Great battle! Times Extra! " the newsboy cried;
But it scarcely rippled the living tide
That ebbed and flowed in the busy street,
With its throbbing hearts and its restless feet.
Again through the hum of the city thrilled:
" Great battle! Times Extra! Ten thousand killed! "
And the little carrier hurried away
With the sorrowful news of that winter day.
To a dreary room in an attic high
Trembled the words of that small, sharp cry
And a lonely widow bowed down her head
And murmured, " Willie, my Willie, is dead!
" Oh, darling, it was not an idle dream
That led me, last night, to that dark, deep stream,
Where the ground was wet with a crimson rain,
And strewn all over with ghastly slain!
The stars were dim, for the night was wild,
But I threaded the gloom till I found my child.
" The cold rain fell on his upturned face,
But the swift destroyer had left no trace
Of the sudden blow and the quick, sharp pain,
But a little wound and a crimson stain.
I knew that his beautiful life was gone,
But my soul stood there, as the night wore on,
Till they tore the flag from his clasping hand,
And covered him up with the blood-stained sand.
" Willie, O Willie! it seems but a day
Since thy baby-head on my bosom lay;
Since I heard thee prattling soft and sweet,
And guided the steps of thy tottering feet.
Thou wert the fairest and last of three —
But the Father in Heaven has taken thee;
And thy boyish face lies cold and white,
By the deep, dark river I saw last night;
Where they tore the flag from thy clasping hand,
And covered thee up with the blood-stained sand. "
*****
She read the names of the missing and slain —
But one she read over again and again;
And the sad, low words that her white lips said
Were: " Company C, Willie Warren, dead! "
The world toiled on through the busy street,
With its aching hearts and unresting feet;
And night came down to her cold hearthstone,
But she still read on, in the same low tone;
And still the words that her white lips said
Were, " Company C, Willie Warren, dead! "
The light of the morning chased the gloom
From the emberless hearth of that attic room;
And the city's pulses throbbed again —
But the mother's heart had forgotten its pain.
She had gone through the gates to the better land,
With that terrible list in her pale, cold hand,
With her white lips parted, as last she said:
" Company C, Willie Warren, dead! "
But it scarcely rippled the living tide
That ebbed and flowed in the busy street,
With its throbbing hearts and its restless feet.
Again through the hum of the city thrilled:
" Great battle! Times Extra! Ten thousand killed! "
And the little carrier hurried away
With the sorrowful news of that winter day.
To a dreary room in an attic high
Trembled the words of that small, sharp cry
And a lonely widow bowed down her head
And murmured, " Willie, my Willie, is dead!
" Oh, darling, it was not an idle dream
That led me, last night, to that dark, deep stream,
Where the ground was wet with a crimson rain,
And strewn all over with ghastly slain!
The stars were dim, for the night was wild,
But I threaded the gloom till I found my child.
" The cold rain fell on his upturned face,
But the swift destroyer had left no trace
Of the sudden blow and the quick, sharp pain,
But a little wound and a crimson stain.
I knew that his beautiful life was gone,
But my soul stood there, as the night wore on,
Till they tore the flag from his clasping hand,
And covered him up with the blood-stained sand.
" Willie, O Willie! it seems but a day
Since thy baby-head on my bosom lay;
Since I heard thee prattling soft and sweet,
And guided the steps of thy tottering feet.
Thou wert the fairest and last of three —
But the Father in Heaven has taken thee;
And thy boyish face lies cold and white,
By the deep, dark river I saw last night;
Where they tore the flag from thy clasping hand,
And covered thee up with the blood-stained sand. "
*****
She read the names of the missing and slain —
But one she read over again and again;
And the sad, low words that her white lips said
Were: " Company C, Willie Warren, dead! "
The world toiled on through the busy street,
With its aching hearts and unresting feet;
And night came down to her cold hearthstone,
But she still read on, in the same low tone;
And still the words that her white lips said
Were, " Company C, Willie Warren, dead! "
The light of the morning chased the gloom
From the emberless hearth of that attic room;
And the city's pulses throbbed again —
But the mother's heart had forgotten its pain.
She had gone through the gates to the better land,
With that terrible list in her pale, cold hand,
With her white lips parted, as last she said:
" Company C, Willie Warren, dead! "