Classic and Contemporary Poetry
POEM, READ THE SOLDIERS' WELCOME, FRANKLIN, NEW YORK, AUG. 5, 1865, by B. H. BARNES First Line: The heroes of a hundred fields Last Line: For peace and liberty! Subject(s): American Civil War; Death; Homecoming; Life; Soldiers; United States - History; Dead, The | ||||||||
The heroes of a hundred fields Are gathered here to-day; And banners wave, and cheers applaud The patriot array. Proud parents boast their noble sons; Fond wives their husbands, dear; And loyal maidens smile sweet praise On every volunteer. Loud cornet-blare and throbbing drums -- Soft Zephyr's bland caress -- Bright eyes, swift pulses, pealing songs, Bespeak our happiness. The birds are gayer -- brighter flow The brooklet's wave and foam -- And th' way-side cattle seem to low The Soldiers' "welcome home!" O, cheerfully, the patriot leaves Home, comfort, all, to share The toils and dangers of the field, If duty calls him there. And well he bears War's stern fatigues -- Counting privations light -- May he but gain his Country's thanks, Through triumph for the right. But when the tidings of release From faithful service come, The warrior wings his eager feet To taste the joys of home. With sparkling eye he hails each hill And well-remember'd peak -- How cool the Northern breezes fall Upon his bronzed cheek! Forgotten, are his years of toil -- Wounds, prison, hunger, pain -- No room in Joy's full harmony For Sorrow's sad refrain. Home, home again! the sweet tho't wakes Glad music in his soul -- And consciousness of duty done Pours wine in Pleasure's bowl. Surrounded by the loving ones That come at Friendship's call, The soldier sings his wild war-songs, While evening shadows fall. Young children, nestled on his knee -- Fair maiden at his side -- Or wife, or mother, sire or friend, With patriotic pride List to the warrior's thrilling tales Of camp, and march, and fight; Until the young hours of the morn Are nearer than the night. Welcome, brave hearts! we gladly press The victor's glowing palm! Come, brothers, crowned with honor, peace, And Freedom's blessed calm! * * * Three years ago the trumpet-call Of Liberty out-rang! And from the hills of Delaware, A thousand patriots sprang To check the tide of Treason's flood, That rolled its angry waves, Cap'd with Rebellion's bloody foam, Up, from the land of slaves! Our peaceful skies were dark'ning fast -- Home trembled with alarms! And freemen felt the hour must have The strength of their strong arms. The loyal farmer left his fields, Just shorn of golden grain -- The blacksmith flung aside his sledge -- The carpenter, his plane: The merchant closed the ledger's lids, With clenched and nervous hands -- And clerk, and squire, step'd proudly forth In Uncle Sam's brogans. The pale-eyed student doff'd his gown, And don'd the blouse of blue; Eager to grapple with the wrong And prove his courage true! And th' preacher, from his wonted place, Pray'd God protect his flock; And clasp them tenderly the while He clasp'd the musket-stock! Stout, brawny limbs and thick-set beards; Betok'ning manhood's prime -- The slender, stripling forms of youth; That show'd no touch of time -- Came pouring down, thro' gorge and glen -- From vale and rock-bar'd steep -- And from the deep, green hemlock woods, Where frighten'd cascades leap. All, with one mission -- grandly high! One purpose to perform; As pure as ever prompted prayer; Or nerved a patriot's arm -- All rallied 'round the dear old flag, For which their fathers bled! And vow'd to follow and defend Tho' marching to the dead! We trusted you -- you'd faith in us -- As one, our fates were sealed -- O, how we watched your steady tramp, Forth to the battle-field! What time war's wild tornado howl'd Its fury through the years, We asked, "God shield from every harm Our noble volunteers." "But should the cruel battle-blast E'er lay our darlings low, Aye let them fall, as they have lived -- Their faces to the foe!" And when, anon, the lightning flash'd Glad tidings for the free, We made these rugged hill-sides ring With cheers for victory! The hopes and fears of those wild years Are not forgotten yet -- Still, with their ling'ring memories, Our eyes are sometimes wet. And, Soldiers, when