UC-NRLF It, 7 DM2 lE.Turnbull, BOOKSELLER, 13, 14 Boziev's Ct . Tottenham Ct. Rd., LONDON, W. H ERON-ALLEN. JULY; CDD.GGG.XGI. I .&.' GETTYSBURG AND OTHER POEMS. BY ISAAC R. PENNYPACKER. II PHILADELPHIA: PORTER & COATES. 1890. y~3 Copyright, 1890, by ISAAC R. PENNYPACKEK. PREFACE. IN response to an invitation extended on behalf of the Governor of the Commonwealth of Penn- sylvania, and the State Board of Commissioners on Gettysburg Monuments by Colonel John P. Nichol- son, secretary of the Board, the poem which leads this collection was composed, and was pronounced at the dedication of the Pennsylvania monuments on the battle-field of Gettysburg on September 12, 1889. Some of the earlier poems, " The Old Church at the Trappe" and " The Perkiomen," found their way into Longfellow's " Poems of Places." Under another title the poem " Tacey Richardson's Race" was included in a collection of poems about horse- back riding, entitled " In the Saddle," and pub- lished by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., in 1882. Its present title was adopted at the suggestion of Mr. Longfellow. These poems, with a few others not hitherto pub- lished, are now for the first time brought together. CONTENTS. PAGE GETTYSBURG 9 TACEY RICHARDSON'S RACE 19 AT THE SIGN OF THE RED ROSE 29 THE OLD CHURCH AT THE TRAPPE 35 THE PERKIOMEN 41 LEONARD KEYSEII 45 HA! HA! AND HA! HA! INDEED! 51 IN WINTER QUARTERS 57 THE BURYINQ-GROUND 01 A NOVEMBER NOCTURNE , 65 THE FALLING OF THE DEW 69 BECALMED 73 GOOD TIMES 77 AFTER THE PROPOSAL 81 THE PINEY 85 NOTES . . 89 GETTYSBURG. GETTYSBURG. 'TWAS on the time when Lee, Below Potomac's swollen ford, Had beaten down the broken sword Of his baffled enemy. His long line lengthened faster Than the days of June, O'er valleys varied, mountains vaster, By forced marches night and noon. Any morn might bring him down, Captor of the proudest town ; Any one of cities three At noon or night might prostrate be. Then to Meade was the sword of the !N"orth Held hiltward for proof of its worth ; O'er the vastness of masses of men All the glorious banners of war, All the battle-flags floated again ; All the bugles blew blithely once more, Sounding the stately advance ; Village door-ways framed faces of awe At the trains of artillery pressed On earth's reverberent breast, And the sun sought the zenith, and saw All the splendors of war at a glance. 9 10 Gettysburg. How soon the first fierce rain of death, In big drops dancing on the trees, Withers the foliage ! At a breath, Hot as the blasts that dried old seas, The clover falls like drops of blood From mortal hurts, and stains the sod ; The wheat is clipped, but the ripe grain Here long ungarnered shall remain ; And many who at the drum's long roll Sprang to the charge and swelled the cheer, And set their flags high on the knoll, Ne'er knew how went the fight fought here ; For them a knell tumultuous shells Shook from the consecrated bells, As here they formed that silent rank, Whose glorious star at twilight sank. And night, which lulls all discords night, Which stills the folds and vocal wood, And, with the touch of finger light, Quiets the pink-lipped brook's wild mood, Which sends the wind to seek the latch, And seals young eyes while mothers watch Night stays the battle, but with day Their lives, themselves, foes hurl away. Where thousands fell, but did not yield, Shall be to-morrow's battle-field. E'er dying died or dead were cold, JN'ew hosts pressed on the lines to hold, And held them hold them now in sleep, While stars and sentinels go round, Gettysburg, 1 1 And war-worn chargers shrink like sheep ^Beside their riders on the ground. All through the night all through the North Speed doubtful tidings back and forth ; Through North and South, from dusk till day, A sundered people diverse pray. So gradual sink the deliberate stars, The sun doth run the laggards down, At sleep's still meadows bursts the bars, And floods with light the steepled town. Blow, bugles of the cavalry, blow ! Forward the infantry, row on row ! While every battery leaps with life, And swells with ton^ueless throats the strife ! Where grappled foes, one flushed with joy From triumphs fresh, and come to destroy, And one by blows but tempered fit To keep the torch of freedom lit, The battle-dust from heroes' feet, Brief hiding rally and last retreat, By the free sunlight touched became A golden pillar of lambent flame. Glorified was this field, its white Faces of victors and of slain, And these and Round-Top's luminous height That glory flashed afar again, Around the world, for all to see One nation and one wholly free, 1 2 Gettysburg. And branded deep with flaming sword Its primal compact's binding word. 'Breath Freedom's dome that light divine, Borne here from dark defiles of Time, From here upblazed, a beacon sign To all the oppressed of every clime, And dulled eyes glistened: hope upsprung Where'er ills old when man was young, Against awaking thought were set, "Where power its tribute wrongly wrung, Or moved on pathways rank even yet With martyrs' blood, where'er a tongue Hath words to show, as serf, slave, thrall, How great man's power ! how deep man's fall ! Long will be felt, though hurled in vain, The shock that shook the Northern gate ; Long heard the shots that dashed amain, But flattened on the rock of fate, Where Lee still strove, but failed to break The barrier down, or fissure make, And never grasped by force the prize Deferred by years of compromise ; Long will men keep the memory bright Of deeds done here ; how flashed the blade Of Hancock from South Mountain's shade To the sheer heights of unfading light ! That martial morn o'er yonder ridge Reynolds last rode face towards the foe, And onward rides through history so ; Gettysburg. 