THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES WAR POEMS BY ELBRIDGE JEFFERSON CUTLER. BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 1867. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. UNIVERSITY PRESS : WELCH, BIGELOW, & Co., CAMBRIDGE. 1411 t!)e fttemorn BRIGADIER-GENERAL CHARLES RUSSELL LOWELL, COLONEL POWELL TREMLETT WYMAN, LIEUTENANT-COLONEL WILDER DWIGHT, AND MAJOR FITZHUGH BIRNEY. 626065 CONTE NTS. Page REVEILLE, a Poem read before the PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY at Cambridge, July 18, 1861 .... 9 10 TRIUMPHS ! l8 DEFEAT 21 THE SOLDIERS' RALLY 24 THE VOLUNTEER 28 CAVALRY SONG 30 LULLABY ' 32 A COLONEL'S LAST WORDS 35 A DIRGE 39 THE REGIMENT'S RETURN .42 SONNET 46 SONNET 48 RETREAT 50 ANDROMACHE 55 IPHIGENEIA 58 REVEILLE. i r I ^HE drum's wild roll awakes the land; the fife is calling shrill ; Ten thousand starry banners blaze on town and bay and hill ; The thunders of the rising war drown Labor's peaceful hum, And heavy to the ground the first dark drops of battle come : Thank God ! we are not buried yet, though long in trance we lay ; Thank God ! the fathers need not blush to own their sons to-day ! io War Poems. O, scarcely was there faith in God, nor any trust in man, While fast along the southern sky the blight ing shadow ran : It veiled the stars one after one ; it hushed the household song, And stole from men the sacred sense that parteth right and wrong. Then a fierce, sudden flash across the ragged blackness broke, And with a voice that shook the land the guns of Sumter spoke : Wake, sons of heroes, wake ! The age of he roes dawns again ; Truth takes in hand her ancient sword, and calls her loyal men. Lo ! brightly o'er the breaking day shines Free dom's holy star ; Peace cannot cure the sickly time. All hail the healer, War ! Reveille. 1 1 That voice the Empire City heard; 'twas heard in Boston Bay ; Then to the lumber-camps of Maine sped on its eager way : Over the breezy prairie-lands, by bluff and lake it went, To where the Mississippi shapes the plastic con tinent ; Then on, by cabin and by fort, by stony wastes and sands, It rang exultant down the sea where the Golden City stands. And wheresoe'er the summons came, there rose an angry din, As when upon a rocky coast a stormy tide sets in. Hurrah ! the long despair is past ; our fading hopes renew ; The fog is lifting from the land, and lo the steadfast blue ! 12 War Poeins. The old men bless the young men and praise their bearing high ; The women in the doorways stand to wave them bravely by : One threw her arms about her boy, and said, " Good by, my son, God help thee do the valiant deeds thy father would have done ! " One held up to a bearded man a little child to kiss, And said, " I shall not be alone, for thy dear love and this." And one, a lily in her hand, drooped at a sol dier's side ; " Thy country weds thee first," she said. " Be I thy second bride ! " O mothers ! when you fold away the gar ments of your son, The shapely staff your weary years were fain to lean upon ; Reveille. 1 3 O wives ! when o'er the cradled child you bend at evening's fall, And voices which the heart can hear across the distance call ; O maids ! when in the sleepless nights you ope the little case, And look till you can look no more upon the proud young face ; Not only pray the Lord of life, who measures mortal breath, To bring the absent back, unscathed, out of the fire of death ; But pray with that divine content which God's best favor draws, That, whosoever lives or dies, He save His holy cause ! Sweet is the praise of harvest-home, of syl van haunts and brooks, Of red swords into ploughshares beat, of spears to pruning-hooks, 14 War Poems. Of the long splendor of the Arts the fervid years disclose ; But 'mid the victories of Peace, the heart a- straying goes From field of glory unto field where, since the world began, The hosts of good and ill have met, and men have died for man. Our mortal bodies are but earth, and thrive on earthly bread ; On generous hopes and noble faiths our sub tler souls are fed : Truth flashes from the clash of arms, as from the troubled sea Sprang Venus in the immortal bloom of youth and deity ! So, sweeter than the song of Peace, the ring ing battle-shout, When Error's thistle-calyx bursts, Truth's pur ples blossom out ; Reveille. 