Читать книгу The Continental Monthly, Vol 3 No 3, March 1863 - Various - Страница 6

When 'mid the loud notes of the drum

And fife tones shrilling on the ear,

The music of our nation's hymns

Rose 'neath the elm trees loud and clear;

When on the Common's grassy plain

The city poured her countless throng,

And blessings fell like April rain

On each one as he marched along;

We parted,—hand close clasped in hand,

Telling the thoughts tongue could not speak;

Was it unmanly that our eyes

O'erflowed with love upon the cheek?

I hear thy cheery voice outspeak,

'Courage, the months will quickly fly,

And ere November chill and bleak

We meet at home, Ned, you and I.'

A livelier strain came from the band,

'God bless you' went from each to each;

A gazing eye, a waving hand,

Where hearts were all too full for speech.

He marched, obeying duty's call,

Of noblest nature, first to hear;

I, bound by fond domestic thrall,

In path of duty lingered here.

Slowly the summer months rolled on,

October harvested the corn,

November came with shortening days,

Passed by in mist and rain,—was gone,—

Yet still he came not; winter's snow

In feathery vesture clothed the trees,

Or, iceclad in a jewelled glow,

They sparkled in the chilly breeze.

Spring glowed along Potomac vales,

While north her footsteps tardier came,

For him the golden jasmine trails

O'er bright azaleas all aflame;

Still upon Yorktown's trampled fields,

O'er grassy plain and wooded swell,

Her sunny wealth the summer yields,

And still the word comes, 'All is well.'