YES, MY BOY, THE BATTLE'S OVER. BATTLE OF LITTLE RED RIVER, ARK., MAY 18TH, '62. YES, my boy, the battle's over: Brave men, by thousands, have been slain; Yes, dear son, I'm always sighing Yes, mother, my noble father, It breaks my heart to think he's slain; Though, on earth, we shall not see him, In Heaven, I hope we'll meet again; His name will always be remembered By those true Patriots to his cause, The cause of God and our dear Country; For, many loved ones now are gone. ANONYMOUS. THE MOTHERS OF 1862. AFTER THE BATTLE OF BOTTOM'S BRIDGE, VA., MAY 24TH, '62. THEY call for "able-bodied men." Now there's our Roger, strong and stout, What then? why, only this: you see So when he asked me yesterweek, "Your blessing, mother!"-did I heed The great sob of my heart, or need Another word that he should speak? Should I sit down and mope and croon, And yet, I love him like my life, This stalwart, handsome lad of mine! I'll warrant me, he'll take the shine Off half who follow drum and fife. Now, God forgive, how I prate! Ah, but the MOTHER will leap out Whatever folds we wrap about Our foolish hearts, or soon or late. No doubt 'tis weakness-mother lip That we should scourge with thong and whip. No doubt-and yet I should not dare And so I bring my boy-too glad Take him, my country! he is true. And brave and good; his deeds will tell More than my foolish words-'tis well; God's love be with the lad and you. God's love and care-and when he comes Back from the war, and through the street The crazy people flock to meet My hero, with great shouts, and drums. And silver trumpets braying loud, And if God help me-if, instead They flash this word from some red field; "His brave sweet soul that would not yield Leaped upward, and they wrote him 'dead." —I'll turn my white face to the wall, For Roger's sake, and only say, And when the neighbors come to weep, I'll answer, Nay, dear friends, not so! And nobler far such lot, than his Who dare not strike, with heart and hand, For Freedom and dear Fatherland, Where death's dark missiles crash and whiz. And Roger's mother has no tear If from the battles of the free Her son shrank back in craven fear. CAROLINE A. MASON. THE BATTLE-FIELD. AFTER THE BATTLE OF FRONT ROYAL, I WANDERED o'er a battle-field, The heaps of slaughtered men and brutes, The bloody battle's rotting fruits. And these were all these broken things It was for this a thousand died; For this ten thousand hearts are sad. No longer foemen, blues and grays Lay stretched as they were stabbed or shot. Whoever gained a victory there, 'Twas very plain that these did not. They by the stoutest of all foes Were stricken and were gathered in, A foe who wears no shoulder-straps, Whose triumphs need no bulletin. Two years ago, how full of life, And strength, and hope, were all these dead! How fresh and green this battle-field, 'Ere brother's blood had dyed it red! |