Chapter 44

You would barter the fruit of our fathers' blood, And sell out the Stripes and Stars, To purchase a place with Rebellion's votes, Or escape from Rebellion's scars.

By the widow's wail, by the mother's tears, By the orphans who cry for bread, By our sons who fell, we will never yield Till Rebellion's soul is dead. Anonymous.

CCCXXVI.

THE GREAT BELL ROLAND.

Toll! Roland, toll! In Old St. Bavon's tower, At midnights hour, The great bell Roland spoke! All souls that slept in Ghent awoke! What meant the thunder stroke? Why trembled wife and maid? Why caught each man his blade? Why echoed every street With tramp of thronging feet All flying to the city's wall? It was the warning call That Freedom stood in peril of a foe! And even timid hearts grew bold Whenever Roland tolled, And every hand a sword could hold! So acted men Like patriots then, Three hundred years ago!

Toll! Roland, toll! Bell never yet was hung, Between whose lips there swung So grand a tongue! If men be patriots still, At thy first sound True hearts will bound, Great souls will thrill! Then toll and strike the test Through each man's breast, Till loyal hearts shall stand confess'd,-- And may God's wrath smite all the rest!

Toll! Roland, toll! Not now in old St. Bavon's tower-Not now at midnight hour-- Not now from River Scheldt to Zuyder Zee, But here,--this side the sea!--. Toll here, in broad, bright day!-For not by night awaits A noble foe without the gates, But perjured friends within betray, And do the deed at noon! Toll! Roland, toll! Thy sound is not too soon! To Arms! Ring out the Leader's call! Reëcho it from East to West, Till every hero's breast Shall swell beneath a soldier's crest! Toll! Roland, toll! Till cottager from cottage wall Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun! The sire bequeathed them to the son, When only half their work was done! Toll! Roland, toll! Till swords from scabbards leap! Toll! Roland, toll! What tears can widows weep Less bitter than when brave men fall? Toll! Roland, toll! In shadowed hut and small Shall lie the soldier's pall, And hearts shall break while graves are filled! Amen! So God has willed! And may his grace anoint us all!

Toll! Roland, toll! The Dragon on thy tower Stands sentry to this hour, And Freedom so stands safe in Ghent! And the merrier bells now ring, And in the land's serene content Men shout "God save the King!" Until the skies are rent! So let it be; For a kingly king is he Who keeps his people free! Toll! Roland, toll! Ring out across the sea! No longer They but We Have now such need of thee! Toll! Roland, toll! Forever may thy throat Keep dumb its warning note Till Freedom's perils be outbraved! Toll! Roland, toll! Till Freedom's flag, wherever waved, Shall overshadow not a man enslaved! Toll! Roland, toll! From Northern lake to Southern strand, Toll! Roland, toll! Till friend and foe, at thy command, Once more shall clasp each other's hand, And shout, one-voiced, "God save the land!" And love the land that God hath saved! Toll! Roland, toll! T. Tilton.

CCXXVII.

THE MASSACHUSETTS LINE.

Still first, as long and long ago, Let Massachusetts muster: Give her the post right next the foe; Be sure that you may trust her. She was the first to give her blood For Freedom and for Honor; She trod her soil to crimson mud: God's blessing be upon her!

She never faltered for the right, Nor ever will hereafter: Fling up her name with all your might; Shake roof-tree and shake rafter. But of old deeds she need not brag,-- How she broke sword and fetter: Fling out again the old striped Flag; She'll do yet more and better.

In peace, her sails fleck all the seas; Her mills shake every river; And where are scenes so fair as these God and her true hands give her? In war, her claim who seek to rob? All others come in later: It is hers first to front the Mob, The Tyrant, and the Traitor.

God bless, God bless, the glorious State! Let her have way to battle! She'll go where batteries crash with fate, Or where thick rifles rattle.

Give her the Right, and let her try; And then who can may press her; She'll go straight on, or she will die: God bless her, and God bless her! R. Lowell.

CCCXXVIII.

ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE.

"Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey, In the sunshine bright and strong, For this world is fading, Pompey-- Massa won't be with you long; And I fain would hear the south wind Bring once more the sound to me, Of the wavelets softly breaking On the shores of Tennessee.

"Mournful though the ripples murmur, As they still the story tell, How no vessels float the banner That I've loved so long and well, I shall listen to their music, Dreaming that again I see Stars and stripes on sloop and shallop, Sailing up the Tennessee.

