And Philip, grown to higher rank, Crowned with the bays of splendid deeds, Of the full cup of glory drank, And lived, though all his reeking steeds In the red front of conflict sank. The star of conquest waxed or waned, Yet still the call came back for men; Still the lamenting town was drained, And still again, and still again, Till only impotence remained! XXIII. There came at length an eve of gloom-- Dread Gettysburg's eventful eve-- When all the gathering clouds of doom Hung low, the breathless air to cleave With scream of shell and cannon-boom! Man knew too well; and woman felt, That when the next-wild morn should rise, A blow of battle would, be dealt Before whose fire ten thousand eyes-- As in a furnace flame--would melt. And on this eve--her flock asleep-- Knelt Mildred at her lonely bed. She could not pray, she did not weep, But only moaned, and moaning, said: "Oh God! he sows what I must reap! "He will not live: he must not die! But oh, my poor, prophetic heart! It warns me that there lingers nigh The hour when love and I must part!" And then she startled with a cry, For, from beneath her lattice, came A low and once repeated call! She knew the voice that spoke her name, And swiftly, through the midnight hall She fluttered noiseless as a flame, And on its unresisting hinge Threw wide her hospitable door, To one whose spirit did not cringe Though he was weak, and knew he bore No right her freedom to infringe. She wildly clasped his neck of bronze; She rained her kisses; on his face, Grown tawny with a thousand suns, And holding him in her embrace, She led him to her little ones, Who, reckless of his coming, slept. Then down the stair with silent feet, And through the shadowy hall she swept, And saw, between her and the street, A form that into darkness crept. She closed the door with speechless dread; She fixed the bolt with trembling hand; Then led the rebel to his bed, Whom love and safety had unmanned, And left him less alive than dead. Through nights and days of fear and grief, She kept her faithful watch and ward, But love and rest brought no relief; And all he begged for of his Lord Was death, with passion faint and brief. XXIV. Around the house were prying eyes, And gossips hiding under trees; And Mildred heard the steps of spies At midnight, when, upon her knees, She sought the comfort of the skies. Strange voices rose upon the night; Strange errands entered at the gate; Her hours were months of pale affright; But still her prisoner of state Was shielded from their eager sight. They did not dare to force the lock Of one whose deeds had been divine, Or carry to her heart the shock Of violence, although condign Toward one who dared the laws to mock.