Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving candles and lamps,

And by one great pitchy torch stationary with wild red flame and clouds of smoke,

By these, crowds, groups of forms vaguely I see on the floor,

some in the pews laid down,

At my feet more distinctly a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen,)

I stanch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as

a lily,)

Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene fain to absorb it all,

Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most in obscurity, some of them dead,

Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, the odor of blood,

The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms, the yard outside

also fill'd,

Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in the death-spasm sweating,

An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's shouted orders or calls, The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of

the torches,

These I resume as I chant, I see again the forms, I smell the odor, Then hear outside the orders given, Fall in, my men, fall in; But first I bend to the dying lad, his eyes open, a half-smile gives

he me,

Then the eyes close, calmly close, and I speed forth to the

darkness,

Resuming, marching, ever in darkness marching, on in the

ranks,

The unknown road still marching.

A Sigbt in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim.

A SIGHT in camp in the daybreak gray and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless,

[tent,

As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there untended

lying,

Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket, Gray and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

Curious I halt and silent stand,

Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first

just lift the blanket;

Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-gray'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?

Who are you my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step- and who are you my child and darling?

Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third

-a face nor child nor old, very calm, as of

beautiful yellow-white ivory;

Young man I think I know you-I think this face is the face

of the Christ himself,

Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.

As Toilsome 1 Wander'd Virginia's Woods.

As toilsome I wander'd Virginia's woods,

To the music of rustling leaves kick'd by my feet, (for 't was

autumn,)

I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier;

Mortally wounded he and buried on the retreat, (easily all could

I understand,)

[sign left, The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose—yet this On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave, Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering,

Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life, Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone, or in the crowded street,

Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave, comes the inscription rude in Virginia's woods,

Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

Not the Pilot.

NOT the pilot has charged himself to bring his ship into port, though beaten back and many times baffled;

Not the pathfinder penetrating inland weary and long,

By deserts parch'd, snows chill'd, rivers wet, perseveres till he reaches his destination,

More than I have charged myself, heeded or unheeded, to compose a march for these States,

[hence.

For a battle-call, rousing to arms if need be, years, centuries

Year that Trembled and Reel'd beneath Me.

YEAR that trembled and reel'd beneath me!

Your summer wind was warm enough, yet the air I breathed

froze me,

A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken'd me,
Must I change my triumphant songs? said I to myself,
Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baffled,
And sullen hymns of defeat?

The Wound-Dresser.

I

An old man bending I come among new faces,

Years looking backward resuming in answer to children,

Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love

me,

(Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war,

But soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd

myself,

To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the

dead;)

Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these

chances,

Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was

equally brave;)

Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth,

Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us?

What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,

Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest

remains ?

2

O maidens and young men I love and that love me,

What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls,

Soldier alert I arrive after a long march cover'd with sweat and

dust,

In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of successful charge,

Enter the captur'd works—yet lo, like a swift-running river they

fade,

Pass and are gone they fade-I dwell not on soldiers' perils or

soldiers' joys,

(Both I remember well-many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content.)

But in silence, in dreams' projections,

While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,

So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off

the sand,

With hinged knees returning I enter the doors, (while for you up

there,

Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart.)

Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,

Straight and swift to my wounded I go,

Where they lie on the ground after the battle brought in,