The Old Soldiers Story Part 7

III

In fancy all are here. The night is o'er, And through dissolving mists the morning gleams; And cl.u.s.tered round their hearths we see once more The heroes of our dreams.

Strong, tawny faces, some, and some are fair, And some are marked with age's latest prime, And, seer-like, browed and aureoled with hair As h.o.a.r as winter-time.

The faces of fond lovers, glorified-- The faces of the husband and the wife-- The babe's face nestled at the mother's side, And smiling back at life;

A bloom of happiness in every cheek-- A thrill of tingling joy in every vein-- In every soul a rapture they will seek In Heaven, and find again!

IV

'Tis not a vision only--we who pay But the poor tribute of our praises here Are equal sharers in the guerdon they Purchased at price so dear.

The angel, Peace, o'er all uplifts her hand, Waving the olive, and with heavenly eyes Shedding a light of love o'er sea and land As sunshine from the skies--

Her figure pedestalled on Freedom's soil-- Her sandals kissed with seas of golden grain-- Queen of a realm of joy-requited toil That glories in her reign.

O blessed land of labor and reward!

O gracious Ruler, let Thy reign endure; In pruning-hook and ploughshare beat the sword, And reap the harvest sure!

SHADOW AND SHINE

Storms of the winter, and deepening snows, When will you end? I said, For the soul within me was numb with woes, And my heart uncomforted.

When will you cease, O dismal days?

When will you set me free?

For the frozen world and its desolate ways Are all unloved of me!

I waited long, but the answer came-- The kiss of the sunshine lay Warm as a flame on the lips that frame The song in my heart to-day.

Blossoms of summer-time waved in the air, Glimmers of sun in the sea; Fair thoughts followed me everywhere, And the world was dear to me.

THAT NIGHT

You and I, and that night, with its perfume and glory!-- The scent of the locusts--the light of the moon; And the violin weaving the waltzers a story, Enmeshing their feet in the weft of the tune, Till their shadows uncertain Reeled round on the curtain, While under the trellis we drank in the June.

Soaked through with the midnight the cedars were sleeping, Their shadowy tresses outlined in the bright Crystal, moon-smitten mists, where the fountain's heart, leaping Forever, forever burst, full with delight; And its lisp on my spirit Fell faint as that near it Whose love like a lily bloomed out in the night.

O your love was an odorous sachet of blisses!

The breath of your fan was a breeze from Cathay!

And the rose at your throat was a nest of spilled kisses!-- And the music!--in fancy I hear it to-day, As I sit here, confessing Our secret, and blessing My rival who found us, and waltzed you away.

AUGUST

O mellow month and merry month, Let me make love to you, And follow you around the world As knights their ladies do.

I thought your sisters beautiful, Both May and April, too, But April she had rainy eyes, And May had eyes of blue.

And June--I liked the singing Of her lips--and liked her smile-- But all her songs were promises Of something, after while; And July's face--the lights and shades That may not long beguile With alterations o'er the wheat The dreamer at the stile.

But you!--ah, you are tropical, Your beauty is so rare; Your eyes are clearer, deeper eyes Than any, anywhere; Mysterious, imperious, Deliriously fair, O listless Andalusian maid, With bangles in your hair!

THE GUIDE

IMITATED

We rode across the level plain-- We--my sagacious guide and I.-- He knew the earth--the air--the sky; He knew when it would blow or rain, And when the weather would be dry: The blended blades of gra.s.s spake out To him when Redskins were about; The wagon tracks would tell him too, The very day that they rolled through: He knew their burden--whence they came-- If any horse along were lame, And what its owner ought to do; He knew when it would snow; he knew, By some strange intuition, when The buffalo would overflow The prairies like a flood, and then Recede in their stampede again.

He knew all things--yea, he did know The brand of liquor in my flask, And many times did tilt it up, Nor halt or hesitate one whit, Nor pause to slip the silver cup From off its crystal base, nor ask Why I preferred to drink from it.

And more and more I plied him, and Did query of him o'er and o'er, And seek to lure from him the lore By which the man did understand These hidden things of sky and land: And, wrought upon, he sudden drew His bridle--wheeled, and caught my hand-- Pressed it, as one that loved me true, And bade me listen.

................... There be few Like tales as strange to listen to!

He told me all--How, when a child, The Indians stole him--there he laughed-- "They stole me, and I stole their craft!"

Then slowly winked both eyes, and smiled, And went on ramblingly,--"And they-- They reared me, and I ran away-- 'Twas winter, and the weather wild; And, caught up in the awful snows That bury wilderness and plain, I struggled on until I froze My feet ere human hands again Were reached to me in my distress,-- And lo, since then not any rain May fall upon me anywhere, Nor any cyclone's cussedness Slip up behind me unaware,-- Nor any change of cold, or heat, Or blow, or snow, but I do know It's coming, days and days before;-- I know it by my frozen feet-- I know it by my itching heels, And by the agony one feels Who knows that scratching nevermore Will bring to him the old and sweet Relief he knew ere thus endowed With knowledge that a certain cloud Will burst with storm on such a day, And when a snow will fall, and--nay, I speak not falsely when I say That by my tingling heels and toes I measure time, and can disclose The date of month--the week--and lo, The very day and minute--yea-- Look at your watch!--An hour ago And twenty minutes I did say Unto myself with bitter laugh, 'In less than one hour and a half Will I be drunken!' Is it so?"

SUTTER'S CLAIM

IMITATED

Say! _you_ feller! _You_-- With that spade and the pick!-- What do you 'pose to do On this side o' the crick?

Goin' to tackle this claim? Well, I reckon You'll let up ag'in, purty quick!

No bluff, understand,-- But the same has been tried, And the claim never panned-- Or the fellers has lied,-- For they tell of a dozen that tried it, And quit it most onsatisfied.

The luck's dead ag'in it!-- The first man I see That stuck a pick in it Proved _that_ thing to me,-- For he sort o' took down, and got homesick, And went back whar he'd orto be!

Then others they worked it Some--more or less, But finally shirked it, In grades of distress,-- With an eye out--a jaw or skull busted, Or some sort o' seriousness.

The _last_ one was plucky-- He wasn't afeerd, And bragged he was "lucky,"

And said that "he'd heerd A heap of bluff-talk," and swore awkard He'd work any claim that he keered!