Part 3 (1/2)

No need to bid him show the scars Of blows dealt by the Scaean gate, Who lived to pa.s.s its shattered bars, And see the foe capitulate:

Who lived to turn his slower feet Toward the western setting sun, To see his harvest all complete, His dream fulfilled, his duty done,

The one flag streaming from the pole, The one faith borne from sea to sea: For such a triumph, and such goal, Poor must our human greeting be.

Ah! rather that the conscious land In simpler ways salute the Man,-- The tall pines bowing where they stand, The bared head of El Capitan!

The tumult of the waterfalls, Pohono's kerchief in the breeze, The waving from the rocky walls, The stir and rustle of the trees;

Till, lapped in sunset skies of hope, In sunset lands by sunset seas, The Young World's Premier treads the slope Of sunset years in calm and peace.

THE AGED STRANGER

AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR

”I was with Grant”--the stranger said; Said the farmer, ”Say no more, But rest thee here at my cottage porch, For thy feet are weary and sore.”

”I was with Grant”--the stranger said; Said the farmer, ”Nay, no more,-- I prithee sit at my frugal board, And eat of my humble store.

”How fares my boy,--my soldier boy, Of the old Ninth Army Corps?

I warrant he bore him gallantly In the smoke and the battle's roar!”

”I know him not,” said the aged man, ”And, as I remarked before, I was with Grant”-- ”Nay, nay, I know,”

Said the farmer, ”say no more:

”He fell in battle,--I see, alas!

Thou'dst smooth these tidings o'er,-- Nay, speak the truth, whatever it be, Though it rend my bosom's core.

”How fell he? With his face to the foe, Upholding the flag he bore?

Oh, say not that my boy disgraced The uniform that he wore!”

”I cannot tell,” said the aged man, ”And should have remarked before.

That I was with Grant,--in Illinois,-- Some three years before the war.”

Then the farmer spake him never a word, But beat with his fist full sore That aged man who had worked for Grant Some three years before the war.

THE IDYL OF BATTLE HOLLOW

(WAR OF THE REBELLION, 1884)

No, I won't,--thar, now, so! And it ain't nothin',--no!

And thar's nary to tell that you folks yer don't know; And it's ”Belle, tell us, do!” and it's ”Belle, is it true?”

And ”Wot's this yer yarn of the Major and you?”