Henry Abbey: Verses about War

WHITE wings of commerce sailing far,
Hot steam that drives the weltering wheel,
Tamed lightning speeding on the wire,
Iron postman on the way of steel,—
These, circling all the world, have told
The loss that makes us desolate;
For we give back to dust this day
The God-sent man who saved the state.

When black the sky and dire with war,
When every heart was wrung with fear,
He rose serene, and took his place,
The great occasion’s mighty peer.
He smote armed opposition down,
He bade the storm and darkness cease,
And o’er the long-distracted land
Shone out the smiling sun of peace.

The famous captains of the past
March in review before the mind:
Some fought for glory, some for gold,
But most to yoke and rule mankind.
Not so the captain dead to-day,
For whom our half-mast banners wave:
He fought to keep the Union whole,
And break the shackles of the slave.

A silent man, in friendship true,
He made point-blank his certain aim,
And, born a stranger to defeat,
To steadfast purpose linked his name:
For while the angry flood of war
Surged down between its gloomy banks
He followed duty, with the mien
Of but a soldier in the ranks.

How well he wore white honor’s flower,
The gratitude and praise of men,
As General, as President,
And then as simple citizen!
He was a hero to the end:
The dark rebellion raised by Death
Against the Powers of Life and Light,
He battled hard, with failing breath.

O hero of Fort Donelson,
And wooded Shiloh’s frightful strife!
Sleep on! for honor loves the tomb
More than the garish ways of life.
Sleep on! sleep on! Thy wondrous life
Is freedom’s most illustrious page;
And fame shall loudly sound thy praise
In every clime, to every age.

McMahon up the street of Paris came,
In triumph from Magenta. Every one
Had heard and praised the fearless marshal’s name,
And gloried in the deeds that he had done.
Crowds packed the walks, and at each seperate glass
A face was set to see the hero pass.

Grand music lifted in the morning air
Its eloquent voice. Loud-mouthed bells were rung,
Guns boomed till echoes welcomed everywhere;
On buildings and in streets proud flags were hung,
Half like the flags of brain-silk wrought with gold,
That hang on Shakespeare’s pages, fold on fold.

But while the marshal up the street made way,
There came a little girl clothed all in white,
Bringing in happy hands a large bouquet;
Her flower-sweet face seemed fragrant with delight.
Well pleased, the soldier, dark and fierce at need,
Raised up the child before him on his steed.

The pearly necklace of her loving arms
She bound on him, and laid her Spring-like head
Against the Autumn of his cheek, with charms
Of smile and mien; while to his shoulder fled
Her gold loose hair with flowers like jewels set,
And made thereon a wonderous epaulet.

He seemed more like an angel than a man,
As, father-like, he paid back each caress;
Better than all his deeds in war’s red van,
Appeared this simple act of tenderness.
The people cried “Huzza!” and did not pause
Until the town seemed shaken with applause.

So, from this hour, the general became
The boast of the enthusiastic crowd;
Each gave some flower of praise to deck his fame;
They knew him brave—though often cold and proud;
But looked not for the kindness undefiled
That he had beamed upon the loving child.

O cynic, deem no more the world all base,
And scoff no more with either tongue or pen;
You do not see the face behind the face.
If God exists, there must be noble men;
And many, who to us seem hard and cold,
Have sunshine in their hearts as pure as gold.

When the wrongs of peace grow mighty,
They beget the wrong of war,
Whose wild night, with deeds immortal,
Sparkles brightly, star on star.

'O king, to health restore us;
We are besieged by thirst.
There are two foes before us;
The unseen foe is worst.

'Lest thirst's sharp arrows slaughter,
Yield to the open foe,
And lead us to the water,
Tho' it in thraldom flow.'

Thus to Soüs, King of Sparta,
With parched lips his soldiers cried,
When Arcadian besiegers
Hemmed them in on every side.

In the dry and stony stronghold
Was no dropp of water found;
But a brook, beyond the rampart,
Lightly danced along the ground.

Lofty Soüs bade a soulder
Wave a truce, and, with the foe,
Made a compact strong as granite,
With one rift where hope might grow.

Sparta will yield up her conquests,
She her claims to them will sink,
If her king and all his army
From the nearest fountain drink.

To these terms they made their pledges,
Whom dry thirst gave fearful odds,
And, to witness what they signed to,
Loudly called upon their gods.

In a deep, cool glen, appareled
In green boughs, which swayed above,
To the sunlight rose the waters,
Soft as eyes that beam with love.

Hither came the adversaries;
And the Spartans, as by whips,
Were ondriven to the kisses
Of the liquid Naiad lips.

As each fever-throated fighter,
Bending low his waving crest,
Stooped to quaff his land's dishonor,
Him the troubled king addressed:

'If thou wilt not drink, but conquer
This temptation of the spring,
I will give to thee my kingdom,
And thou shalt be crowned its king!'

Heedless of him were his soldiers;
Thirst they gave a higher rank;
By the choking captain maddened,
All, with panic faces, drank.

It appeared not heavy water,
But divine air, cool and thin,
Which they, freed from stifling torture,
Now were deeply breathing in.

Lastly stooped thirst-burdened Soüs
To the treason of the spring;
But he turned, and would not drink it,
Being absolutely king.

Rising, as his face he sprinkled,
With his men he marched away,
Scornful of the daunted captors
Who in vain might say him nay.

He would yield not up his conquests,
For himself and all his men
Had not drank the sparkling pleasure
That allured them to the glen.