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DAISY SWAIN, THE FLOWER OF SHENANDOAH; A TALE OF THE REBELLION: 2, by                    
First Line: Sounds of trumpet, drum, and shrilling fife
Last Line: His lifeless flesh.
Subject(s): American Civil War; Beauty; Death; Love; Soldiers; United States - History; Women; Dead, The


Sounds of trumpet, drum, and shrilling fife were
Heard through all the land, rousing men to arms,
Hurrying on the deadly conflict by
Parasites and cowards, both of North and South,
Who feared to stain their own right hands in
Human gore; and from window, pole, and peak,
Waved the civic garland of our liberties,
Inspiring chivalrous men to furious fight.

Then songs and bloody hymns were sung by sons
Undaunted, as they thro' the madden'd nation
March'd straight on to the red fields of slaughter, there
With dearest blood to fertilize the soil,
And earn, in righteous cause, a glorious name.
Soon war and rapine wild, both far and near, stalked
Madly o'er Virginia's soil. There, down in
The fertile valley of the Shenandoah,
Resounded loud red War's fierce rattle. There
Advancing hosts of bannered foemen met,
Emblazoned gay, in pride of fancy dress,
And charged each foremost line with musketry.
Alert, the rebels bold with desperate dash
Hurled, with all their ardor wild, their forces strong
Upon their Federal foes. Fiercely flashed
The red artillery. Swiftly shrieking shells
Burst in among the brave, and made their blood
In torrents flow. Then bayonets charged and clashed
Against each glitt'ring blade. Horse and rider
Plunged into the fray, and swelled the mortal strife
Of battle hot: while Death, through sulph'rous clouds
Of smoke, grinn'd and gloated as he eyes firm
Heroes, from their shattered lines and columns,
Fall and swell the slaughter; and where the maimed
Lay, here and there, upon the gory field,
Rending the air with fitful cries and groans,
Writhing, like wounded snakes, from horrid tortures.

So, in full retreat and loose array, down
The hill the Federals wildly rushed, o'erwhelm'd;
Rank and file, hard pressed by the rebels:
Through thickets dense, 'cross fertile fields and vales,
Dismayed their broken columns flew, leaving
On that bloody field many comrades brave,
Who now sleep in their trench-dug sepulchres.
Yet, one among the federal bands, wounded
And faint from loss of blood, footsore, halted
At a gurgling brook, where he, all smeared with
His life-blood, stooped down; and, in the hollow
Of his right hand, scoop'd drops of water few,
With which his burning thirst he quenched.

Then, from
The margin of the stream, he tried to raise himself,
Fearing, lest he there too tardy stayed, captured
He might be by some disloyal enemy
Prowling rampant round those parts, in hot pursuit
Of straggling and of ambushed foes: but irksome
Was the task. The sinews of his knees
Were void of strength. His tired limbs the burden
Of his body could not bear. A shudder
Shook his jaded frame: 'twas the harbinger
Of comfortless despair which soon darkened
His fevered brain; for, ere long, his head grew
So giddy, that the verdant landscape seemed
Unto his blurred eyes, just like a green mist
Risen from the ground. Then, round and round, his head
Reeled. Faint and sick at heart, he stagg'ring grasped,
With feeble hands, a willow twig dangling
Near him; and with its friendly aid lower'd
Himself down upon the damp grass, resolved
To abide the ordeal of strengthless fate.

* * *

But his fevered mind soon somnolent became.
In dreamy mood he thought of the home he'd left
Behind him, and of his aged mother
Far away: he fancied he saw her smile;
And with her arms outstretched in fullness of
Joy, ready to clasp to her fond bosom
Her soldier son. He, likewise, thought he heard
Her soft voice say, "Oh! Athol dear, how glad
Am I to see that you have home returned
From the rebellious, frantic scheme, with none
But honored scars." Then, thoughtful, he smiled; but
'Twas only a sickly gleam of joy,
As pale and transient as a streak of sunlight
Breaking through a rain-cloud, which shone upon
His wan face: for soon the past joys of home
And friends, his ardent fancy had conjured,
Quickly vanished before his reason's strength,
And left his mind in dark, despondent gloom.
Then he wept; for he keenly realized
The true condition of his hapless plight
And how fallacious was the hope, in such
A dying state, of ever sharing, with
His tender parent, her gladsome care again.

* * *

'Twas then twilight, yet no friendly succor
Came to his aid. Alone, the evening dew,
As 'twere, seemed to commiserate him, in
His hapless state, with tears compassionate
Shed on his languid form; and when he saw
The light of day fast fading from his view,
Hope's bright beam flickered in his panting heart.
Still, he'd judge it folly to repine 'gainst
What Heaven ordained, as his conscience told him
That man, soever good, and soldier brave,
Are sometimes in this checquered life destined
To suffer torturing ills, which often
Bring them, ere their lives have run the length of
The allotted span, down to early graves.

But it would, he thought, have been more honorable
If fate, with her unerring hand, had hurled
Upon the field, rebellion's missile swift
Through his brain; so that he could have fallen
'Mong many warring hosts unknown, but brave,
And mingled his with their courageous blood,
Than there, with feelings sore, linger and waste
Away by fever; be flesh-conquered; die
And rot: his body fill no hallowed vault
Nor soldier's grave, but lie exposed, where
Buzzards sought their prey: he shudder'd at the thought,
And gasping, shrieked aloud, they soon would
Fly around his bier and riot on
His lifeless flesh.




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