VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night; When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,

One look I but gave which your dear eyes returned with a look I shall never forget, One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reached up as you lay on the ground, Then onward I sped in the battle, the evencontested battle,

Till late in the night relieved to the place at last again I made my way,

Found you in death so cold dear comrade, Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the moderate nightwind,

Long then and there in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle field spread ing,

Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,

But not a tear fell, nor even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,

Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my chin in my hands,

Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest comrade-not a tear not a word,

Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier,

As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,

Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death,

I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,) Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appeared,

My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, enveloped well his form,

Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head, and carefully under feet,

And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rudedug grave I deposited,

Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim,

Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)

Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how day brightened,

I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket,

And buried him where he fell.

Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,

Passing the yellow-speared wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,

Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,

Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,

Night and day journeys a coffin.

Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,

With the pomp of the inlooped flags with the cities draped in black,

With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veiled women standing,

With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,

With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads, With the waiting depôt, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,

With dirges through the night, with the thousand
voices rising strong and solemn,
With all the mournful voices of the dirges
poured around the coffin,

The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs
-where amid these you journey,
With the tolling tolling bells' perpetual clang,
Here, coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac.

Sing on there in the swamp,

O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call,

I hear, I come presently, I understand you, But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detained me,

The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.

Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird, Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes,

Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.

Sing on, dearest brother, warble your reedy song,

Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. O liquid and free and tender!

O wild and loose to my soul-O wondrous singer!

You only I hear-yet the star holds me (but will soon depart,)

Yet the lilac with mastering odour holds me.

From deep secluded recesses,

From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still,

Came the carol of the bird.

And the charm of the carol rapt me,

As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night,

And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

Come lovely and soothing death,

Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,

In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later, delicate death.

Praised be the fathomless universe,

For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious,

And for love, sweet love-but praise! praise! praise!

For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.

The night in silence under many a star, The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know,

And the soul turning to thee O vast and wellveiled death,

And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. Over the tree-tops I float thee a song, Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide, Over the dense-packed cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,

I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee death.

To the tally of my soul,

Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night.

Loud in the pines and cedars dim,

Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp. perfume,

And I with my comrades there in the night.

I cease from my song for thee,
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting
the west, communing with thee,
O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.

Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night,

The song, the wondrous chant of the greybrown bird,

And the tallying chant, the echo aroused in my soul,

With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe,

With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,

Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well,

For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands-and this for his dear sake,

Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,

There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.

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 four-score 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 one 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 snatched 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.

See also IN WAR TIME

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word.
'Who touches a hair of yon 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.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well,

And through the hill-gaps, sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honour to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!

40

50

60

In tempting row the naked dumplings lay, When lo! the monarch, in his usual way, Like lightning spoke, 'What's this? what's this? what, what?'

Then taking up a dumpling in his hand,
His eyes with admiration did expand;

And oft did majesty the dumpling grapple: "Tis monstrous, monstrous hard, indeed!' he cried,

'What makes it, pray, so hard!' The dame replied,

Low curtsying, 'Please your majesty, the 20 apple.'

FULL of the art of brewing beer,

The monarch heard of Whitbread's fame; Quoth he unto the queen, 'My dear, my dear, Whitbread hath got a marvellous great name. Charly, we must, must, must see Whitbread brew

Rich as us, Charly, richer than a Jew.
Shame, shame we have not yet his brewhouse

seen!'

Thus sweetly said the king unto the queen!

Red hot with novelty's delightful rage,
To Mister Whitbread forth he sent a page,
To say that majesty proposed to view,
With thirst of wondrous knowledge deep in-
flamed,

His vats, and tubs, and hops, and hogsheads famed,

And learn the noble secret how to brew.

Now majesty into a pump so deep
Did with an opera-glass so curious peep:
Examining with care each wondrous matter
That brought up water!

Thus have I seen a magpie in the street,
A chattering bird we often meet,
A bird for curiosity well known,
With head awry,

And cunning eye,

Peep knowingly into a marrow-bone.

And now his curious majesty did stoop To count the nails on every hoop; And lo! no single thing came in his way, That, full of deep research, he did not say, 'What's this? hae, hae? What's that? What's this? What's that?'

So quick the words too, when he deigned to speak,

As if each syllable would break its neck.

Now boasting Whitbread serious did declare, To make the majesty of England stare, That he had butts enough, he knew, Placed side by side, to reach to Kew; On which the king with wonder swiftly cried, 'What, if they reach to Kew, then, side by side,

What would they do, what, what, placed end to end?"

To whom, with knitted calculating brow,
The man of beer most solemnly did vow,

Almost to Windsor that they would extend:
On which the king, with wondering mien,
Repeated it unto the wondering queen;
On which, quick turning round his haltered 60
head,

The brewer's horse, with face astonished, neighed;

The brewer's dog, too, poured a note of thunder, Rattled his chain, and wagged his tail for

wonder.