1 5 And lovelier than the waving grain, the bat tle-flag unfurled Amid the din of trump and drum to lead the onward world ! Then mothers, sisters, daughters ! spare the tears you fain would shed : Who seem to die in such a cause, you cannot call them dead ! O, length of days is not a boon the brave man prayeth for ; There are a thousand evils worse than death or any war : Oppression, with his iron strength fed on the souls of men ; And License, with the hungry brood that ken nel in his den. But Law, the form of Liberty! God's light is on thy brow ; And Liberty, the soul of Law! God's very self art thou. 1 6 War Poems. Divine ideas ! we write your names across our banner's fold ; For you the sluggard's brain is fire, for you the coward bold. Fair -daughter of the bleeding Past ! Bright hope the Prophets saw ! God give us Law in Liberty, and Liberty in Law ! Hurrah ! the drums are beating ; the fife is calling shrill ; Ten thousand starry banners flame on town and bay and hill : The thunders of the rising war hush Labor's drowsy hum ; Thank God that we have lived to see the saf fron morning come ! The morning of the battle-call, to every sol dier dear : O joy! the cry is "Forward!" O joy! the foe is near ! Reveille. \ 7 For all the crafty men of peace have failed to purge the land : Hurrah ! the ranks of battle close ; God takes his cause in hand ! IO TRIUMPHE! "XT OW let us raise a song of praise, like Miriam's song of old, A song of praise to God the Lord, for bless ings manifold ! He lifteth up, He casteth down ; He bindeth, setteth free ; He sendeth grace to bear defeat ; He giveth victory ! O, hear ye how from Somerset the voice of triumph calls ! Hear how the echoes take it up on Henry's conquered walls ! lo Triumphe ! 19 And wilder yet the thrilling cry : Fort Donel- son is ours ! Like chaff before the roaring North fly fast the Rebel powers ; New Orleans sees her doom afar, and lifts a palsied arm, And haughty Richmond's drunken streets are sobered with alarm ; Up Carolina's frantic shore the tide rolls black and dire : The thunder's voice is in its heart, its crest avenging fire ! On inland slopes and by the sea are wreck and flying foe ; And fresh in that unwonted air the flowers of freedom blow ! Then honor, under God, to those, the noble men who plan, And unto those of fiery mould, who flame in battle's van ! 2O War Poems. For, O, the land is safe, is safe ; it rallies from the shock ! Ring round, ring round, ye merry bells, till every steeple rock ! Let trumpets blow and mad drums beat ! let maidens scatter flowers ! The sun bursts through the battle -smoke ! Hurrah ! the day is ours ! FEB. 1 8, 1862. DEFEAT. r I ^HE God of Israel is our God, who set his people free, Through fire and storm and desert heats and slimy depths of sea. So, while the thunder's arrow smites and angry lightnings play, He leads us to the promised land, by this His chosen way. Let not a wailing cry be heard, no tear of sorrow fall ; In silence follow to the grave the dead beneath yon pall ! 22 War Poems. Not yet plant we the votive stone, nor mock ery of bloom ; But let us swear a solemn oath beside the open tomb : In His dread name whose throne is law, in theirs who sleep below, Into the fiery gulf of war, our lives, our hopes we throw : We draw the sword our fathers blessed, and cast the sheath away, To conquer back these dead men's fame, or lie as cold as they ! When we have won the right to weep, the right to praise the brave, Then be the lofty marble brought to mark the soldier's grave : Defeat. 23 Around it let the ivy creep with roses side by side ; And all in shining gold be writ his name and how he died ! But now shed not the useless tear, lift not the voice of woe ! The earth is red with kindred blood, before us is the foe ! The cannon's roar, the sword's keen flash, the unrelenting eye, These be our wail at sore defeat, these be our proud reply ! JULY 4, 1862. THE SOLDIERS' RALLY. RALLY round the banner, boys, now Freedom's chosen sign ! See where amid the clouds of war its new born glories shine ! The despot's doom, the slave's dear hope, we bear it on the foe ! God's voice rings down the brightening path ! Say, brothers, will ye go ? " My father fought at Donelson ; he hailed at dawn of day That flag full-blown upon the walls, and proud ly passed away." The Soldiers' Rally. 