"I've a wife and little daughter,
'Mid the fragrant Georgia bloom,"--
Then his cry rang sharper, wilder,
"Oh, God! pity all their gloom."
And the wounded, in their death-hour,
Talking of the loved ones' woes,
Nearer drew unto each other,
Till they were no longer foes.
X.
And the Georgian listened sadly
As the other tried to speak,
While the tears were dropping softly
O'er the pallor of his cheek:
"How she used to stand and listen,
Looking o'er the fields for me,
Waiting, till she saw me coming,
'Neath the shadowy old plum-tree.
Never more I'll hear her laughter,
As she sees me at the gate,
And beneath the plum-tree's shadows,
All in vain for me she'll wait."
XI.
Then the Georgian, speaking softly,
Said: "A brown-eyed little one
Used to wait among the roses,
For me, when the day was done;
And amid the early fragrance
Of those blossoms, fresh and sweet,
Up and down the old verandah
I would chase my darling's feet.
But on earth no more the beauty
Of her face my eye shall greet,
Nevermore I'll hear the music
Of those merry pattering feet--
Ah, the solemn starlight, falling
On the far-off Georgia bloom,
Tells no tale unto my darling
Of her absent father's doom."
XII.
Through the tears that rose between them
Both were trying grief to smother,
As they clasped each other's fingers
Whispering: "Let's forgive each other."
XIII.
When the morning sun was walking
"Up the gray stairs of the dawn,"
And the crimson east was flushing
All the forehead of the morn,
Pitying skies were looking sadly
On the "once proud, happy land,"
On the Southron and the Northman,
Holding fast each other's hand.
Fatherless the golden tresses,
Watching 'neath the old plum-tree;
Fatherless the little Georgian
Sporting in unconscious glee.
Chicago Journal of Commerce, June, 1868.