"Yet what seems strange, that lady there, Housed in the holy house of prayer, Seems just the same for all her tears,-- For all my absent twenty years. "Yea, twenty years to-night, to-night, Just twenty years this day, this hour, Since first I plucked that perfect flower, And not one witness of the rite. "Nay, do not doubt,--I tell you true! Her prayers, her tears, her constancy Are all for me, are all for me,-- And not one single thought for you! "I knew, I knew she would be here This night of nights to pray for me! And how could I for twenty year Know this same night so certainly? "Ah me! some thoughts that we would drown Stick closer than a brother to The conscience, and pursue, pursue Like baying hound to hunt us down. "And then, that date is history; For on that night this shore was shelled, And many a noble mansion felled, With many a noble family. "I wore the blue; I watched the flight Of shells like stars tossed through the air To blow your hearth-stones--anywhere, That wild, illuminated night. "Nay, rage befits you not so well: Why, you were but a babe at best, Your cradle some sharp bursted shell That tore, maybe, your mother's breast! "Hear me! We came in honored war. The risen world was on your track! The whole North-land was at our back, From Hudson's bank to the North star! "And from the North to palm-set sea The splendid fiery cyclone swept. Your fathers fell, your mothers wept, Their nude babes clinging to the knee. "A wide and desolated track: Behind, a path of ruin lay; Before, some women by the way Stood mutely gazing, clad in black. "From silent women waiting there Some tears came down like still small rain; Their own sons on the battle plain Were now but viewless ghosts of air. "Their own dear daring boys in gray,-- They should not see them any more; Our cruel drums kept telling o'er The time their own sons went away. "Through burning town, by bursting shell-- Yea, I remember well that night; I led through orange-lanes of light, As through some hot outpost of hell! "That night of rainbow-shot and shell Sent from your surging river's breast To waken me, no more to rest,-- That night I should remember well! "That night amid the maimed and dead,-- A night in history set down By light of many a burning town, And written all across in red,-- "Her father dead, her brothers dead, Her home in flames,--what else could she But fly all helpless here to me, A fluttered dove, that night of dread? "Short time, hot time had I to woo Amid the red shells' battle-chime; But women rarely reckon time, And perils speed their love when true. "And then I wore a captain's sword; And, too, had oftentime before Doffed cap at her dead father's door, And passed a soldier's pleasant word.