13 For Meade, even as for Joshua, suns The unmindful gulf of Time abridge, While still its depths fling back his guns' Victorious echoes. The same wise power Which starts the currents from ocean's heart, And hurls the tides at their due hour, Or holds them with a force unspent, Made him like master, in each part, O'er all his mighty instrument. Chief leaders of the battle great ! Three sons of one proud mother State ! These epoch stones she sets stand fast, As on her field her regiments stood; Their volleys rang the first and last; They kept with Webb the target-wood, And there for all turned on its track The wild gulf stream of treason back, Or on the stubborn hill-sides trod Out harvests sown not on the clod. Hearts shall beat high in days grown tame At thoughts of them and their proud fame, And watching Pickett's gallant band Melt like lost snow-flakes in the deep, Pity shall grow throughout the land, And near apace with joy shall keep. Baffled, beaten, back to the ford, His own at last the broken sword, Rode the invader. On his breast His head with sorrow low was pressed ; 14 Gettysburg. On his horse's tangled mane Loosely hung the bridle rein. At Gettysburg his valiant host The last hope of their cause had lost ; In vain their daring and endeavor, It was buried there forever ; Right well he knew the way he fled Straight to the last surrender led. So ended Lee's anabasis, And all he hoped had come to this : As well for master as the driven That not to him was victory given ; So Eight emboldened and made known Hurled the whole troop of Error down, And here held fast an heritage. So on that course may all hold fast Till no man takes an hundred's wasre, O ' And each one has his own at last, Till the last caravan of the bound, Driven towards some Bornuese market-place, Happily shall feel their bonds unwound, And steps of woe in joy retrace. In the cities of the North The brazen cannon belched forth For the defeat of Lee. When the smoke from this field Unfolded, lo ! fixed on the shield, Each wandering star was revealed, And the steeple bells pealed Gettysburg. 1 5 Inland to the further sea. In the villages flags waved For Meade's victory, A thousand, thousand flags waved For the souls to be free, For the Union saved, For the Union still to be. TACEY RICHARDSON'S RACE. 17 TACEY RICHARDSON'S RACE. THE tall Green Tree its shadow cast Upon Howe's army, that southward passed From Gordon's Ford to the Quaker town, Intending in quarters to settle down Till snows were gone, and spring again Should easier make a new campaign. Beyond the fences, that lined the way, The fields of Captain Richardson lay ; His woodland and meadows reached far and wide, From the hills behind to the Schuylkill's side ; Across the stream, in the mountain gorge, He could see the smoke of the Valley Forge. The captain had fought in the frontier war ; When the fight was done, bearing seam and scar, He marched back home to tread once more The same tame round he had trod before, And turned his thoughts, with sighs of regret, To ploughshares, wishing them sword-blades yet. He put the meadow in corn that year, And swore till his blacks were white with fear; He ploughed, and planted, and married a wife, But life grew weary with inward strife ; 19 20 Tacey Richardson's Race. His blood was hot, and his throbbing brain Beat with the surf of some far main. Should he sack a town, or rob the mail, Or on the wide seas a pirate sail ? He pondered it over, concluding instead To buy three steeds, in Arabia bred ; On Sopus, Fearnaught, or Scipio, He felt his blood more evenly flow. To his daughter Tacey the coming days Brought health and beauty and graceful ways; He taught her to ride his fleetest steed At a five-barred fence, or a ditch at need, And the captain's horses, his hounds, and his chik Were famous from sea to forests wild. In the fall they chased the fox to his den, Or in spring they followed the fishermen To the shore of Richardson's Island near, Where the shad were entangled with seine and weir In winter away, when frosts were white, They came safe home at candle-light. By the great wide hearth, where the firelight fell, In long winter evenings, the captain would tell Some marvellous tale from his well-stocked store, And he fought his Indian battles o'er, With andirons and tongs to show the stockade, And just where the first assault was made ; Tacey Richardson's Race. 21 Or he read from the Bible, that stood on the shelf, Some soul-stirring story that pleased himself, And enforced his saying, that women should be Prepared, whatsoever the emergency; Till the fire burned low, the room grew cold, And the Rittenhouse clock the tenth hour told. So the seasons changed, and once each week, Through spring and summer and winter bleak, Beyond the cross-roads a horn blew clear, The horn of the mounted postman near, And he hurled from his seat, as he passed the door, The Pennsylvania Gazette that he bore. Et told of estrays and runaway slaves, Of vendues, treaties with Indian braves ; That the city folk resolutions had passed Of non-importation ; it brought the last Tidings from London, the first news of war, And later Howe's army marched by the door. Master and man from home were gone, And Fearnaught held the stables alone, And Mistress Tacey her spirit showed, . The morning the British came down the road : She hid the silver, and drove the cows To the island, behind the willow-boughs. Was time too short ? Or did she forget That Fearnaught stood in the stables yet? 22 Tacey Richardson's Race. Across the fields, to the gate, she ran, And followed the path 'neath the grape-arbor's span ; On the door-step she paused, and turned, to see The head of the line beneath the Green Tree. The last straggler passed; the night came