The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1877-09-20
OF THE GRAND ARMY
v.et;ao gopo.afs Ashes from - H~ie''".
From rgropnILK aAU1rER.

FROM THEoPHILE GAClIkk
Bored. and thus forced out OF my f1oth'
Along the Boulevard passed,
aronni me hung DEFENDERS gloom,
The wind was cold, the showers drove lf-si
Then straight saw chow strange the sigh
Escaped from their grim dSelhng-plaee,
Tramping through mud in sorry plight
Ghosts at midday, ghosts face 10 face.
Night is the time when shades have power
While German moonlight silyers all,
Within some old and totteTing tower,
To Fl, across the pillarei han.
I'll. night wien fairies from the Hoods
In dripping eabes rise ike brealh,
Then drag beneath their lily buds
some boy whom they have danced 10 de"th.
Twas night, If Zedlitz singeth true,
when II alf-seen shade the emperor
Narshaled in line, for that review,
The shaies Of Austerliiz once more
Bat spectres in the public street,
Scarce from. the pla y-house PAGES TWO,
Yelled nor by mist, nor winding sheet,
Who stand there wearied and wet through.
We'll may we wonder as we gaze;
Three grum5ling phantoms hover dim,
In uniform Of other days,
One ex-guard, two hus-ars with him.
Net these the slain, who, though they die,
Still hear through earth Napoleon drum
But veterans of time gone by
Walked up to see his relies come.
Who, since that last, that fatal fight,
Have grown, or fat, or lean and grim
Whose uniforms, unless too tight,
Float wide around each wasted limb
Oh noble rags, still like star
To you the Cross Of Honor clings,
Sublimely ludicrous, We are
GraBder than purple worn by Kings
A nerveless plume, as ii with fear,
Trembles above the bearskin frayed;
Moth-fretted the pelisse is, near
Those holes by hostile bullets made;
The leathern overalls, too large,
Round the shrunk thigh in wrinkles fall,
And rusty sabres, wearying charge,
Drag on the ground, or beat the wall.
The next one is grotesque with chest
Stretching q coat too small by half;
But for the stripes that deck his breast,
AT the old war-wOlf We might laugh.
Ny brothers, mock them not too much;
Rather salute, with heads low bent,
These heroes OF an Iliad, such
As Honor never could invent.
Greet each bald head with reverence due,
For on brDws, bronzed by many cline,
A frightening scar oft reddens through
The lines that have been dug by time.
Their skins by a strange blackness, tell
of Egypt's heat, and binding light;
Russia's powder, as ii fell
Has kept those thin locks ever white.
Their hands may tremble; yes still keen
The cold Of Beresina bites;
They limp, for long the march between
Cairo and Wilna's frozen heights.
They droop, bent dosble, since in war
No sheets but flags for sleep had they;
The helpless sleeve may tlutter, for
A round shot tore the arm away.
Laugh not, though round them leaps and jeers
The bowling street-boy with delight
They were the day of those proud years
The evenings we-perchance the night.
They reeollect, if we forget,
LanceTs in red, ex-guard IN blue,
And worship, at his column met,
The only God they ever knew.
Proud of he pains endured 50 long,
Grateful for miseries nobly borne
They feel the heart Of France beat strong
Under that clothing sOiled and worn.
Our tears then check the smile that played,
To see this strange pOmp on its way
The empires ghostly masquerade
Dim as a ball when dawns the day.
Through skies which yet her splendors ill,
The eagle Of armies old,
From depths Of glory, burning still,
Spreads over them her wings of gold.
The Co,uhR Maga=iae