, do you not?
You understand it all.
—I had forgot,
But this the half-way town; the train runs slow,
No better place than this. But, ere you go,
Give me one silent hand-clasp, little pearl.
I ask you not to speak, for words would seem
Too hard, too hard. Yet, some time, when the dream
Of girlhood has dissolved before the heat
Of real love, you will forgive me, sweet.
Of his strong manhood, in humility
Prone, by love’s lightnings), so I bended me
Down to his lips, and gave him—all!
Sweet girl,
Forgive me for the guiltless robbery,
Forgive him, swept by fateful Destiny!
He spoke of one, the child-love of his youth;
I told of my child-marriage. But, in truth,
No barrier, had it been a thousand-fold
Stronger than boyish promise, e’er could hold
Natures like ours!
You see it, do you not?
You understand it all.
—I had forgot,
But this the half-way town; the train runs slow,
No better place than this. But, ere you go,
Give me one silent hand-clasp, little pearl.
I ask you not to speak, for words would seem
Too hard, too hard. Yet, some time, when the dream
Of girlhood has dissolved before the heat
Of real love, you will forgive me, sweet.
The Maiden.
I fail to comprehend you. Go? Go where?
The Lady.
Back to your home; here waits the north-bound train;
’Twill bear you safely. To go on were pain
Most needless—cruel.
’Twill bear you safely. To go on were pain
Most needless—cruel.
The Maiden.
I am not aware
That I have said aught of returning. Vain
Your false and evil story. I have heard
Of such as you; but never, on my word
As lady and as Christian, did I think
To find myself thus side by side with one
Who flaunts her ignominy on the brink
Of dark perdition!
Ah! my Willie won
The strong heart’s victory when he turned away
From your devices, as I know he turned.
Although you follow him in this array
Of sin, I know your evil smiles he spurned
With virtuous contempt—the son of prayers,
The young knight of the church! My bosom shares
His scorn; take back your ring, false woman. Go!
Move from my side.
That I have said aught of returning. Vain
Your false and evil story. I have heard
Of such as you; but never, on my word
As lady and as Christian, did I think
To find myself thus side by side with one
Who flaunts her ignominy on the brink
Of dark perdition!
Ah! my Willie won
The strong heart’s victory when he turned away
From your devices, as I know he turned.
Although you follow him in this array
Of sin, I know your evil smiles he spurned
With virtuous contempt—the son of prayers,
The young knight of the church! My bosom shares
His scorn; take back your ring, false woman. Go!
Move from my side.
The Lady.
Dear Heaven, now I know
How pitiless these Christians!
Unfledged girl,
Your little, narrow, pharisaic pride
Deserves no pity; jealousy’s wild whirl
Excuse might be, since that is born of love;
But this is scorn, and, by the God above,
I’ll set you in your place!
Do you decide
The right and wrong for this broad world of ours,
Poor little country-child, whose feeble eyes
Veiled o’er with prejudice are yet so wise
That they must judge the earth, and call it good
Or evil as it follows their small rules,
The petty, narrow dogmas of the schools
That hang on Calvin!
Doubtless prairie-flowers
Esteem the hot-house roses evil all;
But yet I think not that the roses should
Go into mourning therefor!
Oh, the small,
Most small foundation for a vast conceit!
Is it a merit that you never learned
But one side of this life? Because you dwelt
Down in a dell, there were no uplands sweet,
No breezy mountain-tops? You never yearned
For freedom, born a slave! You never felt
The thrill of rapture, the wild ecstasy
Of mere existence that strong natures know,
The deep and long-drawn breaths, the burning glow
Of blood that sunward leaps; but, in your dell,
You said: “This is the world. If all, like me,
Walked on this one straight line, all would go well!”
O fool! O blind!
O little ant toiling along the ground!
You cannot see the eagle on the wind
Soaring aloft; and so you go your round
And measure out the earth with your small line,
An inch for all infinity! “Thus mine
Doth make the measure; thus it is.”
Proud girl!
You call me evil. There is not a curl
In all this loosened hair which is not free
From sin as your smooth locks. Turn; look at me!
I flout you with my beauty! From my youth
Beside my mother’s chair, by God’s own truth,
I’ve led a life as sinless as your own.
Your innocence is ignorance; but I
Have seen the Tempter on his shining throne,
And said him nay. You craven weaklings die
From fear of dangers I have faced! I hold
Those lives far nobler that contend and win
The close, hard fight with beautiful, fierce Sin,
Than those that go untempted to their graves,
Deeming the ignorance that haply saves
Their souls, some splendid wisdom of their own!
