Then came the dark days, darker than any known before; There was another call for men—“three hundred thousand more;” I saw the cloud on Jamie’s brow grow deeper day by day; I shrank before the impending blow, and scarce had strength to pray.
And yet at last I bade him go, while on my cheek and brow His loving tears and kisses fell; I feel them even now, Though the eyes that shed the tears, and the lips so warm on mine Are hidden under southern sands, beneath a blasted pine!
He did not die in battle-smoke, but for a weary year He languished in close prison walls, a prey to hope and fear; I dare not trust myself to think of the fruitless pangs he bore, My brain grows wild when in my dreams I count his sufferings o’er.
Only two left! I thought the worst was surely over then; But lo! at once my school-boy sons sprang up before me—men! They heard their brothers’ martyr blood call from the hallowed ground; A loud, imperious summons that all other voices drowned.
I did not say a single word. My very heart seemed dead. What could I do but take the cup, and bow my weary head To drink the bitter draught again? I dared not hold them back; I would as soon have tried to check the whirlwind on its track.
You know the rest. At Cedar Creek my Frederick bravely fell; They say his young arm did its work right nobly and right well; His comrades breathe the hero’s name with mingled love and pride; I miss the gentle blue-eyed boy, who frolicked at my side.
For me, I ne’er shall weep again. I think my heart is dead; I, who could weep for lighter griefs, have now no tears to shed. But read this letter, neighbor. There is nothing to alarm, For Harry’s in the hospital, and has only lost an arm!
THE DRUMMER BOY’S BURIAL
All day long the storm of battle through the startled valley swept; All night long the stars in heaven o’er the slain sad vigils kept.
Oh, the ghastly, upturned faces, gleaming whitely through the night! Oh, the heaps of mangled corses in that dim, sepulchral light!