Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MORGAN STANWOOD; CAPE ANN, 1775, by HIRAM RICH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MORGAN STANWOOD; CAPE ANN, 1775, by                    
First Line: Morgan stanwood, patriot!
Last Line: After all, we meet.
Subject(s): American Revolution; Soldiers


MORGAN STANWOOD, patriot!
Little more is known;
Nothing of his home is left
But the door-step stone.

Morgan Stanwood, to our thought
You return once more;
Once again the meadows lift
Daisies to your door.

Once again the morn is sweet,
Half the hay is down, --
Hark! what means that sudden clang
From the distant town?

Larum bell and rolling drum
Answer sea-borne guns;
Larum bell and rolling drum
Summon Freedom's sons!

And the mower thinks to him
Cry both bell and drum,
"Morgan Stanwood, where art thou?
Here th' invaders come!"

"Morgan Stanwood" need no more
Bell and drum-beat call;
He is one who, hearing once,
Answers once for all.

Ne'er the mower murmured then,
"Half my grass is mown,
Homespun is n't soldier-wear,
Each may save his own."

Fallen scythe and aftermath
Lie forgotten now;
Winter need may come and find
But a barren mow.

Down the musket comes. "Good wife, --
Wife, a quicker flint!"
And the face that questions face
Hath no color in 't.

'Wife, if I am late to-night,
Milk the heifer first; --
Ruth, if I'm not home at all, --
Worse has come to worst."

Morgan Stanwood sped along,
Not the common road;
Over wall and hill-top straight,
Straight to death, he strode;

Leaving her to hear at night
Tread of burdened men,
By the gate and through the gate,
At the door, and then --

Ever after that to hear,
When the grass is sweet,
Through the gate and through the night,
Slowly coming feet.

Morgan Stanwood's roof is gone;
Here the door-step lies;
One may stand thereon and think, --
For the thought will rise, --

Were we where the meadow was,
Mowing grass alone,
Would we go the way he went,
From this very stone?

Were we on the door-step here,
Parting for a day,
Would we utter words as though
Parting were for aye?

Would we? Heart, the hearth is dear,
Meadow-math is sweet:
Parting be as parting may,
After all, we meet.





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