Then the bold, blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face

grew mild,

As he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the negro's child!

The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart; And they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart.

That kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent, And round the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent! Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good! Long live the generous purpose unstained with human blood! Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which underlies;

Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's sacrifice.

Nevermore may yon Blue Ridges the Northern rifle hear, Nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the negro's spear; But let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded passes.

scale,

To teach that right is more than might, and justice more than mail!

So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array;

In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snow with clay.

She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not harm the dove;

And every gate she bars to Hate, shall open wide to Love! John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892]

BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR SISTER

CAROLINE

[DECEMBER 20, 1860]

SHE has gone, she has left us in passion and pride,—
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side!

She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow,
And turned on her brother the face of a foe!

Oh, Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,

We can never forget that our hearts have been one,—
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name,
From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame!

You were always too ready to fire at a touch;

But we said: “She is hasty,—she does not mean much."
We have scowled when you uttered some turbulent threat;
But Friendship still whispered: "Forgive and forget!"

Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown cold?
Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold?
Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain
That her petulant children would sever in vain.

They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil,
Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil,
Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their caves,
And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the waves:

In vain is the strife! When its fury is past,
Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last,

As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow
Roll mingled in peace through the valleys below.

Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky;

Man breaks not the medal, when God cuts the die!

Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with steel, The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal!

Oh, Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,
There are battles with Fate that can never be won!
The star-flowering banner must never be furled,
For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world!

Go, then, our rash sister! afar and aloof,

Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof;

But when your heart aches and your feet have grown sore, Remember the pathway that leads to our door!

Oliver Wendell Holmes [1809-1894]

THE GREAT BELL ROLAND

SUGGESTED BY THE PRESIDENT'S CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS

[APRIL, 1861]

I

TOLL! Roland, toll!

-High in St. Bavon's tower,
At midnight hour,

The great bell Roland spoke,
And all who slept in Ghent awoke.
-What meant its iron stroke?

Why caught each man his blade?
Why the hot haste he made?
Why echoed every street

With tramp of thronging feet-
All flying to the city's wall?
It was the call

Known well to all,

That Freedom stood in peril of some foe:
And even timid hearts grew bold

Whenever Roland tolled,

And every hand a sword could hold;-
For men

Were patriots then,

Three hundred years ago!

II

Toll! Roland, toll!

Bell never yet was hung,

Between whose lips there swung

So true and brave a tongue!

-If men be patriots still,

At thy first sound
True hearts will bound,

Great souls will thrill

Then toll! and wake the test
In each man's breast,

And let him stand confessed!

III

Toll! Roland, toll!

-Not in St. Bavon's tower

At midnight hour,

Nor by the Scheldt, nor far-off Zuyder Zee;
But here this side the sea!-

And here in broad, bright day!
Toll! Roland, toll!

For not by night awaits

A brave foe at the gates,

But Treason stalks abroad-inside!-at noon!
Toll! Thy alarm is not too soon!

To arms! Ring out the Leader's call!
Reëcho it from East to West,

Till every dauntless breast

Swell beneath plume and crest!

Toll! Roland, toll!

Till swords from scabbards leap!

Toll! Roland, toll!

-What tears can widows weep Less bitter than when brave men fall? Toll! Roland, toll!

Till cottager from cottage-wall

Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun-
The heritage of sire to son,

Ere half of Freedom's work was done!

Toll! Roland, toll!

Till son, in memory of his sire,

Once more shall load and fire
Toll! Roland, toll!

Till volunteers find out the art
Of aiming at a traitor's heart!

IV

Toll! Roland, toll!

-St. Bavon's stately tower

Stands to this hour,

And by its side stands Freedom yet in Ghent; For when the bells now ring,

Men shout, "God save the King!"

Until the air is rent!
-Amen!-So let it be;
For a true king is he

Who keeps his people free.
Toll! Roland, toll!

This side the sea!

No longer they, but we,

Have now such need of thee!

Toll! Roland, toll!

And let thy iron throat

Ring out its warning note,

Till Freedom's perils be outbraved,
And Freedom's flag, wherever waved,
Shall overshadow none enslaved!
Toll! till from either ocean's strand,
Brave men shall clasp each other's hand,
And shout, "God save our native land!”
-And love the land which God hath saved!
Toll! Roland, toll!

Theodore Tilton [1835-1907]

THE PICKET-GUARD

[NOVEMBER, 1861]

"ALL quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing: a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost-only one of the men,
Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle."

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
Or the light of the watch-fire, are gleaming.

A tremulous sigh of the gentle night-wind
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping,
While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.