You fold
Yourself in scornful silence? I could smile,
O childish heart, so free from worldly guile,
Were I not angered by your littleness.
You judge my dress
The garb of sin? Listen. I sat and heard
The opera; by chance there fell a word
Behind me from a group of men who fill
Night after night my box. My heart stood still.
I asked—they told the name. “Wounded,” they said,
“A letter in the journal here.” I read,
Faced them with level eyes; they did not know,
But wondered, caught the truth, to see me go
Straight to my carriage. “Drive! The midnight train.”
We reached it, breathless.
Had I worn fair white,
A ballroom-robe, I’d do the same to gain
One moment more of time.
How pitiless these Christians!
Unfledged girl,
Your little, narrow, pharisaic pride
Deserves no pity; jealousy’s wild whirl
Excuse might be, since that is born of love;
But this is scorn, and, by the God above,
I’ll set you in your place!
Do you decide
The right and wrong for this broad world of ours,
Poor little country-child, whose feeble eyes
Veiled o’er with prejudice are yet so wise
That they must judge the earth, and call it good
Or evil as it follows their small rules,
The petty, narrow dogmas of the schools
That hang on Calvin!
Doubtless prairie-flowers
Esteem the hot-house roses evil all;
But yet I think not that the roses should
Go into mourning therefor!
Oh, the small,
Most small foundation for a vast conceit!
Is it a merit that you never learned
But one side of this life? Because you dwelt
Down in a dell, there were no uplands sweet,
No breezy mountain-tops? You never yearned
For freedom, born a slave! You never felt
The thrill of rapture, the wild ecstasy
Of mere existence that strong natures know,
The deep and long-drawn breaths, the burning glow
Of blood that sunward leaps; but, in your dell,
You said: “This is the world. If all, like me,
Walked on this one straight line, all would go well!”
O fool! O blind!
O little ant toiling along the ground!
You cannot see the eagle on the wind
Soaring aloft; and so you go your round
And measure out the earth with your small line,
An inch for all infinity! “Thus mine
Doth make the measure; thus it is.”
Proud girl!
You call me evil. There is not a curl
In all this loosened hair which is not free
From sin as your smooth locks. Turn; look at me!
I flout you with my beauty! From my youth
Beside my mother’s chair, by God’s own truth,
I’ve led a life as sinless as your own.
Your innocence is ignorance; but I
Have seen the Tempter on his shining throne,
And said him nay. You craven weaklings die
From fear of dangers I have faced! I hold
Those lives far nobler that contend and win
The close, hard fight with beautiful, fierce Sin,
Than those that go untempted to their graves,
Deeming the ignorance that haply saves
Their souls, some splendid wisdom of their own!
You fold
Yourself in scornful silence? I could smile,
O childish heart, so free from worldly guile,
Were I not angered by your littleness.
You judge my dress
The garb of sin? Listen. I sat and heard
The opera; by chance there fell a word
Behind me from a group of men who fill
Night after night my box. My heart stood still.
I asked—they told the name. “Wounded,” they said,
“A letter in the journal here.” I read,
Faced them with level eyes; they did not know,
But wondered, caught the truth, to see me go
Straight to my carriage. “Drive! The midnight train.”
We reached it, breathless.
Had I worn fair white,
A ballroom-robe, I’d do the same to gain
One moment more of time.
The Maiden.
And by what right—
Are you his wife?
Are you his wife?
The Lady.
I am not; but to-night
I shall be, if I live. Your scorn, poor child,
Is thrown away. Bound by his soldier’s oath,
I would not keep him. No Omphale I,
Though he be Hercules. We plighted troth,
And then, when called, he went from me—to die
If need be. I remember that I smiled
When they marched by!
Love for my country burns
Within my heart; but this was love for him.
I could not brook him, one who backward turns
For loving wife; his passion must not dim
The soldier’s courage stern. Then I had wealth,
The golden wealth left me by that old man
Who called me wife for four short months; by stealth
He won me, but a child; the quiet plan
Was deftly laid. I do not blame him now.
My mother dead—one kind thought was to save
My budding youth from harm. The thoughtless vow
I made was soon dissevered by the grave,
And I was left alone. Since then I’ve breathed
All pleasures as the flowers breathe in the sun,
At heart as innocent as they; red-wreathed
My careless life with roses, till the one
Came! Then the red turned purple deep, the hope
Found itself love; the rose was heliotrope.
