Page:Poems Trask.djvu/132

And from the waste wild lands of sea-girt Maine,
 Unto the Golden Shore of promise fair,
Unite as one, once more, these severed States;
 And let the cry of Union fill the air!

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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!

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!"

Though my heart trembled, my voice did not quake!
 Ah, how the wind whistles across the lone moor