Then, with sound
      As profound
          As the thunderings resound,
  Come thy wild reverberations in a throe that shakes the ground,
  And a cry
      Flung on high,
          Like the flag it flutters by,
  Wings rapturously upward till it nestles in the sky.

  O the drum! 
      There is some
          Intonation in thy grum
  Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb,
  As we hear
      Through the clear
          And unclouded atmosphere,
  Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the ear!

TOM JOHNSON’S QUIT.

  A passel o’ the boys last night—­
    An’ me amongst ’em—­kindo got
  To talkin’ Temper’nce left an’ right,
    An’ workin’ up “blue-ribbon,” hot;
  An’ while we was a-countin’ jes’
    How many bed gone into hit
  An’ signed the pledge, some feller says,—­
        “Tom Johnson’s quit!”

  We laughed, of course—­’cause Tom, you know,
    He’s spiled more whisky, boy an’ man,
  And seed more trouble, high an’ low,
    Than any chap but Tom could stand: 
  And so, says I “He’s too nigh dead. 
    Far Temper’nce to benefit!”
  The feller sighed agin, and said—­
        “Tom Johnson’s quit!”

  We all liked Tom, an’ that was why
    We sorto simmered down agin,
  And ast the feller ser’ously
    Ef he wa’n’t tryin’ to draw us in: 
  He shuck his head—­tuck off his hat—­
    Helt up his hand an’ opened hit,
  An’ says, says he, “I’ll swear to that—­
        Tom Johnson’s quit!”

  Well, we was stumpt, an’ tickled too,—­
    Because we knowed ef Tom had signed
  Ther wa’n’t no man ’at wore the “blue”
    ’At was more honester inclined: 
  An’ then and there we kindo riz,—­
    The hull dern gang of us ’at bit—­
  An’ th’owed our hats and let ’er whizz,—­
        “Tom Johnson’s quit!”

  I’ve heerd ’em holler when the balls
    Was buzzin’ ’round us wus ’n bees,
  An’ when the ole flag on the walls
    Was flappin’ o’er the enemy’s,
  I’ve heerd a-many a wild “hooray”
    ‘At made my heart git up an’ git—­
  But Lord!—­to hear ’em shout that way!—­
        “Tom Johnson’s quit!”

  But when we saw the chap ’at fetched
    The news wa’n’t jinin’ in the cheer,
  But stood there solemn-like, an’ reched
    An’ kindo wiped away a tear,
  We someway sorto’ stilled agin,
    And listened—­I kin hear him yit,
  His voice a-wobblin’ with his chin,—­
        “Tom Johnson’s quit—­

  “I hain’t a-givin’ you no game—­
    I wisht I was!...  An hour ago,
  This operator—­what’s his name—­
    The one ’at works at night, you know?—­
  Went out to flag that Ten Express,
    And sees a man in front of hit
  Th’ow up his hands an’ stagger—­yes,—­
        Tom Johnson’s quit.”