The American Union Speaker Part 60

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.

CCCx.x.xI.

THE WATCHERS.

Beside a stricken field I stood; On the torn turf, on gra.s.s 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; G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d!"

J. G. Whittier.

CCCx.x.xII.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The cl.u.s.tered 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 n.o.bler 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.