386
Sam L. Simpson.
Once more around your old campfires,
That smoulder like fulfilled desires,
Rehearse the story of your toils.
Display the hero crowned with spoils
The glimmer of triumphant steel,
Beneath the garland and the braid.
That smoulder like fulfilled desires,
Rehearse the story of your toils.
Display the hero crowned with spoils
The glimmer of triumphant steel,
Beneath the garland and the braid.
O, further than the legions bore
The eagles of Imperial Rome—
Three thousand miles, a weary march,
You followed Hesper's golden torch,
Until it stooped on this green shore,
And lit the rosy fires of home.
It was a solemn morn you turned
And quenched the sacred flames that burned
On hearths endeared for years and years;
It seemed your very souls grew dark
With those sweet fires the latest spark
Was drowned in bitter, bitter tears.
A softer, sweeter sunlight wrapt
The forms of all familiar things,
And as each cord of feeling snapt
Another angel furled its wings:
The lights and shadows in the lane,
The oak beside the foot-worn stile
Whose wheeling shades a weary while
Had told the hours of joy and pain
The vine that clambered o'er the door
And many a purple cluster bore
The vestal flowers of household love
The sloping roof that wore the stain
Of summer sun and winter rain,
And smoky chimney tops above
The beauty of the orchard trees,
Bedecked with blossoms, glad with bees
The brook that all the livelong day
Had many things to sing and say—
All these upon your vision dwell
And weave the sorrow of farewell.
The eagles of Imperial Rome—
Three thousand miles, a weary march,
You followed Hesper's golden torch,
Until it stooped on this green shore,
And lit the rosy fires of home.
It was a solemn morn you turned
And quenched the sacred flames that burned
On hearths endeared for years and years;
It seemed your very souls grew dark
With those sweet fires the latest spark
Was drowned in bitter, bitter tears.
A softer, sweeter sunlight wrapt
The forms of all familiar things,
And as each cord of feeling snapt
Another angel furled its wings:
The lights and shadows in the lane,
The oak beside the foot-worn stile
Whose wheeling shades a weary while
Had told the hours of joy and pain
The vine that clambered o'er the door
And many a purple cluster bore
The vestal flowers of household love
The sloping roof that wore the stain
Of summer sun and winter rain,
And smoky chimney tops above
The beauty of the orchard trees,
Bedecked with blossoms, glad with bees
The brook that all the livelong day
Had many things to sing and say—
All these upon your vision dwell
And weave the sorrow of farewell.
And now the last good-bye is said—
Good-bye! the living and the dead
In those sad words together speak,
And all your chosen ways are bleak!
Forward! The cracking lashes send
A thrill of action down the train,
Their brawny necks the oxen bend
With creaking yoke and clanking chain;
The horsemen gallop down the line,
And swerve around the lowing kine
That straggle loosely on the plain
And lift glad hands to babes that laugh
And dash the buttercups like chaff.
Hurrah! the skies are jewel blue
In tasseled green and braided gold
The robes of April are enrolled,
Good-bye! the living and the dead
In those sad words together speak,
And all your chosen ways are bleak!
Forward! The cracking lashes send
A thrill of action down the train,
Their brawny necks the oxen bend
With creaking yoke and clanking chain;
The horsemen gallop down the line,
And swerve around the lowing kine
That straggle loosely on the plain
And lift glad hands to babes that laugh
And dash the buttercups like chaff.
Hurrah! the skies are jewel blue
In tasseled green and braided gold
The robes of April are enrolled,