There needed much
To do with lawyers’ pens ere I could give
My hand again; so that dear, longed-for touch
Was set by me for the full-blooming day
When Peace shall drive the demon War away
Forever. I was wrong. Oh, let him live,
Kind God! Love shall be wronged no more—no more.
All my own heart’s life will I gladly pour
For one small hour of his.—Wait—wait—I fly
To thee, my love, on swiftest wings! Thy cry
The depths of grief too hot for tears doth move:
“Oh, come to me, my love, my love, my love!”
I shall be, if I live. Your scorn, poor child,
Is thrown away. Bound by his soldier’s oath,
I would not keep him. No Omphale I,
Though he be Hercules. We plighted troth,
And then, when called, he went from me—to die
If need be. I remember that I smiled
When they marched by!
Love for my country burns
Within my heart; but this was love for him.
I could not brook him, one who backward turns
For loving wife; his passion must not dim
The soldier’s courage stern. Then I had wealth,
The golden wealth left me by that old man
Who called me wife for four short months; by stealth
He won me, but a child; the quiet plan
Was deftly laid. I do not blame him now.
My mother dead—one kind thought was to save
My budding youth from harm. The thoughtless vow
I made was soon dissevered by the grave,
And I was left alone. Since then I’ve breathed
All pleasures as the flowers breathe in the sun,
At heart as innocent as they; red-wreathed
My careless life with roses, till the one
Came! Then the red turned purple deep, the hope
Found itself love; the rose was heliotrope.
There needed much
To do with lawyers’ pens ere I could give
My hand again; so that dear, longed-for touch
Was set by me for the full-blooming day
When Peace shall drive the demon War away
Forever. I was wrong. Oh, let him live,
Kind God! Love shall be wronged no more—no more.
All my own heart’s life will I gladly pour
For one small hour of his.—Wait—wait—I fly
To thee, my love, on swiftest wings! Thy cry
The depths of grief too hot for tears doth move:
“Oh, come to me, my love, my love, my love!”
The Maiden.
It was not you he called!
The Lady.
Ah! yes.
The Maiden.
He is
Not false; I’ll ne’er believe it, woman.
Not false; I’ll ne’er believe it, woman.
The Lady.
His
The falseness of the pine-tree, felled, uptorn
By the great flood, and onward madly borne
With the wild, foaming torrent miles away.—
No doubt he loved the violet that grew
In the still woods ere the floods came; he knew
Not then of roses!
The falseness of the pine-tree, felled, uptorn
By the great flood, and onward madly borne
With the wild, foaming torrent miles away.—
No doubt he loved the violet that grew
In the still woods ere the floods came; he knew
Not then of roses!
The Maiden.
Cruel eyes, I say
But this to all your flashings—you have lied
To me in all!
But this to all your flashings—you have lied
To me in all!
The Lady.
Look, then, here at my side
His letters—read them. Did he love me? Read!
Aha! you flush, you tremble, there’s no need
To show you more; the strong words blanch your cheek.
See, here his picture; could I make it speak,
How it would kill you! Yes, I wear it there
Close to my heart. Know you this golden hair
That lies beside it?
His letters—read them. Did he love me? Read!
Aha! you flush, you tremble, there’s no need
To show you more; the strong words blanch your cheek.
See, here his picture; could I make it speak,
How it would kill you! Yes, I wear it there
Close to my heart. Know you this golden hair
That lies beside it?
The Maiden.
Should he now confess
The whole—yes, tell me all your tale was true,
I would not leave him to you, sorceress!
I’d snatch him from the burning—I would sue
His pardon down from heaven. I shall win
Him yet, false woman, and his grievous sin
Shall be forgiven.
(Bows her head upon her hands.) O God let him die
Rather than live for one who doth belie
All I have learned of Thee!
The whole—yes, tell me all your tale was true,
I would not leave him to you, sorceress!
I’d snatch him from the burning—I would sue
His pardon down from heaven. I shall win
Him yet, false woman, and his grievous sin
Shall be forgiven.
(Bows her head upon her hands.) O God let him die
Rather than live for one who doth belie
All I have learned of Thee!
Train stops suddenly.—Enter Conductor.
Conductor.