25 " My brother fell on Newbern's shore ; he bared his radiant head, And shouted, ' On ! the day is won ! ' leaped forward, and was dead." "My chosen friend, of all the world hears not the bugle-call ; A bullet pierced his loyal heart by Rich mond's fatal wall." But seize the hallowed swords they dropped, with blood yet moist and red ! Fill up the thinned, immortal ranks, and fol low where they led ! For Right is might, and Truth is God, and He upholds our cause, The grand old cause our fathers loved, Freedom and Equal Laws ! " My mother's hair is thin and white ; she looked me in the face ; She clasped me to her heart, and said, ' Go, take thy brother's place ! ' ' 26 War Poems. " My sister kissed her sweet farewell ; her maiden cheeks were wet ; Around my neck her arms she threw ; I feel the pressure yet." " My wife sits by the cradle's side and keeps our little home, Or asks the baby on her knee, ' When will thy father come ? ' ' The shrieking shell may burst in fire, the whizzing bullet fly ; The heavens and earth may mingle grief, the gallant soldier die : While Treason lifts its scornful crest, no peace ! for peace is war ; The land that is not worth our death is not worth living for ! Then* rally round the banner, boys ! Its triumph draweth nigh ! See where above the clouds of war its seam less glories fly ! The Soldiers Rally. 27 Peace, hovering o'er the bristling van, waves palm and laurel fair ; And Victory binds the rescued stars in Free dom's golden hair ! JAN. i, 1863. THE VOLUNTEER. "AT dawn," he said, " I bid them all farewell, To go where bugles call and rifles gleam." And with the restless thought asleep he fell, And wandered into dream. A great hot plain from sea to mountain spread ; Through it a level river slowly drawn : He moved with a vast crowd, and at its head Streamed banners like the dawn. There came a blinding flash, a deafening roar, And dissonant cries of triumph and dismay ; The Volunteer. 29 Blood trickled down the river's reedy shore, And with the dead he lay. The morn broke in upon his solemn dream ; And still with steady pulse and deepening eye, "Where bugles call," he said, "and rifles gleam, I follow, though I die ! " CAVALRY SONG. r I "'HE squadron is forming, the war-bugles play ! To saddle, brave comrades, stout hearts for a fray! Our captain is mounted, strike spurs, and away! No breeze shakes the blossoms or tosses the grain ; But the wind of our speed floats the galloper's mane, As he feels the bold rider's firm hand on the rein. Cavalry Song. 31 Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents ap pear ! Ride softly ! ride slowly ! the onset is near ! More slowly ! more softly ! the sentry may hear ! Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame ! Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame ! Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame ! The bugles recall us ; the carnage is done : All red with our valor, we welcome the sun. Hurrah ! sheathe your swords ! we have won ! we have won ! LULLABY. XJ OW the twilight shadows flit ; Now the evening lamp is lit : Sleep, baby, sleep ! Little head on mother's arm, She will keep him safe from harm, Keep him safe and fold him warm ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Baby's father, far away, Thinks of him at shut of day : Sleep, baby, sleep ! He must guard the sleeping camp, Lullaby. 33 Hearkening, in the cold and damp, For the foeman's stealthy tramp. Sleep, baby, sleep ! He can hear the lullaby, He can see the laughing eye : Sleep, baby, sleep ! And he knows, though we are dumb, How we long to have him come Back to baby, mother, home. Sleep, baby, sleep ! Baby's eyes are closing up ; Let their little curtains drop ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Softly on his father's bed Mother lays her darling's head ; There until the night be fled, Sleep, baby, sleep ! 34 War Poems. God, who dry'st the widow's tears, God, who calm'st the orphan's fears, Guard baby's sleep ! Shield the father in the fray ; Help the mother wait and pray ; Keep us all by night and day ! Sleep, baby sleep ! . A COLONEL'S LAST WORDS. Some random thoughts Which you shall put in letters to my friends. Say : T IFE is sweet for the mere living's sake, And sweet to me for many things to do, Hopes unfulfilled, and loves unrecompensed, A mother's, and a brother's, and a wife's, And this strange love of grown-up men. For all My soldiers love me, their plain way ; each knows My thought is of him, how he may be strong, And, by war's discipline, a better man. 36 War Poems. I hold that he, the lawless, violent, When once he puts his country's armor on, Making his breast her bulwark, by that grace, Compensates all a life of private crime. Yes, life is sweet, and yet death is not bitter ; For some serve in their lives, some in their deaths, And the great Fate, that meteth each to each, Knows neither passion nor remorse. The lot Is equal, and the service, and the gain. In peace, I took the temper of the time, Most pliable and sluggish of recoil ; But the war-fires have seasoned me to use, Toughened the tender fibres of my growth, That I might drive the arrow straight to the targe. Let war be war, the fiercer, better war ! Let the torch burn and the blue bullet slay ! A Colonel's Last Words. 