Poems (Trask)/Little Gray Bess
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LITTLE GRAY BESS.
She climbs to the window-ledge by my side,—
Little gray Bess,—and she touches my face
With her little wet nose that will not be denied,
And she tosses her head with infinite grace;
Poor little kitten! poor little pet!
We have lived on through the sorrow and gloom,—
Ah, little kitten! if we could forget
To recall that June night with its low-hanging moon!
That long-agone night, when the sea-billows broke
Up the sharp shore with a querulous croon!
Little gray Bess,—and she touches my face
With her little wet nose that will not be denied,
And she tosses her head with infinite grace;
Poor little kitten! poor little pet!
We have lived on through the sorrow and gloom,—
Ah, little kitten! if we could forget
To recall that June night with its low-hanging moon!
That long-agone night, when the sea-billows broke
Up the sharp shore with a querulous croon!
George was the last one;—all of them slept
Low in the valley, beside the sad sea;
When I buried my dead, I joyed, while I wept,
That God had been kind and left one to me!
When the war-cloud o'er Sumter's walls broke,
He hurried to me with fire in his eye,
My boy's gentle heart to mankind awoke!
"Mother," he said, "who will falter? Not I!
The black name of coward I loathe with proud scorn!
I, too, judge it sweet for my country to die!"
Low in the valley, beside the sad sea;
When I buried my dead, I joyed, while I wept,
That God had been kind and left one to me!
When the war-cloud o'er Sumter's walls broke,
He hurried to me with fire in his eye,
My boy's gentle heart to mankind awoke!
"Mother," he said, "who will falter? Not I!
The black name of coward I loathe with proud scorn!
I, too, judge it sweet for my country to die!"
Though my heart trembled, my voice did not quake!
Ah, how the wind whistles across the lone moor
And the leaves of the sycamore quiver and shake,
And the sea-gulls are flying in thick to the shore!
I told him God speed, and I buckled his sword,
And enjoined him to ever be loyal and true,
To yield up his life ere the flag he saw lowered,
And trailed in the dust its red, white, and blue!
And I bade him remember this work was the best
That God and his country had called him to do!
Ah, how the wind whistles across the lone moor
And the leaves of the sycamore quiver and shake,
And the sea-gulls are flying in thick to the shore!
I told him God speed, and I buckled his sword,
And enjoined him to ever be loyal and true,
To yield up his life ere the flag he saw lowered,
And trailed in the dust its red, white, and blue!
And I bade him remember this work was the best
That God and his country had called him to do!
When he departed, he patted your head,
Little gray Bess; and I'll never forget
The voice of my boy, as he halted, and said,
"Mother, be kind to my poor little pet."
Ah, little kitten! you listen in vain!
Listening, and waiting, and watching, are o'er!
Wail, pitiless wind! fall, pitiless rain!
And beat, wild sea-billows, upon the sharp shore!
Let me shut tight the window, little gray Bess:
He will come in through the wicket no more!
Little gray Bess; and I'll never forget
The voice of my boy, as he halted, and said,
"Mother, be kind to my poor little pet."
Ah, little kitten! you listen in vain!
Listening, and waiting, and watching, are o'er!
Wail, pitiless wind! fall, pitiless rain!
And beat, wild sea-billows, upon the sharp shore!
Let me shut tight the window, little gray Bess:
He will come in through the wicket no more!
Oh, I remember the fate-burdened day
When they brought me a letter unsullied and white,
Writ in a strange hand,—endorsed "No Delay!"
When I touched it, how swiftly the day changed to night!
Only a line, but the letters glowed red
As with blood,—no more and no less:
"Shot through the heart!" Oh, my brave, noble dead!
But we miss him so sorely, little gray Bess!
And it's lonely and sad, for the nights are so long,
And but you and I left in the house, little Bess!
When they brought me a letter unsullied and white,
Writ in a strange hand,—endorsed "No Delay!"
When I touched it, how swiftly the day changed to night!
Only a line, but the letters glowed red
As with blood,—no more and no less:
"Shot through the heart!" Oh, my brave, noble dead!
But we miss him so sorely, little gray Bess!
And it's lonely and sad, for the nights are so long,
And but you and I left in the house, little Bess!