Poems (Trask)/Widowed and Childless
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WIDOWED AND CHILDLESS.
They brought me the news last night, at moonrise;
I was sitting just here, where the silver fell in;
I remember I thought, as I looked at the skies,
That the world seemed too pure for the entrance of sin.
I was sitting just here, where the silver fell in;
I remember I thought, as I looked at the skies,
That the world seemed too pure for the entrance of sin.
I laid down my head on the cool window-ledge,⁁
Half happy, half sad with a trembling unrest;
I drank in the sweets of the white hawthorn hedge,
And flushed in the air gushing soft from the west.
Half happy, half sad with a trembling unrest;
I drank in the sweets of the white hawthorn hedge,
And flushed in the air gushing soft from the west.
A faint, hollow knock at the portico-door
Jarred on my ear; was it fancied or real?
Sadder sound than had ever alarmed me before,
Or wakened from slumber my dreaming Ideal.
Jarred on my ear; was it fancied or real?
Sadder sound than had ever alarmed me before,
Or wakened from slumber my dreaming Ideal.
I shuddered,—'twas cold,—the night air was chill;
Frigid and icy, my heart stopped its beat.
Omen? oh, was it an omen of ill?
What grim, ghastly phantom my vision would greet?
Frigid and icy, my heart stopped its beat.
Omen? oh, was it an omen of ill?
What grim, ghastly phantom my vision would greet?
Slowly and solemn my visitant came,
With irresolute lips and tear-brimming eye;
Spoke to me pitifully,—called me by name
In a broken voice choked by a shuddering sigh.
With irresolute lips and tear-brimming eye;
Spoke to me pitifully,—called me by name
In a broken voice choked by a shuddering sigh.
"There has been a great battle! Many are slain!"
"Tell me," I cried, "with whom victory rests?"
"Our proud flag," he said, "floats high o'er the plain
Where our brave soldiers lie with their swords on their breasts."
"Tell me," I cried, "with whom victory rests?"
"Our proud flag," he said, "floats high o'er the plain
Where our brave soldiers lie with their swords on their breasts."
"Thank God!" I cried out—"thank God for the Right!"
"Madam," said he, "our true-hearted, brave men
Went down unto death by scores in the fight,
Went down in the fell cannonade!"—and what then?
"Madam," said he, "our true-hearted, brave men
Went down unto death by scores in the fight,
Went down in the fell cannonade!"—and what then?
"God rest them!" I said; but a sharp sword of dread
Pierced into my breast; I felt chilly and numb;
"Speak the worst," said my eyes: "are they living, or dead?"
But my cold lips were ice-flakes frozen and dumb.
Pierced into my breast; I felt chilly and numb;
"Speak the worst," said my eyes: "are they living, or dead?"
But my cold lips were ice-flakes frozen and dumb.
Could it be? can it be? no! no! no! no!
God is too merciful,—God is too kind!
Both my brave sons,—my darlings! laid low!
Heaven be pitiful!—I fall, I am blind!
God is too merciful,—God is too kind!
Both my brave sons,—my darlings! laid low!
Heaven be pitiful!—I fall, I am blind!
Is not that quite enough! both of them slain!
Torn by the cruel shot, bruised by the shell?
Lying still, cold on the blood-crimsoned plain,
Uniformed, armed, open-eyed, as they fell!
Torn by the cruel shot, bruised by the shell?
Lying still, cold on the blood-crimsoned plain,
Uniformed, armed, open-eyed, as they fell!
"Still another," said he. My husband? Great God!
"Killed by a shot from a bold grenadier!"
Poured out his life on the red, reeking sod,
While the tramp of mad chargers smote on his ear!
"Killed by a shot from a bold grenadier!"
Poured out his life on the red, reeking sod,
While the tramp of mad chargers smote on his ear!
I am blasted, desolate, lightning-cursed, shorn!
Let me alone in your triumph, alone,—
Why would you trouble the stricken, afflicted, forlorn?
Leave me, and pass me! I am feelingless stone!
Let me alone in your triumph, alone,—
Why would you trouble the stricken, afflicted, forlorn?
Leave me, and pass me! I am feelingless stone!
When your army comes back with flags streaming out,
With rolling of drums, bugle-blasts, and huzzas,
Flushed hot with your triumph, aloud ye will shout
For the brave, and point to their badges of stars.
With rolling of drums, bugle-blasts, and huzzas,
Flushed hot with your triumph, aloud ye will shout
For the brave, and point to their badges of stars.
Ay, look! let the gleam dazzle! cast not away
A thought to the soldiers who toiled, bled, and died!
Let them rest! they fought well through the smoke-darkened day;
And when you pass me,—look away,—turn aside!
A thought to the soldiers who toiled, bled, and died!
Let them rest! they fought well through the smoke-darkened day;
And when you pass me,—look away,—turn aside!