"And, Pompey, while old massa's waiting For death's last despatch to come, If that exiled starry banner Should come proudly sailing home, You shall greet it, slave no longer-- Voice and hand shall both be free That shouts and points to Union colors On the waves of Tennessee."

"Massa's berry kind to Pompey; But ole darkey's happy here, Where he's tended corn and cotton For 'ese many a long-gone year. Over yonder Missis's sleeping-- No one tends her grave like me; Mebbie she would miss the flowers She used to love in Tennessee.

"'Pears like she was watching Massa-- If Pompey should beside him stay, Mebbie she'd remember better How for him she used to pray; Telling him that way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of heaven While he lived in Tennessee."

Silently the tears were rolling Down the poor old dusky face, As he stepped behind his master, In his long accustomed place. Then a silence fell around them, As they gazed on rock and tree Pictured in the placid waters Of the rolling Tennessee.

Master dreaming of the battle Where he fought by Marion's side, When he bid the haughty Tarleton Stoop his lordly crest of pride. Man, remembering how yon sleeper Once he held upon his knee, Ere she loved the gallant soldier, Ralph Vervair, of Tennessee.

Still the south wind fondly lingers 'Mid the veteran's silvery hair; Still the bondman close beside him Stands behind the old arm-chair, With his dark-hued hand uplifted, Shading eyes he bends to see Where the woodland boldly jutting Turns aside the Tennessee.

Thus he watches cloud-born shadows Glide from tree to mountain crest, Softly creeping, aye and ever, To the river's yielding breast. Ha! above the foliage yonder Something flutters wild and free! "Massa! Massa! Hallelujah! The flag's come back to Tennessee!"

"Pompey hold me on your shoulder, Help me stand on foot once more, That I may salute the colors As they pass my cabin-door. Here's the paper signed that frees you; Give a freeman's shout with me-- 'God and Union!' be our watchword Evermore in Tennessee."

Then the trembling voice grew fainter, And the limbs refused to stand; One prayer to Jesus--and the soldier Glided to that better land. When the flag went down the river Man and master both were free, While the ringdove's note was mingled With the rippling Tennessee. E. L. Beers.

CCCXXIX.

A BATTLE-SONG FOR FREEDOM.

Men of action! men of might! Stern defenders of the right! Are you girded for the fight?

Have you marked and trenched the ground, Where the din of arms must sound, Ere the victor can be crowned?

Have you guarded well the coast? Have you marshalled all your host? Standeth each man at his post?

Have you counted up the cost? What is gained and what is lost, When the foe your lines have crost?

Gained--the infamy of fame. Gained--a dastard's spotted name. Gained--eternity of shame.

Lost--desert of manly youth. Lost--the right you had by birth. Lost--lost!--freedom for the earth.

Freemen, up! The foe is nearing! Haughty banners high uprearing-- Lo, their serried ranks appearing!

Freemen, on! The drums are beating! Will you shrink from such a meeting? Forward! Give them hero greeting!

From your hearths, and homes, and altars, Backward hurl your proud assaulters. He is not a man that falters.

Hush! The hour of fate is nigh, On the help of God rely! Forward! We will do or die. G. Hamilton.

CCCXXX.

THE VOICE OF THE NORTH.

Up the hill-side, down the glen, Rouse the sleeping citizen: Summon out the might of men!

Like a lion growling low-Like a night-storm rising slow-Like the tread of unseen foe--

It is coming--it if nigh! Stand your homes and altars by, On your own free threshold die.

Clang the bells in all your spires, On the gray hills of your sires Fling to heaven your signal-fires.

Oh! for God and duty stand, Heart to heart and hand to hand, Round the old grates of the land.

Whoso shrinks or falters now, Whoso to the yoke would bow, Brand the craven on his brow.

Freedom's soil has only place For a free and fearless race-- None for traitors false and base.

Perish party--perish clan; Strike together while you can, Like the strong arm of one man.

Like the angel's voice sublime, Heard above a world of crime, Crying for the end of Time.

With one heart and with one mouth, Let the North speak to the South; Speak the word befitting both. J. G. Whittier.

CCCXXXI.

THE WATCHERS.

Beside a stricken field I stood; On the torn turf, on grass and wood, Hung heavily the dew of blood.

Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain, But all the air was quick with pain And gusty sighs and tearful rain.

Two angels, each with drooping head And folded wings and noiseless tread, Watched by that valley of the dead.

The one with forehead saintly bland And lips of blessing, not command, Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand.

