But there were hirelings in pursuit, Who thirsted for his golden price; And, swift allied with pimp and brute, And quick to purchase and entice, They found the tree that held their fruit. XXV. The day of Gettysburg had set; The smoke had drifted from the scene, And burnished sword and bayonet Lay rusting where, but yestere'en, They dropped with life-blood red and wet! The swift invader had retraced His march, and left his fallen braves, Covered at night in voiceless haste, To, sleep, in memorable graves, But knew that all his loss was waste. The nation's legions, stretching wide, Too sore to chase, too weak to cheer, Gave sepulture to those who died, And saw their foemen disappear Without the loss of power or pride. And then, swift-sweeping like a gale, Through all the land, from end to end, Grief poured its wild, untempered wail, And father, mother, wife, and friend Forgot their country in their bale. And Philip, with his fatal wound, Was borne beyond the battle's blaze, Across the torn and quaking ground,-- His ear too dull to heed the praise, That spoke him hero, robed and crowned. They bent above his blackened face, And questioned of his last desire; And with his old, familiar grace, And smiling mouth, and eye of fire, He answered them: "My wife's embrace!" They wiped his forehead of its stain, They bore him tenderly away, Through teeming mart and wide champaign, Till on a twilighty cool and gray, And wet with weeping of the rain, They gave him to a silent crowd That waited at the river's marge, Of men with age and sorrow bowed, Who raised and bore their precious charge, Through groups that watched and wailed aloud. XXVI. The hounds of power were at her gate; And at their heels, a yelping pack Of graceless mongrels stood in wait, To mark the issue of attack, With lips that slavered with their hate. With window raised and portal barred, The mistress scanned the darkening space, And with a visage hot and hard-- At bay before the cruel chase-- She held them in her fierce regard. "What would ye--spies and hirelings--what?" She asked with accent, stern and brave; "Why come ye to this sacred spot, Led by the counsel of a knave, And flanked by slanderer and sot? "You have my husband: has he earned No meed of courtesy for me? Is this the recompense returned, That she he loved the best should be Suspected, persecuted, spurned? "My home is wrecked: what would ye more? My life is ruined--what new boon? My children's hearts are sad and sore With weeping for the wounds that soon Will plead for healing at my door! "I hold your prisoner--stand assured: Safe from his foes: aye, safe from you! Safe in a sister's love immured, And by a warden kept as true As e'er the test of faith endured,