on, And then 'twas discovered that Fearnau;ht was o gone; Some time, somehow, from his stall he was led, Where an old gray horse was left in his stead, And Tacey must prove to her father that she Had been prepared for the emergency. For the words he scattered on kind soil fell, And Tacey had learned his maxims well In the stories he read. She remembered the art That concealed the fear in Esther's heart ; How the words of the woman, Abigail, Appeased the king's wrath ; the deed of Jael ; How Judith went from the city's gate, Across the plain, as the day grew late, To the tent of the great Assyrian, The leader exalted with horse and man, And brought back his head ; said Tacey, " Of course, A more difficult feat than to bring back a horse." In the English camp the reveille drum Told the sleeping troops that the dawn had come, And the shadows abroad, that with night were blent, At the drum's tap startled, crept under each tent, Tacey Richardson's Race. 23 As Tacey ran from the sheltering wood, Across the wet grass where the horse-pound stood. Hark ! was it the twitter of frightened bird, Or was it the challenge of sentry she heard ? She entered unseen, but her footsteps she stayed When the old gray horse, in the wood still, neighed ; Half hid in the mist a shape loomed tall, A steed that answered her well-known call. With freedom beyond for the recompense, She sprang to his back, and leaped the fence. Too late the alarm ; but Tacey heard, As she sped away, how the camp was stirred, The stamping of horses, the shouts of men, And the bugle's impatient call again. Loudly and fast on the Ridge Road beat The regular fall of Fearnaught's feet ; On his broad bare back his rider's seat Was as firm as the tread of the steed so fleet ; Small need of saddle, or bridal-rein, He answered as well her touch on his mane. On down the hill, by the river shore, Faster and faster she rode than before ; Her bonnet fell back, her head was bare, And the river breeze, that freed her hair, Dispersed the fog, and she heard the shout Of the troopers behind when the sun came out. 24 Tacey Richardson's Race. The wheel at Van Deering's had dripped nearly dry, In Sabbath-like stillness the morning passed by; Then the clatter of hoofs came down the hill, And the white old miller ran out from the mill, But he only saw, through the dust of the road, The last red-coat that faintly showed. To Tacey, the sky, and the trees, and the wind Seemed all to rush towards her, and follow behind ; Her lips were set firm, and pale was her cheek, As she plunged down the hill and through the creek ; The tortoise-shell comb that she lost that day The Wissahickon carried away. On the other side, up the stony hill, The feet of Fearnaught went faster still ; But somewhat backward the troopers fell, For the hill and the pace began to tell On their horses, worn with a long campaign O'er rugged mountains and weary plain. The road was deserted, for, when men fought, A secret path the traveller sought ; Two scared idlers in Levering's Inn Fled to the woods at the coming din ; The watch- dog ran to bark his delight, But pursued and pursuers were out of sight. Surely the distance between them increased, And the shouts of the troopers had long since ceased; Tacey Richardson's Race. 25 One after another pulled his rein, And rode, with great oaths, to the camp again ; Oft a look backward Tacey sent To the fading red of the regiment. She heard the foremost horseman call ; She saw the horse stumble, the rider fall ; She patted her steed, and checked his pace, And leisurely rode the rest of the race ; When the Seven-Stars' sign on the horizon showed, Behind, not a trooper was on the road. In vain had they shouted who followed in chase, In vain their wild ride. So ended the race. Though fifty strong voices may clamor and call, If she hear not the strongest, she hears not them all ; Though fifty fleet horses go galloping fast, One swifter than all shall be farthest at last. Said the well-pleased captain, when he came home : " The steed shall be thine and a new silver comb ; 'Twas a daring deed and bravely done." As proud of the praise as the promise won, The maiden stole from the house to feed, With a generous hand, her gallant steed. Unavailing the storms of the century beat With the roar of thunder, or winter's sleet; The mansion still stands, and is heard, as of yore, The wind in the trees on the island's shore : 26 Tacey Richardson's Race. But the restless river its shore line wears, And no longer the island its old name bears. The Green Tree spreads its shelter of shade O'er children at play where their forefathers pla}^ed, And in Providence still abide her race, Brave youths with her courage, fair maids with her grace ; Undaunted they stand when fainter hearts flee, Prepared, whatsoever the emergency. AT THE SIGN OF THE RED ROSE. n AT THE SIGN OF THE RED ROSE. WITHIN the door-way of the Inn The host sat smoking at day's close ; He could not see the smoke wreaths thin, Nor on the sign the painted rose, And a white line but faintly showed Where through the darkness ran the road ; O'er which, in state, some hours before, A coach, drawn by four horses gray, No other than the Governor, Refreshed, had borne upon his way. Well might the host recount his gain From meat and drink for all that train, And let his fancies run like vines Upon the framework of content, All in and out, o'er old designs, That 'mongst new plans were permanent. Well satisfied he rose at last, And made each door arid window fast, Threw back the cover from the well, Drew the dark dripping bucket up, And stooped to dip the cocoa-shell ; Surprise dashed down the undrained cup; 29 30 At the Sign of the Red Rose. It quenched, with splash of water cool, Each mirrored star within