Civil War poetry melds the essence of literature and history in one. By reading the poems and
understanding the historic context, the readers could explore the vast wealth of the American
culture of the middle 19th century. The outcome of this last romantic war defines us as what we
were, what we are and what we will be. We will examine some samples of these fine poems.
On December 20, 1860, South Carolina seceded from the Union and then, Mississippi, Florida,
Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas followed. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., born in Cambridge,
MA, graduated from Harvard at age 20, became famous for his poem "Old Ironsides" at the tender
age of 21. Not only was he a poet, he was also a physician and Harvard professor. His son, who
bore the same name, was just as famous. Junior also attended Harvard, fought in the Civil War,
and was later appointed Mass. Supreme Court Chief Justice, and U.S. Supreme Court Justice.
The poem was written on March 25, 1861. The mood was very conciliatory. No anger and blame
was reflected and only longing for the return of the Allegoric prodigal sister. The prediction
of the outcome of the war and the ultimate return of the sisters were unkeenly accurate.
Brother Jonathan's lament for Sister Caroline
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (1809-1894)
Stanza 1, 2, 5 and 9
She has gone --- she has left us in passion and pride, ---
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side!
She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow,
And turned on her brother the face of a foe!
O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,
We can never forget that our hearts have been one, ---
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name,
From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame!
They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil, ---
Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil,
Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their caves,
And the shark tracks the pirates, the lord of the waves:
Go, then, our rash sister! Afar and aloof, ---
Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof;
But when your heart aches and your feet have grown sore,
Remember the pathway that leads to our door!
On the contrary, Henry Timrod, the "Laureate of the Confederacy," born in Charleston,
South Carolina, wrote this poem on the eve of the naval attack on Charleston by Union
Admiral Samuel Dupont on April 17, 1863. The famous landmark of Ft. Sumter and
Ft. Moultrie were cited in the poem.
Charleston
Henry Timrod (1828-1867)
Stanza 1, 2, 3 and 11
Calm as that second summer which precedes
The first fall of the snow,
In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds,
The city bides the foe.
As yet, behind their ramparts, stern and proud,
Her bolted thunders sleep, ---
Dark Sumter, like a battlemented cloud,
Looms o'ver the solemn deep.
No Calpe frowns from lofty cliff or scaur
To guard the holy strand;
But Moultrie holds in leash her dogs of war
Above the level sand.
We know not; in the temple of the Fates
God has inscribed her doom:
And, all untroubled in her faith, she waits
The triumph or the tomb.
Walt Whiteman's poems broke new ground from his contemporaries traditional style of
sentimentalism and rhyme. His poetry projected raw power and realism, not quite
acceptable by his critics. His voice is modern and commands immediacy. During the
Civil War, he contributed his efforts in taking care of the wounded. The readers could
feel the pulse, sound and color of his depiction.
An Army Corps on the March
Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
With its cloud of skirmishers in advance,
With now the sound of a single shot snapping like a whip,
and now an irregular volley,
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on,
Gliterring dimly, toiling under the sun --- the dust-cover'd men,
In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground,
With artillery interspers'd --- the wheels rumble, the horses sweat,
As the army corps advances.
Bivouac on a Mountain side
Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
I see before me now a traveling army halting,
Below a fertile valley spread,
with barns and the orchards of summer,
Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain,
abrupt, in places rising high,
Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars,
with tall shapes dingily seen,
The numerous camp-fires scatter'd near and far,
some away up on the mountain,
The shadowy forms of men and horses,
looming, large-sized, flickering,
And over all the sky --- the sky! far, far out of reach,
studded, breaking out, the eternal Stars.
Whitman penned the bivouvack of the Union army. Now it is the Confederate's turn. Margaret
Junkin is the sister-in-law of Stonewall Jackson. She is the older sister of Stonewall's first
wife. After her younger sister died, she became close to Jackson. Both were very religious. At
that time, their church's by-laws forbid a person to marry one's in-laws, and therefore, both
of them won't allow their closeness to blossom into romance. Margaret later married
J.T.L. Preston, the founder and professor of the Virginia Military Institute, where Stonewall
taught.
Even though the poem itself has no indication of which Confederate army, I am sure she is
referring to Stonewall's army in the Blue Ridges Mountains, where there were plenty of snow
in its summit during his 1861-1862 Winter campaign.
The bivouac in the snow
Margaret Junkin Preston (1820-1897)
Stanza 1 and 2
Halt! --- the march is over,
Day is almost done;
Loose the cumbrous knapsack,
Drop the heavy gun.
Chilled and wet and weary,
Wander to and fro,
Seeking wood to kindle
Fire amidst the snow.
