The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1864-11-26
Telegraph



tDuring the fierce cannonading at Nickajack
rriall bird came and perchcd upon tho shoulder
ef an artillery mnn-the man designated, we be-
lieve, as "No. l. whose duty IL is TO ram down
ths charge after the ammunition is put ia the gun.
The piece was Napoleon, which makes very
loud repert. The bird, as we have stated, perched
itself on this mans shoulder, and could not be
driven from this position by the violent motions
Of the gunner When the piece was discharged,
the poor little thing would run los beak and head
M under the mans hair at the hack OF the neck. D..
aud when the report died away would resume It's
place upon bis shoulder. Captain BlbbiG took
The bird in his hand. but wHea he released his
grasp IL Immediately resumed its place on the
shoulder OF the smOkc-begrimed gunner The
scene was Witnessed by large number of officers
and men. 10 may be subject OF curious iu-
euiry, what instinct led this bird to thus place
itself Possibly frightened at the violent commu-
ton caused by the battle, and not knowing how
10 escape or where % 60, some instinct led 70 to
throw itself on this gunner as a protector. But,
whatever the cause, the incident was a most
beautiful and pleasing one 70 all who witnessed
h-NeU Abany (tHe,0RG) Ledger.]
Upon the gunner's shoulder,
Union gunner, Number One,
None deadlier or bOldcr)
Burned the red beams OF the sun.
Down breast, and back, and arms OF might,
Rolled the sweat of desperate strength
And a fiery mist, and a lurid light,
shone round his straining length.
The cannon, thunder-throated,
The swift and swOoping shell,
Laughed murderingly, and gloated
Ger the work they did so we'll.
And many limbless trunk they hurled
Der many bloody track,
Before Our Flag its folds unfurled
From the heights of Nicksjsck.
whilst round that gunners shoulder
The deadly 6re-bolts whirred,
There, seen by many a soldier,
Lit fairy little bird.
Its wings against its painting breast
It tapped, with terror smote,
And its golden songs we're all at rest
In its soft scarlet throat.
Its wings like leaflets Iembled,
A little flying flower
That tiny bird resemoled,
Borne rudely from its bower
As though a flower had felt what fright
Could mean, that all life through
Had only fed upon the light,
And only drunk the dew.
Perhaps, as thus it nestled
Round the gunner's sturdy neck,
Whilst at his post he wrested
And held the foe in check
Could it have put its thoughts in words,
1t wouId have said, Mot long
Ago the air was full of birds,
And the birds were full OF song"
And when, with each fresh thunder,
Sore hurt with new despair,
1t hid its small self under
The gunner's tangled hair,
Quick memories OF the summers dead,
Birdlike, though its bosom few
OF dainty flowers, whose lips, blood-red,
Sucked the silver hearted dew.
Sweet psalmist of the summer,
So sweet-so sweet and small
To thee, as a newcomer,
And gentlest guest of all,
Soft should the soft winds sigh that pet
The flowers that near thee grow,
And the sunlighrs kiss drop, delicate
As melting fake of snow.
Loud, loud will be thy trilling,
When, dumb the cannon's mouth,
Sweet silence once more filling
Thy summers at the South,
The peoples pulse, the nations heart,
Their frghtful throbs shall cease,
And quiet smile shall lightly part
The perfect lips of Peace.
Oh the hearts Of men that tremble,
And pine for shameful peace,
Thai frantic bird resemble
God ere the conflict cease,
Grant that each heart, yet beating free
For the Right against the Wrong,
May its own Bird OF Battle be,
And sing the perfect song. A, Ell.