the pool. In sharp, quick volleys, close at hand, O'er the hard highway horse-hoofs beat; Up hill and down, on stone and sand, Now rang, now crunched, the unshodden feet, And somewhere in the pebbled stream Ceased, as the passing of a dream. If there one rider raised his blade As he o'ertook a fleeing foe, It fell into a sheath of shade That hid the horsemen, blade and blow; Nor have the mornings since revealed A trace of what the night concealed. Meanwhile, the host of the Red Rose, Hearing the horse-hoofs still draw near, Waited, and wondered long that those Who rode so fast should not appear, And watched the woods as men, in vain, Watch thunder-clouds that bring no rain. The sounds had ceased ; that which appalled Him passed ; as still grew wood and plain, As if the clear star voice had called, That nature waits to hear again ; The hand he held behind his ear Still trembled with the pulse of fear. At the Sign of the Red Rose. 31 Only a flutter of leaves he hears The flutter of leaves along a wind That moves the mist to sudden tears ; It sweeps the crannies of the mind, And drives him from the moon's slant beams, To see the scene again in dreams. Year after year, when the round moon Of autumn shone through the white mist, Red as the fiery sun at noon, A phantom horse came from the east ; Obeying a phantom rider's hand, It dashed across the meadow-land ; A clatter on the stony road, A splash of water in the run, But not an imprint daylight showed Where sound had stopped, or where begun ; It came the flavored punch grew cold, The favorite tale was stopped half told. No child could sleep when sire had said " The spectre horseman rides to-night;" Though once at dusk the skies were red With many a burning homestead's light, The sentry trembled more in fear - Of the dead than living Indians near. Change and decay sure triumphs boast; Of the old inn remains no sign Save its deep cellar, where the host Once tapped his casks of rarest wine ; 32 At the Sign of the Red Rose. Its ghost that will not vanish, though The tribe were banished Ion & a Gone, with the old time hostelry, Are host and guests, and stream now dry, Which, 'ere they felled the last great tree Along its banks, had all run by; This last faint scent of the Red Rose, As one reluctant, lingers goes. THE OLD CHURCH AT THE TRAPPE. 33 THE OLD CHURCH AT THE TRAPPE. Quails et quantus fuerit non ignorabunt sine lapide futura Scecula. IN the heat of a day in September We came to the old Church door ; We bared our heads, I remember, On the step that the moss covered o'er : There the vines climbed over and under, And we trod, with a reverent wonder, Through the dust of the years on the floor. From the dampness and darkness and stillness No resonant chantings outrolled ; And the air, with its vaporous dullness, Covered altar and column with mould ; For the pulpit had lost its old glory, And its greatness become but a story, A legend still lovingly told. O'er the graves, 'neath the long, waving grasses, In summer the winds lightly blow, And the phantoms come forth from the masses Of deep-tangled ivy that grow ; Through the aisles at midnight they wander, At noon of the loft they are fonder, Unhindered they come and they go. 35 36 The Old Church at the Trappe. And it seemed that a breath of a spirit, Like a zephyr at cool of the day, Passed o'er us, and then we could hear it In the loft through the organ-pipes play ; All the aisles and the chancel seemed haunted, And weird anthems by voices were chanted Where dismantled the organ's pipes lay. Came the warrior who, robed as a colonel, Led his men to the fight from the prayer ; And the pastor who tells in his journal What he saw in the sunlight's bright glare, How a band of wild troopers danced under, While the organ was peeling its thunder In gay tunes on the sanctified air. And Gottlieb, colonial musician, Once more had come over the seas, And sweet to the slave and patrician Were the sounds of his low melodies ; Once again came the tears, the petition, Soul-longings and heart-felt contrition, At his mystical touch on the keys. There joined in the prayers of the yeomen For the rulers and high in command, The statesman, who prayed that the foeman Might perish by sea and by land ; And flowers from herbariums elysian Long pressed, yet still sweet, in the vision Were strewn by a spiritual hand. The Old Church at the Trappe. 37 There were saints, there were souls heavy-laden With the burden of sins unconfessed ; In the shadow there lingered a maiden, With a babe to her bosom close pressed, And the peace that exceeds understanding, Borne on odors of blossoms expanding, Forever abode in her breast. Then hushed were the prayers and the chorus, As we gazed through the gloom o'er the pews ; And the phantoms had gone from before us By invisible, dark avenues; And slowly we passed through the portals, In awe from the haunts of immortals, Who had vanished like summer's light dews. church, that of old proudly nourished ! Upon thee decay gently falls, And the founders by whom thou wert nourished Lie low in the shade of thy walls ; No stone need those pioneer sages To tell their good works to the ages ; Thy ruin their greatness recalls. THE PERKIOMEN. 