AN INCIDENT DURING THE MEXICAN WAR .
From hill to hill the — good news — ran
As swift as signal fires;
From shore to sea, from gulf to land,
And flashed along the wires:
And presently from wharf to wharf
The cannons made reply,
And in the city's crowded streets
Was heard the newsman's cry.
Bright grew the matron's face when I
The victory began;
Pale waxed the young wife's cheek when she
Heard who had led the van;
And struggling with the mists of age
Which veiled his eye and ear,
The grandsire raised his palsied hand
And feebly strove to hear.
And when I read the story, how
Amid the flying balls
The brave lieutenant bore the flag
And scaled the shattered walls;
The matron and the young wife stood
Too terrified for tears,
While flamed the old man's cheek with red
It had not known for years.
But when I read, that as the flag
In triumph o'er him flew,
How twenty bullets hewed his breast
And cleaved it through and through, —
The mother heaved a short, deep groan,
And sunk into her chair;
The wife fell on the matron's breast,
And swooned in her despair.
And like a wounded, dying stag,
Lodged in some old retreat,
That hears the still approaching hounds
And staggers to his feet, —
The Veteran struggled from his chair
And raised himself upright, —
His eye a moment kindled with
Its long forgotten light; —
So firm he strode across the room,
So martial was his air,
You scarce had guessed that ninety years
Had whitened through his hair: —
Then from the wainscot took his sword
Where it had hung so long,
Memorial of many a field,
The weak against the strong, —
Of fields where Justice armed the few
With consecrated brands,
And lodged a nation's destiny
In their devoted hands: —
And, gazing on the blade, he said,
— Thou art as keen and bright
As when in those old trying times
We battled for the right;
As when we wintered in the snow
Within the frozen gorge,
And from our starving ranks still hurled
Defiance at King George: —
As when beside the Brandywine
We fought the whole day through,
Till fields had changed their mantle
And the river changed its hue: —
As when mid grinding gulfs of ice
Upon a Christmas night,
We crossed the roaring Delaware
And put the foe to flight!
It may be this old arm of mine
Is not as steady now
As when it drew against Burgoyne,
Or cleaved the ranks of Howe;
The hand may tremble on the hilt,
The heart within is strong;
And God who strengthened once the right
Will not uphold the wrong.
What! have they ta'en the last support
That propped my honoured wall?
Shall the name become tradition
And the stately roof-tree fall?
Was't not enough that he who, through
The woods and tangled brakes,
Spread terror o'er the savage, from
The Gulf unto the lakes;
And who beside the bloody Thames
Left death where'er he sped,
Till the fate which he was hurling round
Recoiled upon his head?
Was't not enough? Speak thou, my friend:
Old comrade, thou wert there,
Who in the days aforetime drove
The Lion to his lair;
Twice drove him from our shore, and based
The red wolf to his den!
Wast't not enough, but must I hear
The death-note sound again?
And has our banner waved abroad,
The martial trumpet pealed,
And foemen bristled on the plain,
And we not in the field?
Old sword, in this our winter,
Shall they call to us in vain,
Who reaped the crimson harvest
With a Washington and Wayne?
No! come, my trusty champion,
Till the field be cleared and won,
And the foe be left in prostrate ranks
To bleach beneath the sun!
Ho! now is't blood which stains you,
Or the shameful blush of rust?
Is it age which dims my vision,
Or the flying smoke and dust?
Is't the beating of my heart I hear,
Or calling drum at hand?
Or grows my steps unsteady,
Or does battle shake the land?
The drums grow loud and louder,
With the bugle's dreadful note:
The smoke-wreaths thicken round me,
And the dust is in my throat!
Hark, hark! I hear the order, and
It bids me mount the wall;
I know the General's voice! — and I
Obey him though I fall!
Yes, I will plant my country's flag
Upon the topmost stone;
For when her fate demands it,
What should I care for my own?
Now how the loud walls totter, —
Thicker, — darker grows the smoke, —
And all the air is turned to dust, —
I stumble, and I choke!
One solid thrust to plant the staff, —
There! — let the eagle soar! —
He cried, and reeling, clasped his breast, —
He fell — and breathed no more!
