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DAISY SWAIN, THE FLOWER OF SHENANDOAH; A TALE OF THE REBELLION: 5, by                    
First Line: One bright morn as the lovers near the cot
Last Line: Them in a loathsome dungeon south.
Subject(s): American Civil War; Beauty; Death; Love; Soldiers; United States - History; Women; Dead, The


One bright morn as the lovers near the cot
Breathed forth their vows, Athol, in his own, took
Daisy's hand, and pressed it tenderly; drew
Her to his breast and sigh'd within her ear
The ardent nature of his love. Pallid
Spread her rosy cheeks. She trembled, and 'gainst
Her restraint, hung down her head in silence.
Athol, whose heart was full, stood mute awhile.
He scarce knew what to say, and deeply sigh'd:
But dared at length his passion to reveal.
He told her that he much admired her from
The time her eyes first on him gazed, and that
He then adored her fondly, so much so,
A king his bliss might envy; that, if she were
His own, a soldier's and a lover's soul
She'd crown; that when his term of service ended,
He'd hail her as his future bride; united,
Blest with her, in bitter winds of winter,
And in snow's incessant fall, in ev'ry
Vernal hour he'd with her live forever,
Her heart's true partner.

Now, what a shock was
That to one whose bosom was susceptible
And tender; soon her head reclined all
Pensive, which betrayed that something undefined
Was working in her mind. Some affliction
That spoke her sadden'd thoughts, tho' mute her voice.
In that still mood, she seem'd so like a bird
Allured, pent up in a cage with her captor
Near her, enamored, patiently gazing,
And awaiting its dulcet strains to hear.
As he then did the sanction of her smile.
So, in brief time, from his panting heart, she
Raised her drooping head, and with her face
Upturned, threw her radiant eyes, bedimm'd with tears,
Full on his own.

She told him that 'twere worse
Than death from him to part; that a prey she'd
Be to separation's pain and sorrow;
That none could comfort her but him; then said:
"Alas! when thou art gone, foul darkness will
Be seen where once thy lightsome footstep shone."
Then she hinted fears that, he now being well,
Would forever leave her in affliction,
And bade him, strenuously, to stay with her,
Where peace and undivided love reposed.

But when Athol heard her fear-fraught words, he
Swore he'd never from his plighted faith depart:
That sacred was his word: his mind too pure
And high: his heart too merciful and just;
In short, an honorable youth he was,
And loath'd the very name of infamy:
That naught within the wide world could seduce
Him from her, from truth, nor rectitude.
Then he told her that, although he'd suffer'd
From an outward wound -- a bloody gash, that
He then suffer'd from an inward pang,
A heart-bruise deep, which naught could heal save but
Its kind: -- "the tyrant god which thro' the world
Roams free, and robs its victims of their peace
And liberty."

Then Daisy looking up
With aspect mild, all inexpressive grace,
Her countenance beaming with approving smiles,
Which showed that Athol had with tones undaunted
Sued her not in vain, gladly promised
To commit her hand forever to his trust.
Athol then upon the head of his betrothed
Called Heaven's blessings down, and sealed his faith
With kisses on her dimpling cheek; gave her
From vest pocket, his own portrait color'd,
Which she kissed with ardor sweet, and said; "ah!
Thy much-loved image, Athol, in my heart shall
Be enshrined, by friendship guarded until
Life is gone, as I feel assured thou hast
Indeed an upright heart, a fervent soul,
And temper gen'rous -- jewels which fame nor
Gold can buy."

So, when the sullen clouds of doubt
Flit from her mind, hope's bright sunshine Daisy's thoughts
Illumined and stamped its vignette bloom upon
Her cheeks. With unmixed ardor in her heart
She hailed the joyous day when hand in hand
Together she would with her Athol walk
On sunny paths, and rove in vernal meads,
Where birds and bees and flowers the light obey,
And to their happy sights their silken plumes
Disclose. For, then, no frowning clouds she thought
Were in the sky, ominous of fortune's wrath,
Would cause a tear of agony to start from
Out her gladsome bosom; that no lightning
Would flash and strike the bliss from out their barque
Of hope, while tossing to and fro on life's
Tempestuous billow.

'Twas then the noontide hour.
The fluid gold of light down from its throne
Of blue began to sickly gleam upon
The mountain's slope, as Athol stood prepared
Upon the cottage steps to take his leave.
In tearful eyes, the old folks held him by
The hands; and much regretted that they were,
So soon, deprived of their companion --
Their dear daughter's choice, -- and welcomed him again,
If saved while warring with his brethren 'gainst
Traitors armed in his own country of birth.
Told him, too, that if he'd fall defending
His dear native land, they'd bless his name; but
Hoped that God would spare him.

