Hot work; eh, Colonel, wasn't it? Ye mind that narrow front: They called it the "Death-Angle!" Well, well, my lad, we won't Fight that old battle over now: I only meant to say I really can't engage to come upon the twelfth of May. How's Thompson? What! will he be there? Well, now I wan't to know! The first man in the rebel works! they called him "Swearing Joe." A wild young fellow, sir, I fear the rascal was; but then— Well, short of heaven, there wa'n't a place he dursn't lead his men. And Dick, you say, is coming too. And Billy? ah! it's true We buried him at Gettysburg: I mind the spot; do you? A little field below the hill,-it must be green this May; Perhaps that's why the fields about bring him to me today. Well, well, excuse me, Colonel! but there are some things that drop The tail-board out one's feelings; and the only way's to stop. So they want to see the old man; ah, the rascals! do they, eh? Well, I've business down in Boston about the twelfth of May. California's Greeting to Seward. (1869.) We know him well: no need of praise To light to softer paths and ways The world-worn man we honour still. No need to quote those truths he spoke That burned through years of war and shame, While History carves with surer stroke No need to bid him show the scars Who lived to turn his slower feet To see his harvest all complete, The one flag streaming from the pole, 38 California's Greeting to Seward. Ah! rather that the conscious land In simpler ways salute the Man,- The tumult of the waterfalls, Pohono's kerchief in the breeze, Till, lapped in sunset skies of hope, The Young World's Premier treads the slope The Aged Stranger. AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. "I WAS with Grant-" the stranger said; "I was with Grant-" the stranger said; Said the farmer, "Nay, no more,— I prithee sit at my frugal board, And eat of my humble store. "How fares my boy,-my soldier boy, Of the old Ninth Army Corps? I warrant he bore him gallantly In the smoke and the battle's roar !" "I know him not," said the aged man, "And, as I remarked before, I was with Grant-" "Nay, nay, I know," Said the farmer, "say no more: "He fell in battle,-I see, alas! Thou'dst smooth these tidings o'er, Nay, speak the truth, whatever it be, "How fell he ?—with his face to the foe, Oh, say not that my boy disgraced "I cannot tell," said the aged man, Then the farmer spake him never a word, That aged man, who had worked for Grant Some three years before the war. |