The bridge is down,
The train can go no farther. Morgan’s band
Were here last night! There is a little town
Off on the right, and there, I understand,
You ladies can find horses. Benton’s Mill
Is but a short drive from Waunona Hill.—
Can I assist you?
The train can go no farther. Morgan’s band
Were here last night! There is a little town
Off on the right, and there, I understand,
You ladies can find horses. Benton’s Mill
Is but a short drive from Waunona Hill.—
Can I assist you?
The Maiden.
Thanks; I must not wait. [Exit.
The Lady.
Yes; that my basket—that my shawl. O Fate!
How burdened are we women! Sir, you are
Most kind; and may I trouble you thus far?
Find me the fleetest horses; I must reach
Waunona Hill this night. I do beseech
All haste; a thousand dollars will I give
For this one ride. [Exeunt.
How burdened are we women! Sir, you are
Most kind; and may I trouble you thus far?
Find me the fleetest horses; I must reach
Waunona Hill this night. I do beseech
All haste; a thousand dollars will I give
For this one ride. [Exeunt.
A Soldier.
Say, boys, I’d like to live
Where I could see that woman! I could fight
A regiment of rebels in her sight—
Couldn’t you?
Where I could see that woman! I could fight
A regiment of rebels in her sight—
Couldn’t you?
The Others.
Yes—yes! [Exeunt omnes.
THE DRIVE.
The Lady (thinking).
O fair Kentucky! border-land of war,
Thou rovest like a gypsy at thy will
Between the angry South and stubborn North.
Across thy boundaries many times from far
Sweep Morgan’s men, the troopers bold who fill
Ohio with alarm; then, marching forth
In well-drilled ranks with flag, and fife, and drum,
From camp and town the steady blue-coats come,
March east, march west, march north, march south, and find
No enemy except the lawless wind.
No sooner gone—Lo! presto through the glen
Is heard the midnight ride of Morgan’s men:
They ford the rivers by the light of stars,
The ringing hoofs sound through the mountain-pass;
They draw not rein until their glad huzzas
Are echoing through the land of the Blue Grass.
—O lovely land,
O swell of grassy billows far and near,
O wild, free elms, whose swaying arms expand
As if to clasp me, hold my love as dear
As thine own son! I hasten to his side—
Ye roads, lie smooth; ye streams, make safe the ford;
O chivalrous Kentucky, help the bride
Though thou hast wounded with thy rebel sword
The foeman bridegroom!
. . . . . . . . . .
.... Can it be that girl
Who rides in front? I thought her left behind
In that small town. Ciel! would I could hurl
The slim thing down this bank! Would I could bind
Those prim, long-fingered, proper hands of hers
Behind her drooping, narrow-shouldered back,
And send her home! A heart like that transfers
Its measured, pale affections readily,
If the small rules it calleth piety
Step in between them. Otherwise, the crack
Of doom would not avail to break the cord
Which is not love so much as given word
And fealty, that conscientiousness
Which weigheth all things be they more or less,
From fold of ribbon to a marriage-vow,
With self-same scales of duty. Shall I now
Ride on and pass her—for her horse will fail
Before the hour is out? Of what avail
Her journey?
(Speaks.) Driver, press forward.—Nay, stop—
(Aside.) O what a child am I to waver thus!
I know not how to be ungenerous,
Though I may try—God knows I truly tried.
What’s this upon my hand? Did a tear drop?
(Speaks.) By your side
Behold me, maiden; will you ride with me?
My horses fleet and strong.
Thou rovest like a gypsy at thy will
Between the angry South and stubborn North.
Across thy boundaries many times from far
Sweep Morgan’s men, the troopers bold who fill
Ohio with alarm; then, marching forth
In well-drilled ranks with flag, and fife, and drum,
From camp and town the steady blue-coats come,
March east, march west, march north, march south, and find
No enemy except the lawless wind.
No sooner gone—Lo! presto through the glen
Is heard the midnight ride of Morgan’s men:
They ford the rivers by the light of stars,
The ringing hoofs sound through the mountain-pass;
They draw not rein until their glad huzzas
Are echoing through the land of the Blue Grass.
—O lovely land,
O swell of grassy billows far and near,
O wild, free elms, whose swaying arms expand
As if to clasp me, hold my love as dear
As thine own son! I hasten to his side—
Ye roads, lie smooth; ye streams, make safe the ford;
O chivalrous Kentucky, help the bride
Though thou hast wounded with thy rebel sword
The foeman bridegroom!