From hill to hill the — good news — ran
As swift as signal fires;
From shore to sea, from gulf to land,
And flashed along the wires:
And presently from wharf to wharf
The cannons made reply,
And in the city's crowded streets
Was heard the newsman's cry.
Bright grew the matron's face when I
The victory began;
Pale waxed the young wife's cheek when she
Heard who had led the van;
And struggling with the mists of age
Which veiled his eye and ear,
The grandsire raised his palsied hand
And feebly strove to hear.
And when I read the story, how
Amid the flying balls
The brave lieutenant bore the flag
And scaled the shattered walls;
The matron and the young wife stood
Too terrified for tears,
While flamed the old man's cheek with red
It had not known for years.
But when I read, that as the flag
In triumph o'er him flew,
How twenty bullets hewed his breast
And cleaved it through and through, —
The mother heaved a short, deep groan,
And sunk into her chair;
The wife fell on the matron's breast,
And swooned in her despair.
And like a wounded, dying stag,
Lodged in some old retreat,
That hears the still approaching hounds
And staggers to his feet, —
The Veteran struggled from his chair
And raised himself upright, —
His eye a moment kindled with
Its long forgotten light; —
So firm he strode across the room,
So martial was his air,
You scarce had guessed that ninety years
Had whitened through his hair: —
Then from the wainscot took his sword
Where it had hung so long,
Memorial of many a field,
The weak against the strong, —
Of fields where Justice armed the few
With consecrated brands,
And lodged a nation's destiny
In their devoted hands: —
And, gazing on the blade, he said,
— Thou art as keen and bright
As when in those old trying times
We battled for the right;
As when we wintered in the snow
Within the frozen gorge,
And from our starving ranks still hurled
Defiance at King George: —
As when beside the Brandywine
We fought the whole day through,
Till fields had changed their mantle
And the river changed its hue: —
As when mid grinding gulfs of ice
Upon a Christmas night,
We crossed the roaring Delaware
And put the foe to flight!
It may be this old arm of mine
Is not as steady now
As when it drew against Burgoyne,
Or cleaved the ranks of Howe;
The hand may tremble on the hilt,
The heart within is strong;
And God who strengthened once the right
Will not uphold the wrong.
What! have they ta'en the last support
That propped my honoured wall?
Shall the name become tradition
And the stately roof-tree fall?
Was't not enough that he who, through
The woods and tangled brakes,
Spread terror o'er the savage, from
The Gulf unto the lakes;
And who beside the bloody Thames
Left death where'er he sped,
Till the fate which he was hurling round
Recoiled upon his head?
Was't not enough? Speak thou, my friend:
Old comrade, thou wert there,
Who in the days aforetime drove
The Lion to his lair;
Twice drove him from our shore, and based
The red wolf to his den!
Wast't not enough, but must I hear
The death-note sound again?
And has our banner waved abroad,
The martial trumpet pealed,
And foemen bristled on the plain,
And we not in the field?
Old sword, in this our winter,
Shall they call to us in vain,
Who reaped the crimson harvest
With a Washington and Wayne?
No! come, my trusty champion,
Till the field be cleared and won,
And the foe be left in prostrate ranks
To bleach beneath the sun!
Ho! now is't blood which stains you,
Or the shameful blush of rust?
Is it age which dims my vision,
Or the flying smoke and dust?
Is't the beating of my heart I hear,
Or calling drum at hand?
Or grows my steps unsteady,
Or does battle shake the land?
The drums grow loud and louder,
With the bugle's dreadful note:
The smoke-wreaths thicken round me,
And the dust is in my throat!
Hark, hark! I hear the order, and
It bids me mount the wall;
I know the General's voice! — and I
Obey him though I fall!
Yes, I will plant my country's flag
Upon the topmost stone;
For when her fate demands it,
What should I care for my own?
Now how the loud walls totter, —
Thicker, — darker grows the smoke, —
And all the air is turned to dust, —
I stumble, and I choke!
One solid thrust to plant the staff, —
There! — let the eagle soar! —
He cried, and reeling, clasped his breast, —
He fell — and breathed no more!