39 THE PERKIOMEN. HERE, in times long gone, October bright In sombre forests set her glory light ; Where village street leads o'er the bridge's span, Among brown hills and peaceful meadows ran The Perkiomen, singing all the day. For well-tilled fields gave back a hundred-fold, And well-filled barns could scarce their treasure hold; The orchards, bending 'neath the weight they bore, Cast down their golden fruit upon the shore Of Perkiomen, singing all the day. There came a change : the leaves upon the wood Burned brighter with a color as of blood ; The waving northern lights, the camp-fires' glow Seemed from the heights a tinge of blood to throw On Perkiomen at the close of day. At morn a host marched proudly to the fight ; And some returned their camp-fires to relight, And some to hear awhile the waters flow; Then ears grew dull in coming death, and low The Perkiomen sang on that dread day. 41 42 The Perkiomen. And prayers in many distant homes were said By hearts that ne'er again were comforted ; While here the soldier saw in dreams again Home scenes, made vivid by the sad refrain Of Perkiomen, singing all the day. Yet 'mid the gloom and doubt the living learned How still defeat to victory might be turned ; Until the cannon thundered from the hill A conquest's tale, and glad below the mill The Perkiomen sang on that great day. But nature soon forgets : that camp is lost ; She hides the graves of all that armed host ; On the same site now stands another mill ; Another miller leans on the white sill To hear the Perkiomen sing to-day. Let not our hearts forget. Lo ! time makes plain How from the sacrifice has grown our gain. Here orchards bloom; each year its harvest brings, And clearer still of peace and plenty sings The Perkiomen all the autumn day. LEONARD KEYSER. LEONARD KEYSER. (Sung at a Centennial Anniversary, October 1^, 1877.) WHEN Leonard Xeyser heard the cries Of grief for martyred dead, And saw the place of sacrifice. Whereto his pathway led, He pleaded not, with useless prayer, To scorning bigots near, But plucked a flower that bloomed so fair It made the waste more drear. One flower that had escaped the breath That swept the withered land : God's symbol of a life from death, He held it in his hand. " If ye have power," he spake, "this hour, With all the fires ye light To burn my body, or this flower, Then have ye done aright." His eyes upraised saw not the glare Of torch on hooting crowd, But far above the fagots' flare A rift within the cloud, 45 46 Leonard Keyser. A promise sent from God on high That Hate should surely fail : No wrath could then His power defy, Nor in the end prevail. We seek not, Lord, to know the spell That wrought Thy will divine ; We know Thou doest all things well ; The miracle was Thine To cause the bonds to fall, to take From death all trace of pain And mark of fire, and then to make The flower to bloom again. The fagots' blaze, like noontide hours, Gave vigor to Truth's germ, And tears but seemed the summer showers To make its root more firm. Upon the Inn's dark ebbing tide The Martyr's corse was thrown, A witness of his creed he died, A faith his children own. Upon those waves the good ships bore Truth's fruitage to the sea, Whose surges broke upon this shore Of Peace and Liberty. And thou, O God ! whose hollowed hand Upheld the troubled sea Whereon our sires sailed to this land, We lift our prayers to Thee Leonard Keyser. 47 To ask that for these kinsmen here Thou wilt extend Thy care, As when Thou mad'st the rift appear Above the fagots' flare ; We thank Thee for Thy blessings given To all this gathered throng, And sing Thy praises unto Heaven In one triumphant song. HA! HA! AND HA! HA! INDEED! 49 HA! HA! AND HA! HA! INDEED! IN the young days of this old hall The men wore buckles and garments brighter, And the dames head-dresses somewhat less tall Than their colored coachmen, and powdered whiter. 'Tis said that here to this same old hall The county gentry their way once wended, Some few dames alone, but be sure that all On their homeward ride were well attended. They came to a frolic, a dance and dinner, Where wines and viands were equally good, Followed by cards; the gains of the winner Were long the talk of the neighborhood. At the music made by the slaves of Mount Pleasant, Now weird and wild, now soft and clear, The pine-trees hushed their moaning incessant, And the waves ran silent ashore to hear. Now, among the rest who came to the rout Were the colonel, the squire, and the squire's pretty daughter (One could see the old miracle turned about In the squire's weak eyes, where wine changed to water). 51 52 Ha! Ha! and Ha! Ha! Indeed! A quarrel arose at the turn of a card Between the two men, and words waxed warmer (The fainting daughter came to in the yard Ere aught occurred to really alarm her). Said the doughty squire, and his speech was broken With laughter, "Ha! ha! A good jest this." "Ha! ha! Indeed!" was the answer spoken, And a sword-blade rattled the emphasis. At once at the tone and sneer and gesture, Since if blood were spilled t' would soil the floors, The squire suggested they doff their vesture, And settle the quarrel alone, out of doors. Just as the night-winds fanned the flame Of day on the bay-sands, 'till it faded, Whence a star like a fawn from its cover came, Through the dew on the grass the two men waded- Away from the hall and towards the hill To the field where the pines are waving yonder ; Some guests grew sober, and all were still In the house as the moments passed in wonder, While they heard the tones of scornful laughter Faint and far over the fields recede, "Ha! ha! Ha! ha!" and quickly came after The sneering answer, "Ha! ha! Indeed!" Ha! Ha! and Ha! Ha! Indeed! 53 Thus the pair passed out of sight forever. Mysterious ! Yes. They tottered, some say, Over the bank in the bend of Bush River. However that is, to this very day Are heard in the fields on the hill each night, Above the soughing of pine-trees mournful, A laugh, " Ha ! ha !" that is merry and bright, And a "Ha! ha! Indeed!" that is sad and scornful. " Ha! ha!" laughs loudest and longest, but wait Till the mirth is dead and the laughter over, "Ha! ha! Indeed!" either soon or late, Always laughs last, as you will discover. IN WINTER QUARTERS. 