Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1873-05-09
CRUELER THAN WAR.

IA correspondent of the Kansas City Times re
wives striking poem, of which this Is the hstory
A southern prisoner of war at Camp ChGse, II
Ohio, after pining Of sickness IN 1be hospital q
that station for some time, and cOnfding to nj
friend and fellow captive, COnOnel W. 8. Haw
kins, of Tennessee, that he was heavy OF heal
because his affanced bride In Nashville dld nc
write to him, died just before the arrival OF lei
ter IN which the lady cruelty broke the engage
ment Colonel Hawkins had been requested D
his dying comrade to open any epistle whlt
should come for him thereafter, and, upon reae
Ing the letter in question, penned the followin
versifed answer. The lines were imperfect
given by the Southern press just after the war; an
deserve revival If only for the sake of the corret
tions requisite to do justice to their sentiment an
win for them wider apprecia.ion:l
MY FRIEND.
Your letter. lady. came too late,
For Heaven had claimed its own:
All, sudden change-frOm prison bars
Unto the great white throne!
And yet think he wOul,. nave stayed,
To live for his disdain,
Could he have read the careless words
Which YOU have sent in vain.
So full of patience did he wait,
Through many weary hour.
That o'er his simple soldier faith
Not even death had pow'r;
And you---did Others whisper low
Their homage in your ear,
As though amongst their shallow throng
His spirit hada peery
would that you were by me now,
To draw the sheet aside
And see how pure the look he wore
The moment when he died.
The sorrow that you gave him
Had left its weary trace,
As 'rwerc the shadow of the Cross
Upon his paid face.
"Her love-" he said, could change for me
a.Id ia sprin
All, trust of tickle maiden's love,
Thou art a bitter thing!
For when these valleys, bright in May,
Once more with blossoms wave,
The northern viol Is shall blow
Aboye his humble grave.
Your dole Of scanty words had been
But one more pang to bear,
For him who kissed unto the last
Your tress of golden hair:
did not put it where you said,
For when the angels come,
would not have them find the sign
OF falsehood in the tomb.
I've read your letter. and know
The wiles that you had wrought
To win that noble heart of his.
And gained it--cruel thought!
What lavish wealth men sometimes give
For what is worthless all;
What manly bosoms beat for truth
In folly's falsest thrall!
You shall not pity him. for now
His SORROW has an end;
Yet would that YOU could stand with me
Beside my fallen fiend;
And forgive you for his sake,
As he--if it be given
May cen be pleading grace for you
Before the court of Heaven.
Tonight the cold winds whistle by,
As Imy vigil keep
Within the prison dead house, where
Few mourners come to weep
4 rude plank coffin holds his form;
Yet death eXats his face,
And would rather see him thus
Than clasped in your embrace.
Tonight your home may shine with lights,
And ring with merry song.
And you be smiling, as your soul
Had done no deadly wrong;
Your hand SO fair that none would think
1t penned these words of pain;
Your skin SO white-would God. your heart
Were half as free from stain.
I'd rather be my comrade dead
Than you in life supreme;
For yours the sinners waking dread,
And his the mart, RS dream.
Whom serve we in this life, we serve
In that which Is to come;
lie chose his; you yours let God
Pronounce the fitting doom.