. . . . . . . . . .
.... Can it be that girl
Who rides in front? I thought her left behind
In that small town. Ciel! would I could hurl
The slim thing down this bank! Would I could bind
Those prim, long-fingered, proper hands of hers
Behind her drooping, narrow-shouldered back,
And send her home! A heart like that transfers
Its measured, pale affections readily,
If the small rules it calleth piety
Step in between them. Otherwise, the crack
Of doom would not avail to break the cord
Which is not love so much as given word
And fealty, that conscientiousness
Which weigheth all things be they more or less,
From fold of ribbon to a marriage-vow,
With self-same scales of duty. Shall I now
Ride on and pass her—for her horse will fail
Before the hour is out? Of what avail
Her journey?
(Speaks.) Driver, press forward.—Nay, stop—
(Aside.) O what a child am I to waver thus!
I know not how to be ungenerous,
Though I may try—God knows I truly tried.
What’s this upon my hand? Did a tear drop?
(Speaks.) By your side
Behold me, maiden; will you ride with me?
My horses fleet and strong.
The Maiden.
I thank you—no.
The Lady (aside).
She said me nay; then why am I not free
To leave her here, and let my swift steeds go
On like the wind?
(Speaks.) Ho! driver—
(Aside.) But, alas!
I cannot.
(Speaks.) Child, my horses soon will pass
In spite of me; they are so fleet they need
The curb to check them in their flying speed.
Ours the same journey: why should we not ride
Together?
To leave her here, and let my swift steeds go
On like the wind?
(Speaks.) Ho! driver—
(Aside.) But, alas!
I cannot.
(Speaks.) Child, my horses soon will pass
In spite of me; they are so fleet they need
The curb to check them in their flying speed.
Ours the same journey: why should we not ride
Together?
The Maiden.
Never!
The Lady.
Then I must abide
By your decision.—Driver, pass.
(Thinking.) I take
Her at her word. In truth, for her own sake
’Twere charity to leave her, hasten on,
Find my own love, and with him swift be gone
Ere she can reach him; for his ardor strong
(Curbed, loyal heart, so long!),
Heightened by fever, will o’ersweep all bounds,
And fall around me in a fiery shower
Of passion’s words.— And yet—this inner power—
This strange, unloving justice that surrounds
My careless conscience, will not let me go!
(Speaks.) Ho!
Driver, turn back.
—Maiden, I ask again—
I cannot take advantage. Come with me;
That horse will fail you soon—ask; both these men
Will tell you so.—Come, child—we will agree
The ride shall count as naught; nay, when we reach
The farm-house, all shall be as though no speech
Had ever passed between us—we will meet
Beside his couch as strangers.
(Speaks.) There’s defeat
For thee, O whispering tempter!
By your decision.—Driver, pass.
(Thinking.) I take
Her at her word. In truth, for her own sake
’Twere charity to leave her, hasten on,
Find my own love, and with him swift be gone
Ere she can reach him; for his ardor strong
(Curbed, loyal heart, so long!),
Heightened by fever, will o’ersweep all bounds,
And fall around me in a fiery shower
Of passion’s words.— And yet—this inner power—
This strange, unloving justice that surrounds
My careless conscience, will not let me go!
(Speaks.) Ho!
Driver, turn back.
—Maiden, I ask again—
I cannot take advantage. Come with me;
That horse will fail you soon—ask; both these men
Will tell you so.—Come, child—we will agree
The ride shall count as naught; nay, when we reach
The farm-house, all shall be as though no speech
Had ever passed between us—we will meet
Beside his couch as strangers.
(Speaks.) There’s defeat
For thee, O whispering tempter!
The Maiden (to the men).
Is it true?
Will the horse fail?
Will the horse fail?
One of the Men.
Yes.
The Maiden.
Madam, then with you
I needs must ride.—I pray you take my share
Of payment; it were more than I could bear
To be indebted to you.
I needs must ride.—I pray you take my share
Of payment; it were more than I could bear
To be indebted to you.
The Lady.
Nay—the sum
Was but a trifle.
(Aside.) Now forgive me, truth.
But was it not a trifle to such wealth—
Such wealth as mine?
(Speaks.) Heard you that distant drum
Borne on the wind a moment? Ah! our youth
Is thrilled with the great pulses of this war.