55 IN WINTER QUARTERS. GRANDCHILDREN, you must not forget That the Marquis de La Fayette Beneath this roof once slept and ate, Yes, and often at table the Aide Of the Marquis smiled on the pretty maid Who filled their glasses. From the gate They shook the snow each morning gray, And towards the camp they rode away, And, when the evening drill was done, Dismounted here at set of sun. One morn the Marquis rode, but the Aide "J'ai mal" or something like that he said. He took French leave ; at home he stayed, And fretted, and fumed, and hindered the maid, At eve the Marquis, as often before, Climbed the high stairway, opened the door, And silently looked across the room : Somewhere he heard, from the twilight gloom, A scream, and saw the impudent Aide Seize and kiss his serving maid. Nothing the Marquis said to the Aide ; Nothing he said to the struggling maid ; 57 58 In Winter Quarters. But down the steep stairs, out into the snow, I laugh, hut, ah, it was long ago, Down these same steps, o'er yonder path, He hooted the Aide in his sudden wrath. Then all at once four voices said, " Why, grandma, you were the pretty maid ! But what of the Aide ?" With never a glance Turned backward, straight he sailed to France. THE BURYING-GROUND. THE BURYING-GROUND. (Axe's Graveyard, Germantown.) HERE is the burying-ground, hid from the street, Hemmed in, its entrance barred, its exit known Unto the dead, and unto them alone. ~No mourners tread these aisles with reverent feet, For all have gone where mourned and mourners greet. Its last forget-me-not forgot, o'ergrown. Over the latest grave low leans the stone. These records, like a book, are closed complete. A simple, peaceful folk, nor ties love wrought At home, nor terrors of the sea could keep Them back. Their rugged names have never been Upon Fame's scroll. It matters not. They sought The wilderness, subdued it, and they sleep As if their loved Rhine kept the grave-grass green. 01 A NOVEMBER NOCTURNE. 63 A NOVEMBER NOCTURNE. Ho! Charming! The wild geese that thou did'st hear At morn by the shore of the Assabett An hour ago (the night was cold and clear ; The wind had fall'n ; the moon had not yet set) Gave hail here by the Chesapeake. We sat At whist Pearl's deal. What else would we be at Where Time's slow windlass draws the days like links Of anchor-chains ? Pearl deals, but sees not, thinks Not of the flight of cards her deft hand sends ; For on the hearth her steady gaze she bends, As if beyond the updrawn veil of flame She saw green meadows, heard the blue-birds sing In orchards white, and felt the airs of Spring Steal softly back the wayward course they came. Once round the house a wandering wind did go In search of nooks to hold the coming snow ; Once bayed the dog to prove his vigil kept, But when the moonlit farm gave back no sound, He shook his shaggy sides, barked low, and slept. Within, the cards clicked on the table round ; We heard the clock's pulse rise, and pause, and fall Into the fathomless deep that swallows all ; And silence seemed, with her mute lips apart, About to tell the secret of her heart. 5 65 66 A November Nocturne. Hark! Hear the challenge! How from farm to farm, Along the watch-dog's cordon, spreads the alarm; Now leaps the wind a-tree-top; the gaunt limbs toss It back, and baffled now, and all at loss, It goes its zigzag way across the clearing, Whistling folk up, and leaving them a-fearing. Then stood we shivering in the night-air cold, And heard a sound, as if a chariot rolled Groaning adown the heavens; and lo ! o'erhead, Twice, thrice the wild geese cried ; then on they sped, O'er Held and wood and bay, towards southern seas ; So low they flew that on the forest trees Their strong wings splashed a spray of moonlight white ; So straight they flew, so fast their steady flight, True as an arrow they sailed down the night; Like lights blown out they vanished from the sight. E'en while we gazed, and listened, field and shore And nearer folds grew quiet as before. Only the awakened brook, before it slept Again, murmured a little ; the watch-dog crept Back to his kennel, where he barked no more ; And Pearl, her cherry lips all changed to white, Pale, passionless, and beautiful as night, On the lit landscape softly closed the door. THE FALLING OF THE DEW. 07 THE FALLING OF THE DEW. THERE'S a wraith that chaseth the twilight hour, A wraith, as the foam of the breakers white, That seeketh the lawn, but avoideth the bower, That is sacl, and her tears are the dews of the There is spray on her hair, and her feet are bare, Tho' chill is the East, whence she taketh her flight, Whence the sea sent her forth, and its woe and de- spair Are changed in her tears to the dews of the night. To the famished fields of the Lord of the Day, By night she bringeth a keen delight; Athirst, and they drink, but she cannot delay While they drink of her tears in the dews of the night. Ah ! cool is her breath as the forehead of Death, And the cheek of my lady turns pale and white, As unseen, and in silence, swift passeth the wraith, And sheddeth her tears in the dews of the night. 69 70 The Falling of the Dew. And the blithe heart is sad, tho' it cannot tell why, "When the hills, through the casement, grow dim on the sight, In the hour when the wraith of the sea draweth nigh, With the woe of the sea and the dews of the night. And mortals aweary with burdens of fears, And sorrows that sink on the heart like a blight, Still love best the hour when the day disappears, And the dews on the valley fall with the night. BECALMED. 71 BECALMED. BEFORE the blast, that sweeps the bay And bluff, the pine-trees sway; Hoar harpers they, Whose harmonies sweet Rise with the waves that beat And break around the harpers' feet. Cold is the hearth of the hostel old ; The heart of home is cold ; A-field, in fold, All green things grow Uncropped, and long ago The wharf slipped in the slow tide's flow. In their low beds the people sleep, Sleep while the shadows creep Down caverns deep. " Wake ! While ye lie In dreams the sails go by ! Wake ! Wake ! 