Woe for the homes of the North, And woe for the seats of the South: All who felt life’s spring in prime, And were swept by the wind of their place and time— All lavish hearts, on whichever side, Of birth urbane or courage high, Armed them for the stirring wars— Armed them—some to die. Apollo-like in pride. Each would slay his Python—caught The maxims in his temple taught— Aflame with sympathies whose blaze Perforce enwrapped him—social laws, Friendship and kin, and by-gone days— Vows, kisses—every heart unmoors, And launches into the seas of wars. What could they else—North or South? Each went forth with blessings given By priests and mothers in the name of Heaven; And honor in both was chief. Warred one for Right, and one for Wrong? So be it; but they both were young— Each grape to his cluster clung, All their elegies are sung. The anguish of maternal hearts Must search for balm divine; But well the striplings bore their fated parts (The heavens all parts assign)— Never felt life’s care or cloy. Each bloomed and died an unabated Boy; Nor dreamed what death was—thought it mere Sliding into some vernal sphere. They knew the joy, but leaped the grief, Like plants that flower ere comes the leaf— Which storms lay low in kindly doom, And kill them in their flush of bloom. AMERICA I Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand I saw a Banner in gladsome air— Starry, like Berenice’s Hair— Afloat in broadened bravery there; With undulating long-drawn flow, As tolled Brazilian billows go Voluminously o’er the Line. The Land reposed in peace below; The children in their glee Were folded to the exulting heart Of young Maternity. II Later, and it streamed in fight When tempest mingled with the fray, And over the spear-point of the shaft I saw the ambiguous lightning play. Valor with Valor strove, and died: Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride; And the lorn Mother speechless stood, Pale at the fury of her brood. III Yet later, and the silk did wind Her fair cold form; Little availed the shining shroud, Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. A watcher looked upon her low, and said— She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead. But in that sleeps contortion showed The terror of the vision there— A silent vision unavowed, Revealing earth’s foundation bare, And Gorgon in her hidden place. It was a thing of fear to see So foul a dream upon so fair a face, And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. IV