Our Soldiers' Families
A PROLOGUE, DELIVERED ON THE OCCASION OF AN AMATEUR PERFORMANCE OF HAMLET FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE SOLDIERS' FAMILIES IN CINCINNATI, FEBRUARY 6, 1865.
Our soldiers' families! How the fancy roams,
And finds these patient patriots in their homes;
Finds them at quiet firesides — nobly there —
Waiting beside the hero's empty chair;
Beside the chair, perchance, which never more
Shall know the occupant it knew of yore.
Look in to-night beside that tranquil fire;
There sits the mother, there the aged sire;
Or there the wife, with matron accents mild,
Teaching a patriot prayer unto her child;
A prayer for him who put his all at stake,
His all (save honor), for his country's sake.
There sits the maid with eyes of dreamful light,
Watching her warrior lover in the fight;
Beholds him with a swelling heart of pride,
With fiery Phil. along the valley ride;
Or Grant, or Thomas, our stern, sturdy George,
Whose stalwart blows fall thundering like a forge;
Or, with his eastward banner, sees him swoop
Through Georgian fields with Sherman's eagle troop.
Perchance his lot is on the ocean cast;
Where Farragut stands steadfast as his mast;
Perchance, with Winslow, poured the shot and shell
From guns which rung the British pirate's knell;
Or at Stone River stemmed the leaden shower,
Where noble " Rosey " saved the desperate hour.
Or with that glorious chief to whom was given
The right to scale above the clouds of heaven.
And bear the starry-rainbow flag on high,
Back to its native region in the sky.
Behold our general, on the rocky height,
A stately statue in a dome of light!
With all the rebel army put to rout,
Our fighting Hooker takes a long " Lookout! "
While through his army shouts on shouts increase,
Hailing this true commissioner of Peace.
Our soldiers' families! Some are veiled in gloom;
The mourners' crape pervades the solemn room;
There, though the tears in sorrowing eyes may start,
There is no murmur in a patriot heart.
Though sad the lot, the recompense is plain,
They hear the falling of the bondman's chain,
And hear the song of freedom from the South,
While shouts of " Union " pass from mouth to mouth;
In glory's cause the warrior died content,
With human liberty for monument.
Our soldiers' families! Mark the glorious sight,
For them the Swan of Avon sings to-night.
The earth's great laureate, whose immortal skill
Created worlds and peopled them at will,
Whose wizard wand, at one majestic swing,
Could make a kingdom, or dethrone a king;
For them he bids the spectre monarch rise;
For them the sweet Ophelia sings and dies;
For them he asks a sovereign of our own
To leave to-night his magisterial throne;
To lay aside awhile his genial vein,
To look, and think, and be the melancholy Dane.
Our soldiers' families! For them have come
This generous audience, packed from pit to dome.
For them (would it were worthier), here I lay
Upon their altar this, my light bouquet;
And if, perchance, their kindly eyes should view
Among the leaves some random drops of dew,
Believe them each the poet's loving tear,
In secret shed beside some patriot's bier.
Newly descended from their high estate,
For them, be sure, the angels watch and wait;
Our patriot sires, who all our freedom gave,
Look down and bless the households of the brave;
But, grander still, within his dome of domes,
God smiles his blessing on our Soldiers' Homes!
Our soldiers' families! How the fancy roams,
And finds these patient patriots in their homes;
Finds them at quiet firesides — nobly there —
Waiting beside the hero's empty chair;
Beside the chair, perchance, which never more
Shall know the occupant it knew of yore.
Look in to-night beside that tranquil fire;
There sits the mother, there the aged sire;
Or there the wife, with matron accents mild,
Teaching a patriot prayer unto her child;
A prayer for him who put his all at stake,
His all (save honor), for his country's sake.
There sits the maid with eyes of dreamful light,
Watching her warrior lover in the fight;
Beholds him with a swelling heart of pride,
With fiery Phil. along the valley ride;
Or Grant, or Thomas, our stern, sturdy George,
Whose stalwart blows fall thundering like a forge;
Or, with his eastward banner, sees him swoop
Through Georgian fields with Sherman's eagle troop.
Perchance his lot is on the ocean cast;
Where Farragut stands steadfast as his mast;
Perchance, with Winslow, poured the shot and shell
From guns which rung the British pirate's knell;
Or at Stone River stemmed the leaden shower,
Where noble " Rosey " saved the desperate hour.
Or with that glorious chief to whom was given
The right to scale above the clouds of heaven.
And bear the starry-rainbow flag on high,
Back to its native region in the sky.
Behold our general, on the rocky height,
A stately statue in a dome of light!
With all the rebel army put to rout,
Our fighting Hooker takes a long " Lookout! "
While through his army shouts on shouts increase,
Hailing this true commissioner of Peace.
Our soldiers' families! Some are veiled in gloom;
The mourners' crape pervades the solemn room;
There, though the tears in sorrowing eyes may start,
There is no murmur in a patriot heart.
Though sad the lot, the recompense is plain,
They hear the falling of the bondman's chain,
And hear the song of freedom from the South,
While shouts of " Union " pass from mouth to mouth;
In glory's cause the warrior died content,
With human liberty for monument.
Our soldiers' families! Mark the glorious sight,
For them the Swan of Avon sings to-night.
The earth's great laureate, whose immortal skill
Created worlds and peopled them at will,
Whose wizard wand, at one majestic swing,
Could make a kingdom, or dethrone a king;
For them he bids the spectre monarch rise;
For them the sweet Ophelia sings and dies;
For them he asks a sovereign of our own
To leave to-night his magisterial throne;
To lay aside awhile his genial vein,
To look, and think, and be the melancholy Dane.
Our soldiers' families! For them have come
This generous audience, packed from pit to dome.
For them (would it were worthier), here I lay
Upon their altar this, my light bouquet;
And if, perchance, their kindly eyes should view
Among the leaves some random drops of dew,
Believe them each the poet's loving tear,
In secret shed beside some patriot's bier.
Newly descended from their high estate,
For them, be sure, the angels watch and wait;
Our patriot sires, who all our freedom gave,
Look down and bless the households of the brave;
But, grander still, within his dome of domes,
God smiles his blessing on our Soldiers' Homes!
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