'Tis day ; the sun is high. 1 ~No call can now, nor sobs could make Who sleep in death awake, Or their dreams break. The sails are gone; Hope, love hope builded on, Swift joy and pain all, all are done. 73 GOOD TIMES. 75 GOOD TIMES. ONCE more along the valley The furnace-fires gleam bright, And the forgeman comes across the hills And follows the beckoning light ; Guided by columns of smoke by day, By pillars of ^.re at night. Half-way he meets the shadows That hide the valley green, But down by the flow of the river below He hears the welcome din Of labor that fills with joy the homes Where care so long has been. Ho ! Want lies down a-dying, Ho ! Let the old wolf die ! Laughter is light as the furnace-flame, O O And together they leap to the sky On a way so yellow and red and white That the stars all fade on high. And the child of Thor gives thanks to the Christ Who hath answered his prayer for bread, Who hath sent new zest for life to his breast, And hope that he thought lay dead ; 78 Good Times. Eejoice ! ISTow Hunger gives up the chase, And the man comes in ahead. How light shall seem the labor For wife and children three, How sweet the rest when day is done And he shares his children's glee ! And hail to the morn when his habe shall be born ! His babe will welcome be. AFTER THE PROPOSAL. 79 AFTER THE PROPOSAL. I KNOW a little street, just wide Enough to have a sunny side ; Within the gardens all a-row The vines creep 'round and roses grow. Come, sweet, and see, and say if you Think house so small full large for two. Tho' small, no doubt there's room in it To look around and bide a bit To bide a bit for hope to grow. There is not room for pride or show; There's room for love and love's increase ; There's room to bar out strife with peace ; There's room to give and take and share ; The cares to come there's room to bear; But none for envy, none to care What neighbors do or what they wear. If no gay teams prance past our door, We'll inward turn our thoughts the more ; If each serves each, Love's retinue Will make the service light and true. All space and life will crowded be With one sweet guest, felicity ; * j^nd narrow street will stretch away To hill-tops whence the bright dawns stray. 6 81 THE PINEY. 83 THE PINEY. INTO the pines and out of the pines Foot-deep the sand-road flows ; Out of the pines and into the pines The woodman's wagon goes. His sheet-how top, that clears his head By a scant inch or two, Shuts out the morning sun's mild rays, And lets the fierce noon's through. Each house he knows along the way ; He knows the back way in, And in mysterious cellars finds, And fills the fuel-hin. He knows where in the swamp's recess The crimson cranberry grows, And where above those cool, still pools The blueberries hang he knows. He stays not on the bridge to see The red Rancocas run, And leaping sweep from garden walls The ripened rose of June; 85 86 The Piney. Nor follows in his thought the stream, The coves and village past Past many a meadow till it sinks In vaster deeps at last. Back slowly where home sunsets burn The woodman's wagon goes. The current of his habit ebbs The even way it flows. NOTES. 87 NOTES. Page 13 : " Their volleys rang the first and last ; They kept with Webb the target-wood." THE battle of Gettysburg was opened by the Fifty-sixth Pennsylvania Infantry, commanded by Colonel (afterwards General) John William Hofmann. General Cutler, who com- manded the brigade, wrote to the Governor of Pennsylvania November 5, 1863, as follows: "It was my fortune to be in advance on the morning of July 1. When we came upon the ground in front of the enemy, Colonel Hofmann's regiment (being the second in the column) got into position a moment sooner than the others, the enemy now advancing in line of battle within easy musket-range. The atmosphere being a little thick, I took out my glass to examine the enemy, being a few paces in rear of Colonel Hofmann, who turned to me and inquired, 'Is that the enemy?' My reply was 'Yes.' Turn- ing to his men, he commanded, * Beady, right-oblique, aim, fire!' and the battle of Gettysburg was opened." The last volley from Meade's army was fired by the advancing Pennsyl- vania Reserves on the evening of the third day. "The Philadelphia Brigade," commanded in this battle by General Alexander S. Webb, held that part of Meade's line imme- diately in front of the little grove of trees, which was pointed out to General Pickett, before his famous charge of the third 89 90 Notes. day began, as the spot where he should strike the Union line. This grove is popularly known as the " high-water mark of the rebellion." Page 19 : " Tacey Richardson." The heroine of the adventure described in this poem was the daughter of Captain Joseph Richardson, whose remarka- ble exploits are told in a sketch included in a volume entitled " Historical and Biographical Sketches," by Judge Samuel W. Pennypacker, published in Philadelphia in 1883. Tacey Richardson actually did what the poem describes her as doing. The horses "Sopus," " Fearnaught," and "Scipio" were Arabian horses, which belonged to her father. Page 29 : "At the Sign of the Red Rose." The Moravian chronicles contain a brief reference to the spectre horseman who was supposed to haunt the locality of the Red Rose Inn. Page 35 : " The Old Church at the Trappe." Previous to and during the Revolutionary War the pastor of this church was the Rev. Henry Melchior Muhlenberg, the founder of the Lutheran Church in America. He was perfectly familiar with the Greek, Hebrew, and Latin, and is said to have used in speaking and writing all the modern languages of the continent of Europe. He played with skill Notes. 