The other's brows were scarred and knit, His restless eyes were watch-fires lit, His hands for battle-gauntlets fit.

"How long!" I knew the voice of Peace,-- "Is there no respite?--no release?-- When shall the hopeless quarrel cease?

"O Lord, how long!--One human soul Is more than any parchment scroll, Or any flag thy winds unroll.

"What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? How weigh the gift that Lyon gave, Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave?

"O brother! if thine eye can see, Tell me how and when the end shall be, What hope remains for thee and me."

Then Freedom sternly said: "I shun No strife nor pang beneath the sun, When human rights are staked and won.

"I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock, I watered in Toussaint's cell of rock, I walked with Sidney to the block.

"The Moor of Marston felt my tread, Through Jersey snows the march I led, My voice Magenta's charges sped.

"But now through weary day and night, I watch a vague and aimless fight For leave to strike one blow aright.

"On either side my foe they own: One guards through love his ghastly throne, And one through fear to reverence grown.

"Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed, By open foes, or those afraid To speed thy coming through my aid?

"Why watch to see who win or fall?-- I shake the dust against them all, I leave them to their senseless brawl."

"Nay," Peace implored: "yet longer wait; The doom is near, the stake is great; God knoweth if it be too late.

"Still wait and watch; the way prepare Where I with folded wings of prayer May follow, weaponless and bare."

"Too late!" the stern, sad voice replied "Too late!" its mournful echo sighed,-- In low lament the answer died.

A rustling as of wings in flight, An upward gleam of lessening white, So passed the vision, sound and sight.

But round me, like a silver bell Rung down the listening sky to tell Of holy help, a sweet voice fell.

"Still hope and trust," it sang; "the rod Must fall, the wine-press must be trod, But all is possible with God!" J. G. Whittier.

CCCXXXII.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach-tree fruited deep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain-walls-- Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind; the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic window the staff she set, To show that her heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right He glanced; the old flag met his sight.

"Halt!"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast; "Fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will.

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word:

"Who touches a hair of your gray head Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet:

All day long that free flag tossed Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town! J. G. Whittier.

CCCXXXIII.

PRO PATRIA.

INSCRIBED TO THE SECOND NEW HAMPSHIRE REGIMENT.

The grand old earth shakes at the tread of the Norsemen, Who meet, as of old, in defence of the true; All hail to the stars that are set in their banner! All hail to the red, and the white, and the blue! As each column wheels by, Hear their hearts' battle-cry,-- It was Warren's,--'Tis sweet for our country to die!

Lancaster and Coös, Laconia and Concord, Old Portsmouth and Keene, send their stalwart young men; They come from the plough, and the loom, and the anvil, From the marge of the sea, from the hill-top and glen. As each column wheels by, Hear their hearts' battle-cry,-- It was Warren's,--'Tis sweet for our country to die!

The prayers of fair women, like legions of angels, Watch over our soldiers by day and by night; And the King of all glory, the Chief of all armies, Shall love them and lead them who dare to do right! As each column wheels by, Hear their hearts' battle-cry,-- 'T was Warren's,--'Tis sweet for our country to die! T. B. Aldrich.

CCXXXIV.

THE CALVARY CHARGE.

With bray of the trumpet And roll of the drum, And keen ring of bugle, The cavalry come. Sharp clank the steel scabbards, The bridle-chains ring, And foam from red nostrils The wild chargers fling.

Tramp! tramp! o'er the greensward That quivers below, Scarce held by the curb-bit The fierce horses go! And the grim-visaged colonel, With ear-rending shout, Peals forth to the squadrons The order--"Trot out!"

One hand on the sabre, And one on the rein, The troopers move forward In line on the plain. As rings the word "Gallop!" The steel scabbards clank, And each rowel is pressed To a horse's hot flank: And swift is their rush As the wild torrent's flow, When it pours from the crag On the valley below.

"Charge!" thunders the leader: Like shaft from the bow Each mad horse is hurled On the wavering foe. A thousand bright sabres Are gleaming in air; A thousand dark horses Are dashed on the square.

Resistless and reckless Of aught may betide, Like demons, not mortals, The wild troopers ride. Cut right! and cut left!-- For the parry who needs? The bayonets shiver Like wind-shattered reeds. Vain--vain the red volley That bursts from the square,-- The random-shot bullets Are wasted in air.

Triumphant, remorseless, Unerring as death,-- No sabre that's stainless Returns to its sheath.