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Mrs. John A. Logan, Reminiscences of a Soldier's Wife: An Autobiography 14 0 Browse Search
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 4 5 1 Browse Search
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7. (ed. Frank Moore) 4 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7. (ed. Frank Moore). You can also browse the collection for Mary Clemmer Ames or search for Mary Clemmer Ames in all documents.

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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7. (ed. Frank Moore), Left behind. (search)
Left behind. by Mary Clemmer Ames. Oh! hear the music-coming, coming up the street! Oh! hear the muffled marching of swift on-coming feet! Oh! hear the choral drum beat — the bugle piercing sweet! Our volunteers are coming, coming up the street; Throw open wide the windows, beloved ones to greet-- We're ready waiting, eager, our bonny boy to meet. Our volunteers are coming! They've lived through every fray-- Through marching, through fighting, through fever's cruel prey-- To be mustered out of service, the gallant boys today! Your tattered battle-banner, unfurl it in the air! I'm seeking one beneath it — I'll know him, bronzed or fair: Oh! glad returning faces, our darling is not there! The trumpets clash exultant, the bayonets flash me blind, And still my eyes are seeking the one I cannot find; Oh! tell me true, his comrades, have you left our boy behind? Say, soldiers, did you leave him upon the battle-plain, Where fiendish shell and canister pour fierce their fiery r
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7. (ed. Frank Moore), Our Volunteer. (search)
Our Volunteer. by Mary Clemmer Ames, We gather round the twilight hearth, Beneath the evening's pallid flame; And softening every sound of mirth, We murmur the beloved name. We try to still the voice of care, And cheerily say: “One year to-day The dulcet drum and bugle blare Allured our darling far away.” And stifling back the crowding tear, We murmur, while our prayers ascend: “Our Father's saved the boy a year-- He'll surely save him to the end.” His grand dog smooths sad, drooping ears Along my hand, in mute regret; His wistful eyes half read my fears-- “Old Boy, you miss your master yet!” The ringing voice, the eye of fire, The lithe young form, the step of pride, That once made all your heart's desire, Old pet, they're sundered from you wide. Your gay bark in the hunt is hushed-- A dearer meaning now you take, As every thing his hand has touched Is cherished sacred for his sake. Ah! does he think of home to-night, And how we sit and.talk of him-- Repeat his w