37 So shall the peace to come be peace indeed. For not a drop of blood is shed in vain, Not theirs nor ours : ours witnesses the right ; Theirs is as red, and expiates the wrong. Then tell the mother she must spare her son, And tell the wife to let her husband go ! The Past and Future, as on mountain-tops, O'erlook the field and cheer his valor on. In their impartial eyes there is no rank Save what his strain of merit wins a man ; No honor save in loyalty to Truth. Great purposes are absolute of means : Not one can choose his attitude of doing, When Xanthos and Achilles wage the war As old as God, irreconcilable, 'Twixt the old form outlingering its age, And the new form impatient to succeed. 38 War Poems. All day the battle raged, and the red land And all the sea as far as Tenedos Were horrible with corpses, till Hephaistos Blasted the evil river to its source. JANUARY, 1865. A DIRGE. Kfltro fjityas /ieyaXcooT/, AeAacr/*/i/o? iTS 8e irponav rjp-ap f[wpvap.fff. A /TOURN for the young! Mourn for the brave ! He sleeps beneath the sod, With all the stars of God To watch his grave. He gave himself for us In battle glorious, And shall he go unsung? Mourn for the young ! Mourn for the brave ! 4O War Poems. About his gallant head Did battle-banners wave ; About his dying bed The bullet sung ; The cannon's thunder rung The triumph in his ear. The spirit is with God ; The body with the clod ; But memory with us here. Vanished like a vanished flame, That comprehensive wit, That nobleness of aim, And force to compass it. Glory claims him hers, and we Must lay him down. There is none left like thee, King jewel of our crown ! But when a hero dies, Thank God ! the cause A Dirge. 41 Of country, freedom, laws, Lives by the sacrifice ! Mourn for the young ! Mourn for the brave ! The slow vine creeps around The soldier's grave. Long be votive garlands flung Upon the sacred mound ! And when a hundred years Lose record of our tears, Still will the voice of fame Exult to name his name ; And every spring the clover and the sorrel Make haste to bloom for crown and laurel ! THE REGIMENT'S RETURN. T T E is coming, he is coming, my true love comes home to-day ! All the city throngs to meet him, as he lingers by the way. He is coming from the battle with his knap sack and his gun, He, a hundred times my darling, for the dan gers he hath run ! Twice they said that he was dead, but I would not believe the lie; The Regiment's Return. 43 While my faithful heart kept loving him, I knew he could not die. All in white will I array me, with a rose-bud in my hair, And his ring upon my finger, he shall see it shining there : He will kiss me, he will kiss me, with the kiss of long ago ; He will fold his arms around me close, and I shall cry, I know. O, the years that I have waited, rather lives they seemed to be, For the dawning of the happy day that brings him back to me ! But the worthy cause has triumphed, O joy ! the war is over ! He is coming, he is coming, my gallant sol dier-lover ! 44 War Poems. ii. MEN are shouting all around me, women weep and laugh for joy, Wives behold again their husbands, and the mother clasps her boy ; All the city throbs with passion ; 't is a day of jubilee : But the happiness of thousands brings not hap piness to me. I remember, I remember, when the soldiers went away, There was one among the noblest who is not returned to-day. O, I loved him, how I loved him ! and I never can forget That he kissed me as we parted, for the kiss is burning yet ! The Regiment's Return. 45 T is his picture in my bosom, where his head will never lie ; 'T is his ring upon my finger, I will wear it till I die. O, his comrades say that, dying, he looked up and breathed my name : They have come to those that loved them, but my darling never came. O, they say he died a hero, but I knew how that would be ; And they say the cause has triumphed Will that bring him back to me ? SONNET. flag is folded ; for the battle's din, The cry of trumpet and the blaze of gun, The thunderous rush of squadrons closing in, The stifled groan, the triumph-shout, are done. And Peace is come, with passionless, mild eyes, A mother's eyes, a mother's tenderness ; Calmed by her touch the weary nation lies, And feels her dewy breath upon his face. Sonnet. 