Mary Hannay Foott: Verses about Parting

She heard the story of the end,
Each message, too, she heard;
And there was one for every friend;
For her alone, no word.

And shall she bear a heavier heart,
And deem his love was fled;
Because his soul from earth could part
Leaving her name unsaid?

No, No! Though neither sign nor sound
A parting thought expressed,
Not heedless passed the Homeward-Bound
Of her he loved the best.

Of voyage-perils, bravely borne,
He would not tell the tale;
Of shattered planks and canvas torn,
And war with wind and gale.

He waited, till the light-house star
Should rise against the sky;
And from the mainland, looming far,
The forest scents blow by.

He hoped to tell, assurance sweet!
That pain and grief were o'er,
What blessings haste the soul to meet,
Ere yet within the door.

Then one farewell he thought to speak
When all the rest were past,
As in the parting-hour we seek
The dearest hand the last.

And while for this delaying but
To see Heaven's opening Gate,
Lo, it received him and was shut,
Ere he could say “I wait.”

She heard the story of the end,
   Each message, too, she heard;
And there was one for every friend;
   For her alone -- no word.

And shall she bear a heavier heart,
   And deem his love was fled;
Because his soul from earth could part
   Leaving her name unsaid?

No -- No! -- Though neither sign nor sound
   A parting thought expressed --
Not heedless passed the Homeward-Bound
   Of her he loved the best.

Of voyage-perils, bravely borne,
   He would not tell the tale;
Of shattered planks and canvas torn,
   And war with wind and gale.

He waited till the light-house star
   Should rise against the sky;
And from the mainland, looming far,
   The forest scents blow by.

He hoped to tell -- assurance sweet! --
   That pain and grief were o'er --
What blessings haste the soul to meet,
   Ere yet within the door.

Then one farewell he thought to speak
   When all the rest were past --
As in the parting-hour we seek
   The dearest hand the last.

And while for this delaying but
   To see Heaven's opening Gate --
Lo, it received him -- and was shut --
   Ere he could say "I wait."

The coup d'etat is blotted out
With fresher blood, with blacker crime,
As midnight horrors put to rout
The vaguer ghosts of twilight-time.

“Greeting from those who are to die!
Hail Caesar!” Draw the curtains round.
In vain! That mournful mocking cry
Pierces the purple with its sound.

And they who raise it enter too,
With spectral looks and noiseless tread,
Unbidden, hold their dread review,
Beside the Emperor's very bed.

They sought in his deserted tent;
They found him in the German camp.
They tarry till the oil be spent
That feeds his life's poor flickering lamp.

The hope of France, the “gilded youth,”
So answering the trumpet's peal
As if revealing how, in sooth,
The gilding oft o'erlies the steel.

Soldiers Algeria's sun has spared;
Heroes from Russia's fire and frost;
Grey veterans, scarred and scanty-haired,
Who wept at word of eagles lost.

Workmen, who leave the rattling looms
To ply, perforce, a deadlier trade;
Students, who quit their cloudy rooms
To step within a heavier shade.

Slow-breaking hearts that suffer long,
Blinded and chilled 'neath love's eclipse;
Singing no more the happy song
By horror frozen on their lips.

From castled cities battle-proof,
They press to the accusing ranks,
From cottage walls, from canvas roof,
Ere passing to the Stygian banks.

The thousands famine yet shall waste,
The holocaust disease will claim,
As to God's Judgment-Bar they haste,
They gaze on him who is to blame.

“Hail Caesar!” While Napoleon's star
From yon horizon beams “Farewell!”
Setting in exile, where, afar,
The children of St. Louis dwell.

Come from the past, once-dreaded ghosts,
Whose number and whose names he knew!
The future plants, at countless posts,
Sentries more terrible than you!