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(Excerpt)
STRANGERS! your eyes are on that valley fixed | |
| Intently, as we gaze on vacancy, | |
| When the mind’s wings o’erspread | |
| The spirit-world of dreams. | |
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| True, ’t is a scene of loveliness,—the bright | 5 |
| Green dwelling of the summer’s first-born Hours, | |
| Whose wakened leaf and bud | |
| Are welcoming the morn. | |
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| And morn returns the welcome, sun and cloud | |
| Smile on the green earth from their home in heaven, | 10 |
| Even as a mother smiles | |
| Above her cradled boy, | |
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| And wreathe their light and shade o’er plain and mountain, | |
| O’er sleepless seas of grass whose waves are flowers, | |
| The river’s golden shores, | 15 |
| The forests of dark pines. | |
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| The song of the wild bird is on the wind, | |
| The hum of the wild bee, the music wild | |
| Of waves upon the bank, | |
| Of leaves upon the bough. | 20 |
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| But all is song and beauty in the land, | |
| Beneath her skies of June; then journey on, | |
| A thousand scenes like this | |
| Will greet you ere the eve. | |
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| Ye linger yet,—ye see not, hear not now, | 25 |
| The sunny smile, the music of to-day, | |
| Your thoughts are wandering up, | |
| Far up the stream of time; | |
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| And boyhood’s lore and fireside-listened tales | |
| Are rushing on your memories, as ye breathe | 30 |
| That valley’s storied name, | |
| Field of the Grounded Arms. | |
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| Strangers no more, a kindred “pride of place,” | |
| Pride in the gift of country and of name, | |
| Speaks in your eye and step,— | 35 |
| Ye tread your native land. | |
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| And your high thoughts are on her glory’s day, | |
| The solemn sabbath of the week of battle, | |
| Whose tempests bowed to earth | |
| Her foeman’s banner here. | 40 |
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| The forest leaves lay scattered cold and dead, | |
| Upon the withered grass that autumn morn, | |
| When, with as withered hearts | |
| And hopes as dead and cold, | |
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| A gallant army formed their last array | 45 |
| Upon that field, in silence and deep gloom, | |
| And at their conqueror’s feet | |
| Laid their war-weapons down. | |
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| Sullen and stern, disarmed but not dishonored; | |
| Brave men, but brave in vain, they yielded there: | 50 |
| The soldier’s trial task | |
| Is not alone “to die.” | |
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| Honor to chivalry! the conqueror’s breath | |
| Stains not the ermine of his foeman’s fame, | |
| Nor mocks his captive’s doom,— | 55 |
| The bitterest cup of war. * * * * * | |
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