Shivering, 'midst the darkness,
Christian men are found,
There devoutly kneeling
On the frozen ground ---
Pleading for their country,
In the hour of woe ---
For its soldiers marching
Shoeless through the snow.
James M. Thompson wrote about the calmness and the way of life in Savannah, Georgia.
Savannah did not see the destruction of war, not until Gen. Sherman marched his army
to the sea. Owing to the retreat of Hardee's Confederate army, Savannah surrendered
and was saved from Sherman's destruction.
To the South
James Maurice Thompson (1844-1901)
Stanza 5
Lo! From the war-cloud, dull and dense,
Loyal and chaste and brave and strong,
Come forth the South with frankincense,
And vital freshness in her song.
The weight is fallen from her wings;
To find a purer air she springs
Out of the Night into the Morn,
Fair as cotton, sound as corn.
The author of the famous novel "Moby Dick", Herman Melville, specialized in writing
seafaring tales. He had lived in Nantucket and New Bedford, the whaling centers of America.
During 1861 to 1865, he moved to Pittsfield, Massachusetts. He chose not to participate
directly in the Civil War, except writing poetry about it. He had not witnessed any part of
the conflict, until after the Spring of 1864. The claims that he made on his * "observation"
above Vicksburg was purely a writer's imagination, no matter how vivid he described it. The
poem depicted a phase of General Ulysses S. Grant's troop movement to capture Vicksburg
in 1863.
Running the batteries
Herman Melville (1819-1891)
Stanza 4 and 14
*As observed from the anchorage above Vicksburg, April, 1863
A flame leaps out; they are seen;
Another and another gun roars;
We tell the course of the boats through the screen
By each further fort that pours,
And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores.
The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one,
Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly.
But the gauntlet now is nearly run,
The spleenful forts by fits reply,
And the burning boat dies down in the morning's sky.
The tragic terror of war indirectly described by Shepherd's roll call. It said it all.
Only those who did the actual fighting really understood the horror of war. He showed the
dark side of "glory", bearing witness of the terrible loss. This regiment could be the Blue
or the Gray. It made no difference.
Roll Call
Nathaniel Graham Shepherd (1834-1888)
Stanza 2, 5, 7 and 10
"Cyrus Drew!" --- then a silent fell;
This time no answer followed the call;
Only his rear-man had seen him fall:
Killed or wounded --- he could not tell.
For the foe had crossed from the other side,
That day, in the face of a murderous fire
That swept them down in its terrible ire;
And their life-blood went to color the tide.
"Ezra Kerr!" --- and a voice answered "Here!"
"Hiram Kerr!" --- but no man replied.
They were brothers, these two; the sad wind sighed,
And a shudder crept through the cornfield near.
'Twas a victory, yes; but it cost us dear:
For that company's roll, when called at night,
Of a hundred men who went into the fight,
Numbered but twenty that answered "Here!"
Poetry in the Nineteenth century was generally didactic and expressive.
We have read poetry on a depleting regiment and now we are going to look at an individual
soldier, dying not from a glorious chivalric fight, but from an senseless random bullet shot,
probably from a Sharpshooter, on Longfellow's Killed at the Ford. His famous poem
"Evangeline" brought him enough royalty that he could resigned from a Harvard faculty
position. He was one of the most respected and beloved poets in America.
Killed at the Ford
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
Stanza 1 and 3
He is dead, the beautiful youth,
The heart of honor, the tongue of truth,
He, the life and light of us all,
Whose voice was blithe as a bugle-call,
Whom all eyes followed with one consent,
The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word,
Hushed all murmurs of discontent.
Sudden and swift a whistling ball
Came out of a wood, and the voice was still;
Something I heard in the darkness fall,
And for a moment my blood grew chill;
I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks
In a room where some one lying dead;
But he made no answer to what I said.
The poem, Civile Bellum, also known as the Fancy Shot, was first printed in London,
England. It told a story of a captain, ordered by his superior to shoot his brother. Such a
tragic scene from the War between the states, depicted the conflict of duties: the duty of
fighting for the survival of one's country, versus the duty protect your own blood from harm.
Civile Bellum
Charles Dawson Shanly (1811-1875)
Stanza 1 and 6
"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot
Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;
Ring me a bell in the glittering spot
That shines on his breast like an amulet!"
"Ha! Rifleman, flung me the locket! --- 'tis she,
My brother's young bride, and the fallen dragroon
Was her husband --- Hush! Soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree,
We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!"
Catholic priest Father Ryan of Maryland devoted deeply to his Confederate cause. He wrote
this poem on Lee on the Medieval chivalry, the essence of pure knight with the pure sword,
radiant with honor in victory and in defeat.
The Sword of Robert E. Lee
Abram Joseph Ryan (1839-1894)
Stanza 1 and 4
Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright,
Flashed the sword of Lee!