91 on the organ, harp, guitar, and violin, and possessed a pleas- ing voice and sang in a way that gave his hearers much en- joyment. He kept a diary in which he noted his dismay at witnessing the scene described in the fifth stanza of the poem. The line from the Latin under the title of the poem, and paraphrased in the last stanza, is carved upon his tombstone. He and his three sons are buried by the church-wall. One of these sons was Major-General Peter Muhlenberg. Page 36 : " the warrior who, robed as a colonel. Led his men to the fight from the prayer." Lossing, in his sketch of General Muhlenberg, and T. Buchanan Read, in his poem, "The Wagoner of the Alle- ghanies," narrate his dramatic closing of a sermon in his Virginia church by saying, "There is a time for all things a time to fight and a time to pray, but those times have passed away. There is a time to fight, and that time has now come." Then laying aside his robe, he stood before his flock in the full regimental dress of a Virginia colonel. He ordered the drums to be beaten at the church-door for recruits, and almost all of his male audience capable of bearing arms en- listed. His brother, Frederick Augustus Muhlenberg, was the first President of Congress under the Constitution, and after- wards United States Senator from Pennsylvania. Another brother was the Rev. Henry Ernst Muhlenberg, D.D., one of the most widely known of early American botanists. His " Flora of Lancaster County" was published in 1785. Among his other botanical works was a catalogue of native and naturalized plants of North America, arranged according to the sexual system of Linnaeus. 92 Notes. Page 36 : " And Gottlieb, colonial musician" This was Gottlieb Mittleberger, music-master, organist at the Trappe church, and author of " A Journey to Pennsyl- vania in the year 1750," etc. He brought the first organ to America. Page 41 : "The Perkiomen." For several weeks previous and subsequent to the battle of Germantown, Washington's army was encamped upon the Perkiomen Creek, in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, General Washington's head-quarters being at Pennybacker's Mills. There he issued the congratulatory order announcing Burgoyne's defeat. Some of Washington's officers, wounded or killed in the battle of Germantown, found graves in the church-yards of the peaceful Mennonites, or Dunkards, near the Perkiomen, who, like the Quakers, refused to bear arms for conscience' sake. Among them was General Nash, of North Carolina. Page 45 : " Leonard Keyser." "In 1527 was the learned and good Leonard Keyser taken and condemned to be burnt. As he neared the fire, bound in a cart, he brake oft' a flower that grew in the field, and said to the judges, for they rode along with him, 'If ye can burn this little flower and me, then have ye judged aright; if not, take heed and repent.' Thrice the great fagots were heaped around him at the stake and kindled. Nevertheless, when they had burned away, his body was found unmarked, save Notes. 93 that his hair was singed and his nails were a little brown. Likewise the little flower yet lay in his hand unchanged. Thereupon the sheriffs cut his body into pieces and cast them into the Inn. But a judge was so moved thereat that he yielded up his office, and one of the sheriffs became a Men- nonite brother and ever thereafter lived a pious life." Van Braght. Page 51: "Ha! ha! and Ha! ha! Indeed!" Captain John Hall removed from St. Mary's County, Mary- land, and in 1694 bought fifteen hundred and thirty-nine acres of land on the Bush River, in the northern part of Baltimore county. He called his new home Cranberry Hall. William White Wiltbank, Esq., in a paper read at a meeting in 1877 of the descendants of Colonel Thomas White, who was the father of Bishop White, of the Protestant Episcopal Church, records of Cranberry Hall this tradition, which af- fords the somewhat slight foundation for the poem : " His children, while they trembled, yearned to hear, and devoutly believed, ghost stories ; and his fields were the scenes of wild midnight mysteries, that gave names to their open stage. . . . There is an entertaining instance of this in the traditions of a tract till recently in the family, of which one enclosure was called 'Ha! ha!' and another, 'Ha! ha! In- deed !' The restless spectre that ruled the former in the deep of night announced his presence and his humor in a wild ' Ha, ha !' to whom the unknowable soul in the other field, whether in the sympathy of jollity or in the malevolence of mockery and triumph cannot be said, laughed back, in star- tling notes, ' Ha ! ha ! Indeed!' " 94 Notes. Page 57 : " In Winter Quarters." "Soon after the battle of Brandy wine, La Fayette, who had been wounded, was conveyed to the house of Dr. Stephens, a short distance from Valley Forge. The office of the Doctor, in the second story of the building, with a flight of steps leading down into the kitchen, was under the charge of his daughter, a young girl, afterwards Mistress Elizabeth Rossiter. One morning, while she was engaged in cleaning the room, La Fayette entered, followed by a young aide-de-camp. The aide, with French impulse, seized the girl and kissed her. La Fayette turned quickly about, and unceremoniously kicked the young gentleman down the steps and out of the house, telling him at the same time that such conduct was not per- missible." Annals of Phcenixville and Vicinity, page 111. THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. MAY 13 1946 REC'D LD LD 21-100m-12,'43 (8796s) 4-Ui THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY