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Page 155
Thickly on the trampled grasses
Lay the battle's awful traces,
'Mid the blood-stained clover-blossoms
Lay the stark and ghastly faces,
With no mourners bending downward
O'er a costly funeral pall;
And the dying daylight softly,
With the starlight watched o'er all.
VI.
And, where eager, joyous footsteps
Once perchance were wont to pass,
Ran a little streamlet making
One "blue fold in the dark grass;"
And where, from its hidden fountain,
Clear and bright the brooklet burst
Two had crawled, and each was bending
O'er to slake his burning thirst.
VII.
Then beneath the solemn starlight
Of the radiant jewelled skies,
Both had turned, and were intently
Gazing in each other's eyes.
Both were solemnly forgiving--
Hushed the pulse of passion's breath--
Calmed the maddening thirst for battle,
By the chilling hand of death.
VIII.
Then spoke one, in bitter anguish:
"God have pity on my wife,
And my children, in New Hampshire;
Orphans by this cruel strife."
And the other, leaning closer,
Underneath the solemn sky,
Bowed his head to hide the moisture
Gathering in his downcast eye:
IX.
"_I've_ a wife and little daughter,
'Mid the fragrant Georgia bloom,"--
Then his cry rang sharper, wilder,
"Oh, God! pity all their gloom."
And the wounded, in their death-hour,
Talking of the loved ones' woes,
Nearer drew unto each other,
Till they were no longer foes.
X.
And the Georgian listened sadly
As the other tried to speak,
While the tears were dropping softly
O'er the pallor of his cheek:
"How she used to stand and listen,
Looking o'er the fields for me,
Waiting, till she saw me coming,
'Neath the shadowy old plum-tree.
Never more I'll hear her laughter,
As she sees me at the gate,
And beneath the plum-tree's shadows,
All in vain for me she'll wait."
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