Poems Inspired by "The Harvard Regiment"

For more poetry, be sure to visit Kathie Fraser's superb site, "Poetry and Music of the War Between the States"

THE CROSSING AT FREDERICKSBURG

Troops crossing the river under fire on Dec. 11, 1862

They leaped on the rocking shallops,
Ten offered where one could go,
The breeze was alive with laughter
Till the boatmen began to row.

"How many? I judge four hundred;"
"Who are they? I know to a man;"
Our own Nineteenth and Twentieth,
And the Seventh Michigan.

Then the shore where the rebels harbored
Was fringed with a gush of flame,
And buzzing like bees o'er water
The swarms of their bullets came.

In silence, how dread and solemn!
With courage, how grand and true!
Steadily, steadily onward
The line of shallops drew.

Not a whisper! Each man was conscious
He stood in sight of death!
So he bowed to the awful presence,
And treasured his living breath,

'Twixt death in the air above them
And death in the waves below,
Through balls and grape and shrapnell
They neared-my God! how slow!

And many a brave stout fellow,
Who sprang in the boats with mirth,
Ere they made that fateful crossing
Was a load of lifeless earth.

And many a brave stout fellow,
Whose limbs with strength with rife,
Was torn and crushed and shattered--
A helpless wreck for life.

Cheer after cheer we sent them,
As only armies can,
Cheer for old Massachusetts!
Cheers for young Michigan!

They formed a line of battle,
Not a man was out of place!
Then with level steel they hurled them,
Straight in the rebel's face.

And thus they crossed the river,
Hear me, man, from rear to van;
Three cheers for old Massachusetts!
And three more for young Michigan.

One noonday, at the window in the town,
I saw a sight--saddest that eyes can see--
Young soldiers marching lustily
Unto the wars,
With fifes, and flags in mottoed pagentry;
While all the porches, walks, and doors
Were rich with ladies cheering royally.

They moved like Juny morning on the wave,
Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime
(It was the breezy summer time),
Life throbbed so strong,
How should they dream that Death in a rosy
Clime
Would come to thin their shining throng?
Youth feels immortal, like the Gods sublime.

Weeks passed; and at the window, leaving bed,
By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,
On those brave boys (Ah War! Thy theft);
Some marching feet
Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;
Wakeful I mused, while in the street
Far footfalls died away till none were left.

Aye, deem us proud, for we are more
Than proud of all our mighty dead;
Proud of the bleak and rock-bound shore,
A crowned oppressor cannot tread.

Proud of each rock, and wood, and glen;
Of every river, lake and plain;
Proud of the calm and earnest men
Who claim the right and the will to reign.

Proud of the men who gave us birth,
Who battled with the stormy wave
To sweep the red man from the earth,
And build their homes upon their grave.

Proud of the holy summer morn
They traced in blood upon its sod;
The rights of freemen yet unborn;
Proud of their language and their God.

Proud that beneath our proudest dome
And round the cottage-cradled hearth
There is a welcome and a home
For every stricken race on earth.

Proud that yon slowly sinking sun
Saw drowning lips grow white in prayer,
O'er such brief acts of duty done,
As honor gathers from despair.

Pride, 't is our watchword; "clear the boats"
"Holmes, Putnam, Bartlett, Peirson-Here"
And while this crazy wherry floats
"Let's save our wounded", cries Revere.

Old State-some souls are rudely sped-
This record for thy Twentieth Corps-
Imprisoned, wounded, dying, dead,
It only asks, "Has Sparta more?"

THE MASSACHUSETTS LINE 

by Rev. R.T.S. Lowell

Still first, as long and long ago,

Let Massachusetts muster;

Give her the post right next to the foe;

Be sure that you may trust her.

She was the first to give her blood

For freedom and for honor;

She trod her soul to crimson mud;

God' s Blessing be Upon her!

She never faltered for the right,

Nor ever will hereafter:

Fling up her name with all your might;

Shake roof-tree and shake rafter.

But of old deeds she need not brag,---

How she broke sword and fetter:

Fling out again the old striped flag;

She'll do yet more and better.

In peace, her sails fleck all the seas;

Her mills shake every river;

And where are scenes so fair as these

God and her true hand give her?

In war, her claim who seek to rob;

All others come in later;

It is hers first to front the Mob,

The Tyrant, and the Traitor.

God Bless, God Bless, the glorious State!

Let her have way to battle!

She'll go where batteries clash with fate,

Or where thick rifles rattle.

Give her the Right, and let her try;

And then who can may press her;

She'll go straight on, or she will die;

God Bless her, and God Bless her!

Brave and true-hearted; in his country's cause,
His life he hath lain down;
Noble the deed, and History's page shall tell,
He wore a martyr's crown.

Aye, woven with the amaranthine flowers.
Which bloom where angels dwell,
While patriot's hearts beside his grave may plant,
In love the asphodel.

God comfort those who mourn his early loss,
And wipe their tears away,
With thoughts of meeting him again at last.
Where beams th' eternal day.

Where warlike deeds, for aye are known no more,
And peace rules in each heart,
And sainted heroes loving friends shall greet
No more-oh, joy!-to part.

Beneath the green sods of his native isle,
His honored dust shall rest-
His memory livest, as a patriot true,
In many a grateful breast.

Write now the name of Alley on thy list,
Oh Fame!and write it high:-
Nantucket's brave, heroic sons may fall,
Their names shall never die.

I'm a raw recruit with a bran[d] new suit,
One hundred dollars bounty,
I'm going down to Washington,
To fight for Nantucket County.

SOLDIER BURIED ON THE BATTLEFIELD

A poem quoted by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. in a Memorial Day speech at Harvard in 1895 entitled "The Soldier's Faith". (Theodore Roosevelt admired that 1895 speech so much that as President he nominated Holmes for the US Supreme Court.) Holmes in the 1895 speech spoke of "part of the soldier's faith: Having known great things, to be content with silence." He cited this poem as "a little song sung by a warlike people on the Danube, which seemed to me fit for a soldier's last word...a song of the sword in its scabbard, a song of oblivion and peace. A Soldier has been buried on the battlefield." (A portion of this poem was recited in the 1950 Hollywood movie about Holmes, "The Magnificent Yankee.")

And when the wind in the tree-tops roared,
The soldier asked from the deep dark grave:
"Did the banner flutter then?"
"Not so, my hero," the wind replied.
"The fight is done, but the banner won,
Thy comrades of old have borne it hence,
Have borne it in triumph hence."
Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave:
"I am content."

Then he heareth the lovers laughing pass,
and the soldier asks once more:
"Are these not the voices of them that love,
That love--and remember me?"
"Not so, my hero," the lovers say,
"We are those that remember not;
For the spring has come and the earth has smiled,
And the dead must be forgot."
Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave:
"I am content."

(c) 1998 by Bob Dame. All rights reserved.