Classic Poem

Through all the long night, from the left to the right
The war-cries of Freedom had pealed;
But we watched on our arms, till the battle alarms
Had summoned us forth to the field.
In the thick wooded gorge we prepared for the charge,
Strong and firm, not a battle-line swayed.
" On, and victory reap, on the rock-bounded steep! "
Said our chief; not a man was dismayed.
Where our brave banner waves,
We will follow it well through the shot and the shell,
Though to patriot graves.

Then we rushed on the foe, in an unbroken row,
That beautiful morning in June;
While cheer after cheer, from the front to the rear,
Swept down through the open lagune;

The queen of the night, in her swift-going flight,
Had crossed o'er that white-tented lea;
And dropping her gems, decked the leaf-enriched stems
Of every flower and tree.
And the azure-hued skies
Kissed the fresh-growing earth into gladness and mirth,
Like a new Paradise.

But for us not the sweet of the woodland retreat —
Our orders, to conquer or die!
So we proudly advanced, while the bright sunshine danced
On our arms like a smile from on high;
Then they poured on our ranks from the opposite banks
The death-dealing missiles of war.
When a shell with a scream, and a quick angry gleam,
Sunk down like an ill-omened star.
And our hearts throbbed with pain,
As we sighed for the braves doomed to cold lonely graves,
On that desolate plain.

'Twas a swift passing thought, and we poured the red shot
And turned the cold steel on the foe.
Though they massed in their strength, they fell broken at length,
Or fled to their strongholds below.
And we rested a pace from the wearisome chase,
And gazed o'er the crimson-stained field,
Where the brave-hearted dead had their sacred blood shed,
And by the death-angel were sealed.
While away to the right
Were bits of the shell which so wrathfully fell;
But no victims in sight.

Can worldly cares save in the peace of the grave?
Can conflict its quiet molest?
And anguish — ah no! so securely below,
From carnage, " the hero found rest.
Not the calm peaceful rest which the perfectly blest
In the dreamless Forever have gained,
But a refuge from harm, which the triumphant arm
Of the angel of battle had deigned;
And in wonder we spoke,
For we felt in that hour the sovereign power
Of the aid we invoke.

The pickets who stood at the edge of the wood
In the dawn of the morning had seen
The dark form of men emerge from the glen,
Through the white mists that gathered between;
Then as suddenly halt where the blue smiling vault
Of Heaven seemed close through the trees.
" We will bury him here, where the fragrant flowers near
Will lavish their sweets on the breeze. "
And they scooped a rude grave,
Ah! above their wild dream, a power supreme
Through them purposed to save.

Ah! we seem not to know that deep-hidden below
Our plans, are the workings divine
Of the spirit of light sent to guide us aright,
And justice with mercy combine
And forget that the eye which afar from the sky
Can see e'en the poor sparrow fall,
Will endless watch keep, though we thoughtlessly sleep,
And guide us through fears that appall;
And when dangers have grown
So thick at our feet that there seems no retreat,
He will bear up His own.