4524022Poems — Thy PortraitMary Caroline Denver and Jane Campbell Denver
THY PORTRAIT.
I gaze upon it day by day, Until my eyes are filled with tears, To think that thou art far away, Afar from all that life endears; I, whose sad thoughts so often stray To thee, the loved of other years.
The beautiful is round me still, But it is beautiful no more; The breeze floats gently o'er the hill, As if old feelings to restore; I hear it, but it fails to fill My bosom with the thoughts of yore.
The days that pass since thou hast gone, I count as nothing: unto me They seem but scentless flowers thrown Beneath my footsteps heedlessly; 'No voice with sad regretful tone, Laments that such their death should be.
Where art thou? do the soft skies beam With looks of love upon thee now? Or where our starry banners stream In many a fold above thy brow, Where flashing from their scabbards gleam A thousand weapons, standest thou?
I know thee, wheresoe'er thou art, By the calm brow and truthful eye, Which speak the purpose of thy heart To bear right on unshrinkingly, And nobly act thy destined part, Although the mandate be to die!
Go onward, then! 'twere wrong in me To wish to turn thy steps aside; Too strong the love I bear to thee— Oh, is it all unmixed with pride,— To deem thy heart will ever be To other than brave deeds allied?
Onward! although thy chosen place Should in the front of battle be; Though death should stare thee in the face, Thou wilt lead on unfalteringly: Upon this tranquil brow I trace No shrinking of the soul in thee.
The starry flag above thy head, The flashing sword in thy strong hand, The field of battle with its dead And many a decimated band,— Oh, in those hours of doubt and dread, G-od guard thee and thy native land!
