Next morning, ere the twinkling stars had set, While officers and men were sleeping yet, A courier rode up to my command, And placed a cipher message in my hand; Then spurring well his horse of dapple grey, With parting salutation rode away. This was the import of that message stern: 'Lay waste the district. All the fences burn. Leave not a house or stable unconsumed.' My father's house among the rest was--doomed. I read that message and my anger blazed, My home to be, by my own orders, razed! A vision rose before my swimming brain, I saw the old parental roof again, I saw my father, as in days of yore, Smoking his pipe beside the open door; I saw his gaze, with penetrating look, Fixed on the pages of some wholesome book; I saw my mother sit beside him, there, Recumbent in her old reclining chair. The vision changed,--I saw her parting tears, My father's parting curse rang in my ears; 'Go! Go!' said he, 'but nevermore return, Go, slay your neighbors, pillage, sack and burn, But never while the golden sun doth shine Be welcomed home as son and heir of mine.' I felt but little longing to return, And less desire to pillage, sack and burn. And yet,--those cruel orders I must give, No power had I to voice the negative. In commonplace affairs of life, 'tis true, Men may elect to do, or not to do. In military operations, they Have no alternative, but to obey. Ah! Fain, from that impending holocaust Would I have snatched them! Rather had I lost The tinselled honors and the epaulettes, And doffed my uniform without regrets, Than harm by word or deed that agèd sire; Yet I must start, who fain would quench the fire. I read and read that cipher message there, How many times, I have not to declare, But over and again I scanned the lines, And pondered well its symbols and its signs; Ironclad were they, from every standpoint viewed, Admitting not of choice or latitude; So, to the officers of my command, I gave their orders, with a trembling hand, And swift as horseflesh ever travelled, went To seek the corps commander in his tent, To crave this boon, or favor, at his hand,-- My father's house be still allowed to stand. 'Twas long before I gained an audience; I felt, but cannot picture the suspense Of that long hour's involuntary wait; Too late, my heart would beat, too late, too late! I took a seat and pulled my watch out once; 'Too late, too late,' the timepiece ticked response! I paced the ground with quick, impatient tread; 'Too late, too late, too late,' my footsteps said! 'Too late, too late, too late!' With fluttering beat My heart responded to my echoing feet.