Hanging from the beam,
  Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
  Shenandoah! 
The cut is on the crown
(Lo, John Brown),
And the stabs shall heal no more.

Hidden in the cap
  Is the anguish none can draw;
So your future veils its face,
  Shenandoah! 
But the streaming beard is shown
(Weird John Brown),
The meteor of the war.

FROM THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS 1860-1

The Ancient of Days forever is young,
  Forever the scheme of Nature thrives;
I know a wind in purpose strong—­
  It spins against the way it drives. 
What if the gulfs their slimed foundations
    bare? 
So deep must the stones be hurled
Whereon the throes of ages rear
The final empire and the happier world.

  Power unanointed may come—­
Dominion (unsought by the free)
  And the Iron Dome,
Stronger for stress and strain,
Fling her huge shadow athwart the main;
But the Founders’ dream shall flee. 
Age after age has been,
(From man’s changeless heart their way they
    win);
And death be busy with all who strive—­
Death, with silent negative.

Yea and Nay—­ Each hath his say; But God He keeps the middle way. None was by When He spread the sky; Wisdom is vain, and prophecy.

THE MARCH INTO VIRGINIA Ending in the First Manassas July, 1861

Did all the lets and bars appear
  To every just or larger end,
Whence should come the trust and cheer? 
  Youth must its ignorant impulse lend—­
Age finds place in the rear. 
  All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys,
The champions and enthusiasts of the state: 
  Turbid ardors and vain joys
    Not barrenly abate—­
  Stimulants to the power mature,
    Preparatives of fate.

Who here forecasteth the event? 
What heart but spurns at precedent
And warnings of the wise,
Contemned foreclosures of surprise? 
The banners play, the bugles call,
The air is blue and prodigal. 
  No berrying party, pleasure-wooed,
No picnic party in the May,
Ever went less loth than they
  Into that leafy neighborhood. 
In Bacchic glee they file toward Fate,
Moloch’s uninitiate;
Expectancy, and glad surmise
Of battle’s unknown mysteries. 
All they feel is this:  ’t is glory,
A rapture sharp, though transitory,
Yet lasting in belaureled story. 
So they gayly go to fight,
Chatting left and laughing right.

But some who this blithe mood present,
  As on in lightsome files they fare,
Shall die experienced ere three days are
    spent—­
  Perish, enlightened by the vollied glare;
Or shame survive, and, like to adamant,
  The throe of Second Manassas share.

BALL’S BLUFF
A Reverie
October, 1861