Poems (Ford)/A Mother's Plaint
A MOTHER'S PLAINT.
The starry banner waved aloft, the drums were beating. loud,
And down the street with martial tread there came a stalwart crowd;
I gazed upon that banner's folds in anguish fierce and wild,
For it must brave the battle's storm, borne by my only child.
And down the street with martial tread there came a stalwart crowd;
I gazed upon that banner's folds in anguish fierce and wild,
For it must brave the battle's storm, borne by my only child.
To say good-bye my Willie soon came bounding to my side,
And as he saw the bitter tears I vainly strove to hide,
He murmured, "Oh, it grieves my heart to give my mother pain!"
My boy! my boy! I never heard his happy voice again.
And as he saw the bitter tears I vainly strove to hide,
He murmured, "Oh, it grieves my heart to give my mother pain!"
My boy! my boy! I never heard his happy voice again.
Then came reports of blood and death, of battles lost and won,
And Fame upon her hero-list soon placed my darling son;
And letters from my Willie came like messengers of light,—
Their cheering words were sunbeams sent to make my lone days bright.
And Fame upon her hero-list soon placed my darling son;
And letters from my Willie came like messengers of light,—
Their cheering words were sunbeams sent to make my lone days bright.
One woeful day a sombre box was brought unto our door,
And on its gloomy lid was traced the name of Willie Moore,
And with it came a messenger the bitter tale to tell
How 'neath the folds of Freedom's flag my Willie fought and fell.
And on its gloomy lid was traced the name of Willie Moore,
And with it came a messenger the bitter tale to tell
How 'neath the folds of Freedom's flag my Willie fought and fell.
And there he lay, my only one; as 'peaceful seemed his rest
As when in his sweet childhood hours he slumbered on my breast;
The scathing tempest-blast of death from which we vainly flee,
Crushed the young sapling in its strength and spared the withered tree.
As when in his sweet childhood hours he slumbered on my breast;
The scathing tempest-blast of death from which we vainly flee,
Crushed the young sapling in its strength and spared the withered tree.
My boy, it seemed that sleep, not death, had closed his clear blue eye,
I could not feel that life had fled, I had not seen him die;
I saw no scar, no mark of pain disturbed the placid face;
A curl fell o'er his brow and hid the fatal bullet's trace.
I could not feel that life had fled, I had not seen him die;
I saw no scar, no mark of pain disturbed the placid face;
A curl fell o'er his brow and hid the fatal bullet's trace.
But when I heard the cold, damp earth upon his coffin fall,
Around my startled heart was flung the gloom of sorrow's pall:
The dull sound of the falling clods his footfalls seemed to be,
Reëchoed from the threshold of the dim eternity.
Around my startled heart was flung the gloom of sorrow's pall:
The dull sound of the falling clods his footfalls seemed to be,
Reëchoed from the threshold of the dim eternity.
My home is lone and cheerless now, my heart is sadder still,—
The void within a mother's heart this world has naught to fill.
O'er some the surging waves of woe with fiercer fury roll,
The grief of others strikes the heart, a mother's wrings the soul.
The void within a mother's heart this world has naught to fill.
O'er some the surging waves of woe with fiercer fury roll,
The grief of others strikes the heart, a mother's wrings the soul.
Alas! before the crimson scourge that blights our land is o'er,
How many a mother's heart will bleed, but mine can bleed no more.
It rests within my Willie's grave and when its throbbings cease,
I hope to meet him in a land of everlasting peace.
How many a mother's heart will bleed, but mine can bleed no more.
It rests within my Willie's grave and when its throbbings cease,
I hope to meet him in a land of everlasting peace.