Far in the front of the deadly fight,
High o'er the brave in the cause of Right
Its stainless sheen, like a beacon light,
Led us to Victory!
Out of the scabbard, Never hand
Waved sword from stain as free,
Nor purer sword led braver band,
Nor braver bled for a brighter land,
Nor brighter land had a cause so grand,
Nor cause a chief like Lee!
Ms. Sherwood depicted Sidney Johnston as the Greek mighty Hector fallen in the epic
battle of Troy.
Albert Sidney Johnston
Kate Brownlee Sherwood (1841-1914)
Stanza 3 and 6
'Twas Albert Sidney Johnston led the columns of the Gray,
Like Hector on the plains of Troy his presence fired the fray;
And dashing horse and gleaming sword spake out his royal will
As on the slopes of Shiloh field the blasts of war blew shrill.
Though Prentiss and his gallant men are forcing scaur and crag,
They fall like sheaves before the scythes of Hardee and of Bragg;
Ah, who shall tell the victor's tale when all the strife is past,
And fill the besieging armies with wild disheveled fear.
The Union sent 3 armies to the Shenandoah Valley to deal with Stonewall Jackson's small
"foot cavalry" who turned the battles into smashing Confederate victories. John Palmer wrote
Jackson's success in 1862, in Garret County, Maryland, while the guns were still roaring in
his ears.
Stonewall Jackson's Way
John Williamson Palmer (1825-1906)
Stanza 1 and 2
Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails,
Stir up the camp-fire bright;
No growling if the canteen fails,
We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,
To swell the Brigade's rousing song
Of "Stonewall Jackson's way."
We see him now --- the queer slouched hat
Cocked o'er his eye askew;
The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat,
So calm, so blunt, so true.
The "Blue-light Elder" knows 'em well;
Says he, "That's Banks - he's fond of shell;
Lord save his soul! We'll give him ---" well!
That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."
When the Emancipation Proclamation took effect in January 1, 1863, Ralph Waldo Emerson,
lecturer, essayist and poet, recited the "Boston Hymn" in the Music Hall (today's Symphony
Hall.)
Boston Hymn
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)
Stanza 14 and 17
I break your bonds and masterships,
And I unchain the slave:
Free be his heart and hand henceforth
As wind and wandering wave.
Today unbind the captive
So only are ye unbound;
Lift up a people from the dust,
Trump of their rescue, sound!
When war came to his peaceful town, a 72 years old citizen, John Burns, picked up his rifle
to join the 150th Pennsylvania to fight the Confederate invaders. Burns was wounded in action.
The Union press had a field day on this human-interest story.
John Burns of Gettsburg
Bret Harte (1836-1902)
Stanza 1
Have you heard the story that gossips tell
Of Burns of Gettysburg? No? Ah, well:
Brief is the glory that hero earns,
Briefer the story of poor John Burns.
He was the fellow who won renown, ---
The only man who didn't back down
When the rebels rode through his native town;
But held his own in the fight next day,
When all his townsfolk ran away.
That was in July, sixty-three, ---
The very day that General Lee,
Flower of Southern chivalry,
Baffled and beaten, backward reeled
From a stubborn Meade and a barren field.
The conflict practically ended at Appomattox and followed by the tragic assassination of
Pres. Lincoln. Poet Walt Whitman again poured out his sentiment on the President, in his raw
but powerful verses that immortalized Lincoln. Whitman observed Lincoln walked passing him
many times in the Capital and he felt as if he really knew him.
When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd
Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Stanza 1 and 2
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,
I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.
O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night --- O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear'd --O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless -O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
The war was over and the country re-united again. This very famous 1867 poem attempted to
heal the wound of the nation.
The Blue and the Gray
Francis Miles Finch (1827-1907)
Stanza 1 and 7
By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the Judgment Day:
Under the one, the Blue,
Under the other, the Gray.
No more shall the war-cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever
When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the Judgment Day:
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.
Richard Watson Gilder participated in the defense of Carlisle, PA when Lee moved to
Gettysburg. Later, he took writing as his career and rose to the editor-in-chief of
The Century magazine in 1881. When Gen. Sherman passed away in 1891, he wrote a
poem dedicated in Sherman's honor.
Sherman
Richard Watson Gilder (1844-1909)
Stanza 1 and 3
Glory and honor and fame and everlasting laudation
For our captains who love not war, but fought for the life of the nation;
Who knew that, in all the land, one slave meant strife, not peace;
Who fought for freedom, not glory; made war that war might cease.
Glory and honor and fame; the pomp that a soldier prizes;
The league-long waving line as the marching falls and rises;
Rumbling of caissons and guns; the clatter of horses' feet,
And a million awe-struck faces far down the waiting street.
