Ballads of Bravery 4

Ballads of Bravery 4

THE BRAVE AT HOME.

 

The maid who binds her warrior’s sash,

With smile that well her pain dissembles,

The while beneath her drooping lash

One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles,

Though heaven alone records the tear,

And fame shall never know the story,

Her heart has shed a drop as dear

As e’er bedewed the field of glory.

 

The wife who girds her husband’s sword,

’Mid little ones who weep or wonder,

And bravely speaks the cheering word,

What though her heart be rent asunder,

Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear

The bolts of death around him rattle,

Hath shed as sacred blood as e’er

Was poured upon a field of battle!

 

The mother who conceals her grief,

While to her breast her son she presses,

Then breathes a few brave words and brief,

Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,

With no one but her secret God

To know the pain that weighs upon her,

Sheds holy blood as e’er the sod

Received on Freedom’s field of honor!

 

[Illustration]

 

 

KANE: DIED FEBRUARY 16, 1857.

 

Aloft upon an old basaltic crag,

Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole,

Gazes with dead face on the seas that roll

Around the secret of the mystic zone,

A mighty nation’s star-bespangled flag

Flutters alone;

And underneath, upon the lifeless front

Of that drear cliff, a simple name is traced,--

Fit type of him who, famishing and gaunt,

But with a rocky purpose in his soul,

Breasted the gathering snows,

Clung to the drifting floes,

By want beleaguered and by winter chased,

Seeking the brother lost amid that frozen waste.

 

Not many months ago we greeted him,

Crowned with the icy honors of the North.

Across the land his hard-won fame went forth,

And Maine’s deep woods were shaken limb by limb;

His own mild Keystone State, sedate and prim,

Burst from decorous quiet as he came;

Hot Southern lips, with eloquence aflame,

Sounded his triumph; Texas, wild and grim,

Proffered its horny hand; the large-lunged West,

From out his giant breast,

Yelled its frank welcome; and from main to main,

Jubilant to the sky,

Thundered the mighty cry,

HONOR TO KANE!

 

* * * * *

 

He needs no tears, who lived a noble life!

We will not weep for him who died so well,

But we will gather round the hearth and tell

The story of his strife.

Such homage suits him well,--

Better than funeral pomp or passing bell.

 

What tale of peril and self-sacrifice,

Prisoned amid the fastnesses of ice,

With hunger howling o’er the wastes of snow;

Night lengthening into months; the ravenous floe

Crunching the massive ships, as the white bear

Crunches his prey. The insufficient share

Of loathsome food;

The lethargy of famine; the despair

Urging to labor, nervelessly pursued;

Toil done with skinny arms, and faces hued

Like pallid masks, while dolefully behind

Glimmered the fading embers of a mind!

 

[Illustration]

 

That awful hour, when through the prostrate band

Delirium stalked, laying his burning hand

Upon the ghastly foreheads of the crew;

The whispers of rebellion, faint and few

At first, but deepening ever till they grew

Into black thoughts of murder: such the throng

Of horrors bound the hero. High the song

Should be that hymns the noble part he played!

Sinking himself, yet ministering aid

To all around him. By a mighty will

Living defiant of the wants that kill,

Because his death would seal his comrades’ fate;

Cheering, with ceaseless and inventive skill,

Those Polar waters, dark and desolate.

Equal to every trial, every fate,

He stands, until spring, tardy with relief,

Unlocks the icy gate,

And the pale prisoners thread the world once more,

To the steep cliffs of Greenland’s pastoral shore,

Bearing their dying chief.

 

Time was when he should gain his spurs of gold

From royal hands, who wooed the knightly state.

The knell of old formalities is tolled,

And the world’s knights are now self-consecrate.

No grander episode doth chivalry hold

In all its annals, back to Charlemagne,

Than that lone vigil of unceasing pain,

Faithfully kept through hunger and through cold,

By the good Christian knight, ELISHA KANE!

 

[Illustration]

 

 

THE LIFE-BOAT.

 

Launch the life-boat! Far on high

The fiery rockets gleam,

While loud and clear the booming signal gun

Says there is work that quickly must be done.

A vessel’s in distress: haste, every one,

Nor idly stop to dream.

 

Launch the life-boat! On the shore

The startled people stand,

And watch the signal lights that shine on high,

And through the pitchy darkness seek to spy

The struggling ship, or to their comrades try

To lend a helping hand.

 

Launch the life-boat! Now the moon

Sheds forth her silvery light,

And shows the boat is off; one long, loud cheer

Breaks from the eager crowd assembled here;

The dip of oars comes to the listening ear,

Upon the silent night.

 

Speed the life-boat and her crew,

Speed them on their watery way!

As joy and hope they bring to hearts cast down,

And waiting ’neath the storm-clouds’ dismal frown,

While wind and wave their trembling voices drown,

Waiting another day.

 

[Illustration]

 

 

THE RED JACKET.

 

’Tis a cold, bleak night. With angry roar

The north winds beat and clamor at the door;

The drifted snow lies heaped along the street,

Swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet;

The clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend,

But o’er the earth in gloom and darkness bend;

Gigantic shadows, by the night-lamps thrown,

Dance their weird revels fitfully alone.

 

In lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease,

Sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas;

In happy homes, where warmth and comfort meet

The weary traveller with their smiles to greet;

In lonely dwellings, where the needy swarm

Round starving embers, chilling limbs to warm,--

Rises the prayer that makes the sad heart light,

“Thank God for home this bitter, bitter night!”

 

But hark! above the beating of the storm

Peals on the startled ear the fire-alarm!

Yon gloomy heaven’s aflame with sudden light;

And heart-beats quicken with a strange affright.

From tranquil slumber springs, at duty’s call,

The ready friend no danger can appall;

Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and brave,

He hurries forth to battle and to save.

 

From yonder dwelling fiercely shooting out,

Devouring all they coil themselves about,

The flaming furies, mounting high and higher,

Wrap the frail structure in a cloak of fire.

Strong arms are battling with the stubborn foe,

In vain attempts their power to overthrow;

With mocking glee they revel with their prey,

Defying human skill to check their way.