How fast we live—how full each crowded hour
Of hot excitements! Naught is done by stealth,
The little secrecies of other days
Thrown to the winds; the clang and charge afar
On the red battle-field, the news that sways
Now to, now fro, ’twixt victory and defeat;
The distant cry of “Extra!” down the street
In the gray dawnings, and our breathless haste
To read the tidings—all this mighty power
Hath burned in flame the day of little things,
Curled like a scroll—and now we face the kings,
The terrible, the glorious gods of war.
—The maid forgets her shyness; wherefore waste
One moment when the next may call him forth
Ne’er to return to her? The dear old North
May take her lover—but he shall not go
With lips unkissed to meet his Southern foe;
Her last embrace will cheer him on his round
Now back, now forth, over the frozen ground
Through the long night.
—And when the hasty word
“Only one day; be ready, love,” is heard,
The soft consent is instant, and there swells
Amid the cannonade faint wedding-bells
From distant village; then, as swift away
The soldier bridegroom rides—he may not stay.
And she?—She would not keep him, though the tears
Blind her sweet eyes that follow him, and fears
Crowd her faint heart and take away her breath,
As on her white robe falls the shade of Death
That waits for him at Shiloh!
O these days!
When we have all gone back to peaceful ways,
Shall we not find sweet Peace a little dull?
—You do not speak.
Was but a trifle.
(Aside.) Now forgive me, truth.
But was it not a trifle to such wealth—
Such wealth as mine?
(Speaks.) Heard you that distant drum
Borne on the wind a moment? Ah! our youth
Is thrilled with the great pulses of this war.
How fast we live—how full each crowded hour
Of hot excitements! Naught is done by stealth,
The little secrecies of other days
Thrown to the winds; the clang and charge afar
On the red battle-field, the news that sways
Now to, now fro, ’twixt victory and defeat;
The distant cry of “Extra!” down the street
In the gray dawnings, and our breathless haste
To read the tidings—all this mighty power
Hath burned in flame the day of little things,
Curled like a scroll—and now we face the kings,
The terrible, the glorious gods of war.
—The maid forgets her shyness; wherefore waste
One moment when the next may call him forth
Ne’er to return to her? The dear old North
May take her lover—but he shall not go
With lips unkissed to meet his Southern foe;
Her last embrace will cheer him on his round
Now back, now forth, over the frozen ground
Through the long night.
—And when the hasty word
“Only one day; be ready, love,” is heard,
The soft consent is instant, and there swells
Amid the cannonade faint wedding-bells
From distant village; then, as swift away
The soldier bridegroom rides—he may not stay.
And she?—She would not keep him, though the tears
Blind her sweet eyes that follow him, and fears
Crowd her faint heart and take away her breath,
As on her white robe falls the shade of Death
That waits for him at Shiloh!
O these days!
When we have all gone back to peaceful ways,
Shall we not find sweet Peace a little dull?
—You do not speak.
The Maiden.
Madam, my heart is full
Of other thoughts.
Of other thoughts.
The Lady.
Of love?—Pray—what is love?
How should a woman love?—Although we hate
Each other well, we need not try to prove
Our hate by silence—for there is a fate
Against it in us women; speak we must,
And ever shall until we’re turned to dust,
Nay—I’m not sure but even then we talk
From grave to grave under the churchyard-walk—
Whose bones last longest—whose the finest shroud—
And—is there not a most unseemly crowd
In pauper’s corner yonder?
—You are shocked?
You do not see, then, that I only mocked
At my own fears—as those poor French lads sang
Their gayest songs at the red barricade,
Clear on the air their boyish voices rang
In chorus, even while the bayonet made
An end of them.—He may be suffering now—
He may be calling—
There! I’ve made a vow
To keep on talking. So, then—tell me, pray,
How should a woman love?
How should a woman love?—Although we hate
Each other well, we need not try to prove
Our hate by silence—for there is a fate
Against it in us women; speak we must,
And ever shall until we’re turned to dust,
Nay—I’m not sure but even then we talk
From grave to grave under the churchyard-walk—
Whose bones last longest—whose the finest shroud—
And—is there not a most unseemly crowd
In pauper’s corner yonder?
—You are shocked?
You do not see, then, that I only mocked
At my own fears—as those poor French lads sang
Their gayest songs at the red barricade,
Clear on the air their boyish voices rang
In chorus, even while the bayonet made
An end of them.—He may be suffering now—
He may be calling—
There! I’ve made a vow
To keep on talking. So, then—tell me, pray,
How should a woman love?
The Maiden.