Then Daisy flung
Her arms around his neck, and clinging to him
Prayed, as on he moved to go, that for the love
Of God and her he'd soon again return.
But, while Athol on the door-step stood wiping
From his humid eyes, the parting tear, he saw
The sunbeam from the casement faded fast,
And heard afar deep-noised rumbling thunder;
Saw the distant light grow faint and sombre;
And, hov'ring in the west, that thick, dark clouds
Announced a hostile sky; that a storm was
Gathering. Still his ardor was undaunted:
He cared not for the thunder's angry voice,
But wish'd to hasten thither on his journey,
To report at Washington for duty.

But just as he pronounced the farewell word
"Adieu," unusual darkness o'er the face
Of nature spread. A vivid flash lit up
The gloom. On through the immeasurable void
Of air, the war of elements roared and made
The welkin ring tremendously. -- A flash --
A rattle, -- down burst clouds of drenching rain. --
Fiercely howled the wind among the trees; they groan'd --
Strained heavily and rustled off their leafy pride:
But a gust still more powerful wrenched from
Its roots an aged oak which grew hard by.
The crash, the old man startled to his feet.
Quickly he ran to the window to see
The damage done, when in a glaring sheet
Of vivid lightning which just then illumed
The dark profound, his quick eye saw, along
The hillside, a troop of mounted horsemen
All drenched unto the skin, slowly wending
Their way onward to'ards the cot.

Foremost in
The van, a stately creature tower'd, bedecked
Full proud in coat of grey all button'd up
But somewhat faded; for, its nap appeared
As if it had seen many dreary seasons.
Armed he was from the saddle to his teeth
With revolvers three, a sabre, carbine,
And a dirk, showing what a monster of
War and human blood was he; and the eye
That fiercely rolled beneath the knitted brow
Of this rough type of man, plainly showed
He was both bloody and remorseless
At his trade. His nag, likewise, looked mean, spare,
Not half fed; and its hide and harness was
With mud and grease and lather much befouled.

Soon at the cottage door the guerilla
Pranced his jaded steed, and deigned to knock. The noise
Of such a rap unusual startled all
The inmates to their feet at once. Quickly
The daughter to the door hasten'd, and with
A curt'sy low and smile serene, welcomed
From the fitful wind and rain, the stranger.

The inmates all, save Athol, looked amazed
Upon his gaudy form, from the knee-top boots
He wore, to his slouch hat by tassel girt.
Then soon, kind Reuben's liberal hand took
By the reins, the fellow's neighing palfrey,
And tied it to a hickory post close by.
As kindly, the matron spread before him
A meal, of which he heartily ate, eyeing,
In the meanwhile, the federal youth disguised,
Whom he pierced, as 'twere intuitively.

[In the section of the poem here omitted the rebel chieftain casts
aspersions on Lincoln. Athol, as hero, is obliged to come to the defense of
his head of state, delivering an impassioned oration which provokes the
scene which follows.]

* * *

This roiled the rebel's temper. He, angry,
Made with his clench'd fist a thrust at Athol,
Who dext'rously warded off the blow;
Then to the door ran, with mouth all foaming
With rage, and shouted to his armed band, "Foes --
Enemy -- hither hasten -- quick." Soon they
The house surrounded, hooted, halloo'd, rushed
Through the door, and like hungry tigers, pounc'd
Quite furious on their prey.

Then all within
The cot was dire confusion. Bitterly
The mother and the daughter wailed. Morose,
The guerilla chief jerked the old man up
Off his knees, and "villain, traitor," term'd him.
While with abject mien and supplication low,
Reuben tried to melt the chieftain's callous heart,
And bade him listen ere he claim'd him: raised
His eyes up heav'nward, and told him he was
Innocent: implored his freedom to restore.
While, meantime, Daisy wrung her hands with anguish:
In mercy lifted up her voice on high:
Bent her knees, and murmuring, bade him spare
Her father's hoary head: to be merciful
And just for the sake of her dear mother,
Stricken down with age, who, if of her spouse
Bereft, wouldn't live to see the morrow's light,
As God would call her from life's checquered scenes.
"Thou hast the power to wound or heal, to blight
Or bless:" but all was dead and still about
The chieftain's heart -- too callous and to all
the finer feelings cold. Nor even could
The nervous tremor of her hands, that clasp'd
His knees, vibrate soft pity to his heart.
Nor her sighs, nor tears, nor accents tender,
Nor e'en the melting sweetness of her eyes,
Nor their fascinating gaze, from which the heart
Of one less hard would sure destruction found.
All her pleadings were, alas! in vain; as
The bold ruffians, in the remnant of the storm,
Quickly bore their captives from the vale, and thrust
Them in a loathsome dungeon South.





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