Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1872-03-05
Poetry.
From the New Orleans Picayune.
THE HAUNTED VALLEY.
BY XARIFFA.

The Jubllant rush OF the rollicking rills
The smoke that curls up from the cottager'
| roof,
The ring of some chance-passing iron -shod hoof
| The grain and the clover that nod in the fields
| And sweeten the dew with invisible yields,
The music OF cricket and cowbell away
| On the hills, where the sunset is burying day
All these of ajoy-bringing peacefulness breathe,
| Of muskets unshouldered, of swords in the
sheath.
But lol when the midnight looks down from the
skies
What hosts from these forests and hilsides arsel
While tents are unfolded, broad banners un-
furled,
Mid the tramp Of the dead marching down on
the world.
In phalanx unbroken they steadily come,
They step to the hush of an unbeaten drum;
The muskets grim barrel, the bayoneps CLEAN,
As still as the silence, as dumb as dream
From time trampled hillocks in Deaths dewy
camp
They form rank and file in the darkness and
damp,
Then shoulder to shoulder in battle array,
They march in their war-worn Confederate Gray;
Besprinkled with bloodstains, and blackened
with smoke
And bored with blue bullets and bayonet stroke,
Now, watchfully threading the gloom of the
glen,
Rides Ashby in front of his cavalry men.
His dark eyes are flashing his forehead is pale,
His sabre unsheathed cuts the face of the gale.
Ilo nOOTS OF ms charger Tall mute on Jn0 pain,
And chill is the hand on his taut bride rein.
In stiffness unearthly come hero and horse,
In stiffness unearthly fast follows his force
Undaunted and proud with smile on his
mouth,
The chivalrous pride of the chivalrous South,
Adown the green valley he sweeps like a bl cath,
And leads the fierce charge in the battle of
Death.
There speeds his advance, here grim squadrons
wheel,
Midst cleaning of carbines and glitter of steel,
And red-nostried horses and banners ahare,
And plumes of bold warriors painting the air,
And saddles left empty, and sighs of the wound
ed,
And spectral recalls from spectral lips sounded !;
Then leader and host fit away o er the plain,
Gliding down to the cold bivouac of the slain.
Throu oh yon mountain gap, still silently come
The Armies of Death-the eloquent dumb
They pour like stream through yon rocky de-
file,
Come back from their soldierly dream of exile.
In spectral battalions they steadily tread,
These warrior souls of the warrior dead.
From Piedmont's green heights and Republics
dark plain,
And Gross Keys, they soemnly gather again.
With forms gaunt with hunger, and toil-tortured
feet,
Yet strong with strength that surviveth defeat,
They lift tb cir pale hrows from the gloom of the
grave
To watch o. er the valley they battled to save.
They camp on the plain, and the sheen Of the
Cleans afar with the CLINT of the turf-turning
spade,
Whilst whispering forests do shudder and shiver,
From mountain to valley, from valley to river,
As under their verdure and under their shade,
These Armies Of Silence march down on the
glade;
And the bosom of Night quakes with chilly a.
larms.
AS it thrills to the clash of the weird grounded
arms.
They camp on the plain, and the odorous herbs
Embalm the pale host that their quiet dlsturbs,
Yet tremble from delicate petal to root,
AS they yield to the tramp OF the ranks of the
mute.
Here rises the breastwork, there glistens the gun,
The sentinel spectre his pace has begun,
And backward and forward the ramparts lone
height
He treads in the star-haunted castle of night.
There marches the picket thrown out on his post,
And here, on its arms, sleeps the uniformed host;
Whilst there, in his silent and color-draped tent,
Is jackson, he leader, in prayer humbly bent
No cross in the zenith message conveys
Of glory and conquest and victory bays
AS of old blazed aloft in the heavens serene,
AS signal of cheer to the bold Constantine-
Still. true to the colors SO hopefully. faunted
Though slain still unconquered, though dead
still undaunted.
deploy,
In ranks that Deaths fiat hath failed to destroy
Whilst the banner of midnight its azure unrolls
AS triumphal arch DER these legions OF souls.
All silent and solemn, and spectral and pale,
They throng Shenandoahs battle.swept vale;
There ghostly the gunners and ghostiy the guns,
And spectral the charger that riderless runs,
While shadowy ranks drawn IN full line OF bat
tie.
Wait war songs of cannon, the muskets death
rattle.
Now, out of the stiffness, around and around,
The ghostly artillery wheels Ger the ground; !.
There is ranging of troopers, the marshaling OF
In this grandly invincible army of ghosts,
Then the bullets weird whistle, the scattering
shot,
And Battles big heart beating heavy and hot,
The swish of the sabre, the thud OF the ball
The mercful smoke overshadowing ali
But 10 in the east float the pennons of Dawn
The war flags are furled and the swords are
drawn;
The battle unfought and the orders unbreathed,
The cannon unmounted, the sabres all sheathed.
Across the green valleys with bloom bordered
meadows
Now sweeps like the gale the weird army of
shadows,
And fair Shenandoah re-opens her graves,
To welcome her warriors, to shelter her braves.
Ave. phostly the banners and ghostly the tramp,
And ghostly the battle and ghostly the camp,
And spectral the dreams that they dreampt OF
Which lives but in ashes, blood-wrtten story
Fair Vale of Virginia! green, green must thou
blossom!
For valor and chivalry sleep in thy bosom,
And noble the brows that there slumbering low,
Were destined no laurels of triumph to know.
Back to the dust they have given their dust,
Their cause, like their carbines is clouded with
rust,
Which even their foes would be 10th to forget.
What loftier need would thy green valley claim,
Than Jackson's and Ashby's immaculate fame !
And what untarnished lustre thy soldierly Lee,
In life and in death hath bequeathed unto thee!
These twine like the bays on victorious brows,
Around thy dead dreams and tiny death-broken
vows
Their venom with an undying glory surrounds
The paths of thy ruin thy lost battle grounds,
And sheds round the gloom of thy woe-sandaled
feet,
A splendor that gilds g eE the pail of defeat.
Virginia's proud mothers, weep not for your
sons!
ones!
For, down through the echong aisles of the
From vet coinin poets and yet coming sages,
The laurej shall Irvine with each unsullled name
Their gIories ring out from the trumpets of fame
And proud generations yet coming shall give
This need to thy herOes-'Ihoughf fallen, they
live"
VaLsv of the Shenandoah, august, 1871.
A short time since two fashionable young la
dies were holding high converse over the vir-
"A Ind ~ c L