47 But Time cannot avail, with all his years, Some chasms in our riven hearts to fill, Whence misty memories rise to break in tears, And ghosts of buried hopes that haunt us still, Yet bring a kind of joy, the solemn trust That form is more than unsubstantial dust. I SONNET. F generous parentage or breeding high, Or that fine strain where love and wit, at one, Put sisterly each other's jewels on, Or' flawless truth, or spotless purity, Or beauty were an armor against Fate : Then thou, bright blended grace of man and boy, Sweet memory ! wouldst walk, a present joy, With us, the sunny slope of life, elate ! Sonnet. 49 Dear, blood-bought land, how precious for the cost ! Fair triumph, perfected by private pain ! Bright manhood tried and proved beyond compare ! War wins an awful glory from that lost Nobility, which was not young in vain ; But Peace twines cypress in her flaxen hair. RETREAT. r I V HE war was done, its harvest reaped, and home the reapers came, With garments worn and banners torn, but ri fles bright as flame. Southward your valor swept, a hurricane of steel and lead, Amid the crash of blazing roofs the cannon's cry of dread ; Northward your laurelled legions bent, and Fame before them ran, And Victory on their standard shone, and Freedom led the van. Retreat. 5 1 What was the wondrous triumph, what the priceless harvest reaped, That cities put on flowers and fire, and happy women wept ? O, write it on your proud facade, on arch and column stone That once Right triumphed over Wrong, that Justice hath her own ; That science is the lord of force, by Nature's onward plan ; That ye had grace to do your work, so God did His for man ! Though loud and dark on heaven's rim, the tempest mutter still, Fear not ; for what is fear ? The shadow of a feeble will. Ye who have swept the old away, can ye not build the new ? O brothers who have bled for Truth, can ye not still be true ? 52 War Poems. Ye will not shrink, her chosen men, she sum mons each by name ; Before you burns your children's hope, behind, your fathers' fame ! So swear again in word and deed to keep the faith ye swore, By fire and sword, if that must be ; but Free dom evermore ! TRANSLATIONS ANDROMACHE. (Iliad, XXII., XXIV.) TV T OW in the inmost chamber of the house, Andromache sat weaving at the loom An intricate purple web, distinct with flowers. Her fair-haired household she had bid prepare The steaming bath against her lord's return From battle ; knowing not that Hector lay, Slain by Achilles, on the dusty field. But when she heard the wailment at the tower, She shuddered, and the flashing shuttle dropped, And with great heart-beats hurried to the wall ; And saw, before the city, the fleet steeds 56 Andromache. Dragging him towards the ships ; whereat she swooned. Then from her head the beauteous garland fell, The net, the fillet, and the shining veil That golden Aphrodite gave, what time Bright-plumed Hector came with marriage gifts, And led her from Eetion's palace home. And in their arms her sisters tended her Who seemed as dead. But when she woke again, And her sad soul returned upon her heart, Sobbing she said among the Trojan dames: Alas ! O Hector ! a like evil fate Was spun for me and thee, thee here in Troy In Priam's palace reared, me, hapless child, By woody Plakos born. Thou passest down The sad abysses of the underworld, Andromache. 57 And leavest widowed me in desolate grief To keep thy dwelling, with the boy, so young, Thy child and mine. Nor ever, Hector, wilt Thou have a father's care of him, for thou Art dead, art dead, nor he, a son's, of thee. O, Hector, thou hast perished in thy youth, Leaving the sorrowing city in dismay, Leaving thy parents grief unutterable, But chiefly grief to me ; for from thy bed Thou didst not stretch thy dying hand to me, Nor spakest words of counsel in my ear, Which I might cherish, weeping night and day. IPHIGENEIA. (Lucretius, I. 88- 101.) "XT OW when the fillet bound her virgin hair, And equal fell on either cheek ; and when She saw before the altar her sad sire, Near him the priests concealing the sharp knife, And all the people looking on in tears, Then dumb with fear she knelt ; but nought availed The piteous maiden, in her time of need, To be a princess, daughter of the King. For she, uplifted in the hands of men, Borne trembling to the altar, at the hour Iphigeneia. 59 Appointed for the bridal, yet no bride With Hymeneal pomp, sinless, sinfully Was slain, a father's hapless victim, that Fair winds might blow the ships to prosperous war. Cambridge : Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-42wi-8,'49(B5573)444 PS UCLA-Young Research Library PS1499 .C974W II I i ii _ _ L 009 512 354 3 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 217939 6