Читать книгу The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 6, June, 1862 - Various - Страница 9

Red was the lightning's flashing,

And down through the driving rain,

We saw the red eyes dashing

Of the merciless midnight train;

Soon many crowded together,

Under the lamp's red glow,

But I saw one figure only—

Ah! why did I tremble so?

The eyes that gazed in the darkness

After the midnight train,

Are red with watching and weeping,

For it brings none back again.

Clouds hang in the west like banners,

Red banners of war unfurled,

And the prairie sod is crimson

With the best blood of the world.

White faces are pressed to the window,

Watching the sun go down,

Looking out to the coming darkness,

That covers the noisy town.

White are the hands, too, and quiet,

Over the pulseless breast;

No more will the vision of parting

Disturb the white sleeper's rest.

Over sleeper, and grave, and tombstone,

Like a pitying mantle spread,

The snow comes down in the night-time,

With a shy and noiseless tread.

Blue smoke rolls away on the north-wind,

Blue skies grow dusk in the din,

Blue waters look dark with the shadow

That gathers the world within.

Rigid and blue are the fingers

That clutch at the fading sky;

Blue lips in their agony mutter:

'O God! let this cup pass by.'

Blue eyes grow weary with watching;

Strong hands with waiting to do;

While brave hearts echo the watchword:

'Hurrah! for the Red, White, and Blue.'