Men knew their chieftain.  He had borne
  Their insolence through struggling years,
  And they—–­the dastards, the forsworn—­
  Who had ransacked the hemispheres
  For instruments to wreak their scorn

  On him and all of kindred speech,
  Gathered around him with his friends,
  And with stern plaudits heard him preach
  A gospel whose stupendous ends
  Their martyred blood could only reach.

  They gave him honor far and wide,
  As one who backed his word by deed;
  And he whose task had been to guide,
  Was chosen by reclaim to lead
  The men who gathered at his side.

  The crook was banished for the glave;
  The churchman’s black for soldier-blue;
  The man of peace became a brave;
  And, in the dawn of conflict, drew
  His sword his country’s life to save.

  XIX.

  They came from mead and mountain-top;
  They came from factory and forge;
  And one by one, from farm and shop—­
  Still gravel to the Northman’s gorge—­
  Followed the servile Ethiop.

  Gaunt, grimy men, whose ways had been
  Among the shadows and the slums,
  With pedagogue and paladin,
  Rushed, at the rolling of the drums,
  To Philip, and were mustered in!

  The beat of drum and scream of fife,
  Commingling with the thundering tramp
  Of trooping throngs, so changed the life
  Of the calm village that the camp,
  And what it prophesied of strife,

  And hap of loss and hap of gain,
  Became of every tongue the theme;
  Till burning heart and throbbing brain
  Could waking think, and sleeping dream,
  Of naught but battles and the slain.

  XX.

  With eager eyes and helpful hands
  The women met in solemn crowds,
  And shred the linen into bands
  That had been better saved for shrouds,
  Or want’s imperious demands.

  And with them all sad Mildred walked,
  The bearer of a heavy cross;
  For at her side the phantom stalked—­
  Nor left her for an hour—­of loss
  Which by no fortune might be balked.

  For one or all she loved must fall;
  One cause must perish in defeat;
  Success of either would appall,
  And victory, however sweet
  To others, would to her be gall.

  To each, with equal heart allied,
  Her love was like the love of God,
  That wraps the country in its tide,
  And o’er its hosts, benign and broad,
  Broods with its pity and its pride!

  A thousand chances of the feud
  She wove and raveled one by one,—­
  Of hands in kindred blood imbrued,—­
  Of father, face to face with son,
  And friends turned foemen fierce and rude.

  And in her dreams two forms were met,
  Of friends as leal as ever breathed—–­
  Her husband and her brother—­wet
  With priceless blood from swords ensheathed
  In hearts that loved each other yet!