Chapter LX: Letter XLVII

INTRODUCING A POEM BASED UPON AN IDEA THAT IS IN VIOLET--A POEM FOR WHICH ONE OF THE WOMEN OF AMERICA IS SOLELY RESPONSIBLE.

WASHINGTON, D.C., May 24th, 1862.

One of the Northern women of America, my boy, has sent me a note, for the express purpose of expressing her hatred of the Southern Confederacy. She says, my boy, that the Confederacy is a miserable man, only fit for pecuniary dishonesty; and that even the gentle William Shakspeare couldn't help revealing the peculiar failing of the Floydulent section when he spoke so feelingly of

"The sweet South,
That breathes upon a bank of Violets,
_Stealing_ and giving odor."

A fair hit, my boy--a fair hit; and sorry should I be to let the sweet South breathe upon any kind of a bank in which I had a deposit.

Speaking of violets; the woman of America sent one of those pretty flowers in her note; and, as I looked upon it, I thought how fit it was to be

THE SOLDIER'S EPITAPH.

The woodlands caught the airy fire upon their vernal plumes,
And echoed back the waterfall's exultant, trilling laugh,
And through the branches fell the light in slender golden blooms
To write upon the sylvan stream the Naiad's epitaph.

On either side the sleeping vale the mountains swelled away,
Like em'ralds in the mourning ring that circles round the world
And through the flow'r-enamel'd plain the river went astray,
Like scarf of lady silver'd o'er around a standard furled.

The turtle wooed his gentle mate, where thickest hung the boughs,
While round them fell the blossoms plucked by robins' wanton bills;
And on its wings the zephyr caught the music of his vows,
To waft a strain responsive to the chorus of the hills.

'Twas in a nook beside the stream where grapes in clusters fell,
And twixt the trees the swaying vines were lost in leafy showers,
That fauns and satyrs, tamed to rest beneath the noonday spell,
Gave silent ear and witness to the meeting of the flowers.

The glories of the fields were there in summer's bright array,
The virgins of the temple vast where Noon to Ev'ning nods,
To crown as queen of all the rest whose bosom should display
The signet of a mission blest, the cipher of the gods.

The royal Lily's sceptred cup besought an airy lip,
The Rose's stooping coyness told the bee was at her heart,
While all the other sisters round, with many a dainty dip,
Sought jewels hidden in the grass, and waved its spears apart.

"We seek a queen," the Lily said, "and she shall wear the crown
Who to the Mission of the Blest the fairest right shall prove;
For unto her, whoe'er she be, has come in sunlight down
The badge of Nature's Royalty, from angel hands above.

"I go to deck the wreath that binds a fair, imperial brow,
Whose whiteness shall not be the less that mine is purer still;
For though a band of sparkling gems is set upon it now,
'Twill be the fairer that the Church in me beholds her will."

"I claim a loyal suitor's touch," the Rose ingenuous said,
"And he will choose me when he seeks the bow'r of lady fair,
To match me, with a smile, against her cheek's betraying red,
And place me, with a kiss, within the shadows of her hair."

And next the proud Camellia spoke: "Where festal music swells,
And solemn priest, with gown and book, a knot eternal ties,
I go to hold the vail of her who hears her marriage-bells,
And pledges all her life unto the Love that never dies."

The Laurels raised their glowing heads, and into language broke:
"'Tis ours to honor gallant deeds that awe a crouching world;
We rest upon the warrior's helm when fades the battle's smoke,
And bloom perennial on the shield that back the foeman
hurled."

And other sisters of the field, the woodland, and the vale,
Each told the story of her work, and glorified her quest;
But none of all the noble ones had yet revealed the tale
That taught them from the gods she wore the signet in her
breast.

At length the zephyr raised a leaf, the lowliest of the low,
And there, behold a Violet the Spring let careless slip;
Beyond its season blooming there where newer beauties grow,
Enshrined like an immortal thought that lives beyond the lip.

"We greet thy presence, little one," the graceful Lily said,
And quivered with a silent laugh behind her snowy screen,
"Upraise unto the open sun thy modest little head;
For here, perchance, in thee at last the Flow'rs have found
their queen."

A tremor shook the timid flower, and soft her answer came:
"'Tis but a simple duty left to one so small as I;
And yet I would not yield it up for all the higher fame
Of nodding on a hero's helm, or catching beauty's eye.

"I go to where an humble mound uprises in a field,
To mark the place of one whose life was lost a land to save;
Where bannered pomp no birth attests, nor marbled sword nor
shield;
I go to deck," the Violet said, "a simple soldier's grave."

There fell a hush on all the flowers; but from a distant grove
Burst forth the anthem of the birds in one grand peal of praise;
As though the stern old Forest's heart had found its early love,
And all of earth's sublimity was melted in its lays!

Then, as the modest flower upturned her blue eyes to the sun,
There fell a dewdrop on her breast as shaken from a tree;
The lowliest of the sisterhood the godlike Crown had won;
For hers it was to consecrate Truth's Immortality.

The woodlands caught the airy fire upon their vernal plumes,
And echoed back the waterfall's exultant, trilling laugh;
And through the branches fell the light in slender golden blooms,
To sanctify the Violet, the Soldier's Epitaph.

I asked the General of the Mackerel Brigade, the other day, what kind of a flower he thought would spring above my head when I rested in a soldier's sepulchre? and he said "A cabbage!" my boy--he said "A cabbage!"

Yours, inversely,

ORPHEUS C. KERR.