Poems (Jones)/Threnody

by Amanda Theodosia Jones

THRENODY. IN MEMORY OF CAPT. JOHN W. FALCONER, 41ST REGT. U. S C. T., WHO FELL AT APPOMATTOX, APRIL 8, 1865.

I.
READ night of war, ah fade and fleet!
 With those thy lurid phantoms fade;
Leave thou no shadow at our feet,
 But such as erst the lilies made.
No longer pour on wave and shore
 Thy vial-drops of Plague and Pain;
Let Peace her stainless dews restore,
 And breathe her balms o'er dale and plain.

II.
Alas! but if the lilies blow,
 Fast crowding through each clasping sheath,
They needs must gather all their snow,
 From out the wintry graves beneath!
Or if the silver rains abound,
 Or pure with balm be Summer's breath,
Dews will but damp the funeral mound,
 And every wind will sing of death!

III.
O ardent soul that loved the Right—
 Most noble youth who grasped the brand,
When Freedom, from her towers of light,
 Called far and near, "Come, save the land!"
Friend, brother—in the rush and roar
 Of battle-tides swept out to sea—
We stand together on the shore,
 And all our hearts cry out for thee!

IV.
Oh lost! no more when feasts invite,
 And airs grow rich with jest and song,
When Sorrow, ghost-like, flits from sight,
 Wilt thou the cheery laugh prolong:
For thee shall roses bloom no more,
 Nor rivers roll, nor fountains play;
Nor sunsets blush, nor swift winds soar,
 Nor white moons charm the night away.

V.
And yet arise the glowing morns;
 The starry evenings yet return;
Still Love her golden shrine adorns,
 And bids the costly spices burn;
But if some far land stays the sea,
 If tides that sink will surely swell,
If costlier spices burn for thee,
 Oh, who the precious news will tell?

VI.
What stream our valley-shades will cleave,
 Crystal with leaping mountain-rills,
Some verdant laurel-shred to leave,
 And prove thee dweller on the hills?
What bird her snowy wing will launch,
 O'er floods where suns may never shine,
To bring the little, flowering branch,
 And prove the whole sweet summer thine?

VII.
Howbeit for these we vainly yearn,
 What song nor cymbal may recite,
Nor eager eye and ear discern,
 Our vibrant hearts will learn aright;
And sinking into sunless sleep,
 The glad refrain will murmur o'er,—
"Now drift us on, dark-rolling deep,
 A friend will meet us on the shore!"

VIII.
Phantoms of war, ah fade and fleet!
 The lilies lift their chaliced snow;
Soft are the dews, the balms are sweet;
 Some breath of heaven begins to blow,
And far and near the voice we hear
 Of Freedom chanting o'er her slain,—
"The night is past, the dawn is clear;
 O Sleepers pale, arise and reign!"