Archive for November 11th, 2009

Remembering Our Veterans

November 11, 2009

The Two Volunteers.

I found them there together,
With roses sweet between,
Near by a murmuring river,
Above them heaven’s sheen.
I heard the winds of summer
Sing low a sweet refrain
Above the youth from Georgia,
Above the lad from Maine.

One left his tall palmettos,
The other left his pines,
To stand with gallant thousands
Amid the battle lines.
But now in peace they slumber
In sunshine and in rain;
One northward came from Georgia,
One southward marched from Maine.

No more the battle bugles
Will tell them they were foes,
No more the thunderous cannon
Shall break their deep repose.
Perhaps for them in sorrow,
Beyond the sunny plain,
A mother waits in Georgia,
A sister weeps in Maine.

Perhaps two old-time sweethearts
Still listen for the tread
Of those two youthful gallants
Who sleep among the dead.
I’ve not the heart to tell them
Where camp, in sun and rain,
The boy who came from Georgia,
The boy who marched from Maine.

I heard the murmuring river,
I saw its silvered waves,
I blessed the rich, red clover
That grew upon their graves,
And then I asked the angels
Who watch on heaven’s plain
To guard the boy from Georgia,
To guard the lad from Maine.

No longer are they foemen,
No more they hear the pines
Their song at midnight singing
Between the battle lines.
The hot drums of secession
Will never beat again
To thrill the sons of Georgia,
To rouse the sons of Maine.

I left them to their slumbers —
The blue coat and the gray;
Beside the singing river
They wait the Judgment Day.
Thank God, the starry banner
Beloved on hill and plain,
Waves o’er the boy from Georgia,
And o’er the boy from Maine!

–T.C. HARBAUGH.

The News (Frederick, Maryland) Feb 14, 1891

The Troopers Return sheetmusic 1888

The Trooper’s Return.
(A Scotch-American Ballad.)

When the gloaming was veiling the wooded hills;
And the gold of the summer’s sun
Was passing away in the track of the day,
And the pale stars, one by one,
Were peering out from the saffron haze
That softens the evening calm,
And the last sweet note from the wild bird’s throat,
Had passed like a woodland psalm.
A mother stood with her bairnies three,
By the lane where the road sweeps down,
Where the traveler sees through the apple trees
The spires of the far off town.

“Now, woe is me,” said the sad, lone wife,
“For the weary hours we stan’,
Wi’ sighs and wi’ fears and blindin’ tears,
A waitin’ my dear gude-mon.
Wounded, a prisoner, at last exchanged;
Three weeks and a day hae gane;
But still in tears and a prey to fears,
We wait by the lonely lane.”
While she spoke, from the shaded roadside near,
A tall, lean figure came;
And the red blood shot through her pulses hot
And her veins, like living flame.

O, she thought she saw in the wave of his hand,
A nameless, remembered art
That gave a charm to a strong young arm
When love first came to her heart.
Alas, for the wife wi’ bairnies three!
She met in the traveler lone
No answering trace in his wasted face
Of the long-sought, hoped-for one.
But her heart gushed out in a tender glance,
As she saw in the warrior worn,
A manly form that the battle storm
Had broken and maimed and torn.

“Now, where are ye limpin’ so late good man?
You seem to be unco lame.”
“Good dame,” quo’ he, with a tear in his e’e,
“I’m limping toward my hame.
I’m needing rest and a kindly hand,
As your ain fair een can see;
I’ve been in the fight to protect the right;
The cause o’ the brave and free.
There’s an ugly scar on this leg that’s left,
That mak’s me so feeble seem;
The ither was lost when our squadrons crossed
The ford of a bloody stream.

“‘Twas burning with shame, each drew his rein,
And turning his chargers fleet,
Our general’s words and our good broad swords
Tore victory from defeat.”
She heard in the ring of his manly voice
The rich loved tones of yore.
And the wasted face and the limping pace
Were seen by the wife no more;
To the wreck of the trooper that proudly stood
In the eye of the evening wan,
Her heart gushed out in a sobbing shout,
“Dear God! It’s my ain gude-mon!”

And the wounded and torn of a hundred fights
Was clasped to her woman’s breast;
Forgot were his scars ‘neath the burning stars,
His pains and his needed rest.
His eldest born took his battered sword;
Wee Willie his sash unbound;
While Maud in h’s arms, with her infant charms,
Sat light on an unhealed wound.
He struck from the road with a bounding heart,
Forgetting his gashed, still knee;
Up the sweet lane to his home again,
With his wife and his bairnies three.

The Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 8, 1888

veteransday2009

We Stood For Freedom

We stood for freedom just like you
And loved the flag you cherish too

Our uniforms felt great to wear
You know the feel, and how you care

In step we marched, the cadence way
The same is true with you today

Oh how we tried to do our best
As you do now, from test to test

How young we were and proud to be
Defenders of true liberty

So many thoughts bind soldiers well
The facts may change, not how we jell

Each soldier past, and you now here
Do share what will not disappear

One thought now comes, straight from my heart
For soldiers home, who’ve done their part

I’m honored to have served with you
May Godly peace, help get you through

And now I’ll end with a request
Do ponder this, while home at rest

America, respect our day
Each veteran, helped freedom stay

Written for Veteran’s Day 2002
Roger J. Robicheau

*****

To all our Veterans, THANK YOU!