your letters told (No word of murm'ring meant) Of all your suff'rings for the cause, In hospital and tent; How trill'd the chords of woman's heart! How fast her needles flew! What sweet remittances of love, And faith, and courage, too! I need not tell -- the warrior's breast, Like a rich treasure-store, Is full of fond remembrances; Worth more than golden ore. Yes, woman's countless, kindly deeds, Borne to our braves, afar -- Have cancel'd half the wrong and woe And misery of war. Ay, in the granaries of God, Is garner'd Virtue's grain, That ne'er had grown on Freedom's soil Without her battle-rain! And when, alas! some fallen lad -- To roll of muffled drum, Timed to the pattering dirge of tears -- Came to his Northern home; Wrap'd in the banner he had borne Against the cannon's breath -- Came, from his comrades far a-field, On the long parole of death; We laid him where his fathers sleep; 'Neath Freedom's spreading trees -- And left him with the birds, and flowers, And grateful memories. * * * Still boom'd the guns! and louder rang Bold Freedom's trumpet calls! And other thousands swept along To man her breaching walls. Still play'd the shifting game of war: And, driv'n from cliff to crag, The 'wilder'd eagles dared not fold Their wings on either flag; Until God taught the Nation this; Through strife, defeats and pains -- "Your day of triumph ne'er shall dawn On th' slave's unbroken chains!" O then that firm, but generous hand -- True, honest, sure, though slow -- Gain'd Heaven's smile; and dealt the wrong Its heaviest, deadliest, blow. And they that wore the galling yoke, In this and other lands, Beheld the morning star of Hope; And stretched their joyful hands! And from the dust, the toil-bow'd slave, His eye on Freedom's form -- Stood up! and bared his ebon breast To treason's fiercest storm. Thus side by side -- On! marching on -- The Union patriots trod: Down-bearing every hand that fought Humanity and God! Then arch'd the bow, with promise bright! Our eagles, from the sun, Perch'd proudly on the starry flag; And victory was won! O, if the mighty dead are given Their angel-brows to grace With glorious actions here perform'd, To free and bless the race; Then does the crown of Lincoln shine Resplendent as the sun! And heaven is songful for the deed Our martyr'd Chief has done! Soldiers, no higher honors crave -- None nobler wait for ye, -- Than wreath your names with his who wro't This work of Liberty. Soldiers, your work is done! and well; It bears the seal "Complete!" For they who trampled on the flag Are pleading at your feet. But, should the clouds of war again O'ercast our land with gloom, Go, consecrate your swords anew At Abra'am Lincoln's tomb! * * * Nor history's page, nor poet's pen Can e'er recount the deeds Wrought by the gallant Union host To serve their Country's needs. But every brave of every race, Or color, clime or name; Has earn'd the royal right to hold His title-deed of fame. Whether before the cannon's mouth -- By bayonet or shell -- Or, by the stealthy picket's fire, The faithful soldier fell: Or, on the dusty, weary march -- By Southern prison-damps -- Amidst the fever-breeding chills Of cheerless winter camps: Or, whether, down th' Atlantic main, Where blist'ring sunbeams dart Fierce, poison'd arrows of disease, That fasten in the heart -- The noisome, pestilential plague Out-stretch'd his yellow hand; And grasp'd a patriot's life, and hid A soldier in the sand: It matters not: no tithe of worth Shall ever fade or fall -- A People's heart-felt gratitude O'erflows with thanks to all. Soldiers, your battle-work is done! The strife is over now -- From plowing red Rebellion's ranks, Come, follow Freedom's plow! As you have nail'd the old flag fast, Redeeming thus your pledge -- Come kindle up the smould'ring forge; And swing the rusty sledge! As you have smooth'd the track for Truth, Now shove the smoothing plane! And, student, from the scroll of blood, Turn to your books again. Thus, we will plow, and hew, and forge; As in the days gone by: -- Free, happy, joyous, thanking God For Peace and Liberty! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC |
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