The Washington critic., 1888-07-11
A FAvoR1rE WAR POEM.
The story OF Little eiGen of Tennessee
Not Fiction.

Not Fiction.
Nashville american. The story of "IIit-
tie Giilen" is said to be literally true. His
name was Isaac Gillen and he was born of
humble parents i'm one of the hamlets of
East Tennessee. His father was black
smith. Little Giilen was terribly shot in
some battle of Tennessee-perhaps Muir
freesboro-and carried with other wound
ed far South to be cared for. 1t is true, as
the poem says, that the company in which
he served was almost entirely destroyed.
Sadly mutilated, and so like child in APP
pearance as to have seemed "borne by the
tide Of war from the cradle to the jaws of
DEATH he was taken from the hospital at
Columbus, Ca, to the home of DIR. Y. o.
Ticknor, five miles south of that place.
He is said to have been q woful little
skeleton, but aided by the skill of the
doctor, and the tender nursing of the
doctors wife, the Skeleton boy' sue
G,essfully waged war against skeleton
During the weary weeks of the stick
and the "crutch," Mrs. Ticknor taught
the naturally bright" boy to read and
write. He remained with the family
year, was found "true as Steel" had an
unconquered spirit and was always anx-
ious to return to the war, which he did
in time, it is supposed to be killed
near Atlanta, and to be buried in some
Ticknor described in the beautiful poem,
Unknown" Unknown Beneath our
Fathers face the starlit hillocks lie;''
and 1.-THE voice of wall is mute
to-day as his whose life is
dumb yet no soldier ever had
grander monument than. little
Giflen of Tennessee. No general or COM
mander of any war has received finer,
or what will be q more lasting tribute,
and none deserved it more. for none
could be braver. "He was an ordinary
looking little fellow" says son of the
poet, Except that he had q bright, clear
blue eye that told of the incarnate
have had it in his mind at first to give q
| literal description of the boy, hence the
first beginning OF the poem was:
MANY such on a summers day
Now the mea 'ows and rake the hay;
OF freckled ia "e and clear blue eye,
To whom no iuirrel or bird Is shy,
| Mark the pla lest, and he might be
Little Gifien OF Tennessee"
But the spirit ur peace came down upon
| the grand doctC' and he saw no more the
'freckled-faced boy, but the old hero
| borne
''out OF the f al and forem ost fire."
he saw the "gl 1T of the steel-blue eye,"
| when determination could save from
death, but tina dared to die when John
ston was "pressed at the 'front.'" Then the
| poet saw him more princely than all
"Knights of the Golden Ring and
| dropped the realism which would have
| been weak, and touched with ideal tints
| of glory picture which was thus made
| truer and stronger.
The poem has the "ring of immortal
ity." 1t now reads, as published in the
| volume of Ticknor's poems:
| out of the focal and foremost fire,
| out Of the hospital walls as dire;
| Smitten of grape.shot and gangrene,
| eighteenth battle and he sixteen)i
| Spectre such as you seldom see,
Little Giffen, of TENNESSEE
| Take him and welcome, the surgeons said;
| Little the doctor can help the dead
| SO we took him and brought him where
| The balm was sweet In the summer air;
| And we laid him down on a wholesome bed
Utter Lazarus, heel to head
And we watched the war with abated breath,
| skeleton boy against skeleton DEATH
| Months OF torture how many such
| Weary weeks Of the stick and orutch;
And still CLINT of the steel blue eye
Told of spirit that would not die.
And didn't. Nay, more, in deaths despite
| The crippled skeleton Learned TO write"
| Dear motherat first of course, and then
| Dear Captain inquiring about the men.
| Captains answer: OF eighty.and.fve,
| Giflen and are left alive.
| Word of gloom from the war one day;
| Johnston pressed at the front, they say.
| Little Giffen was up and away;
| A tear, his first, as he bade goodbye,
| Dimmed the CLINT Of his steel-blue eye.
III write, II spared" There was news of
| the fight,
But none Of Giffen-he did not write.
| ] sometimes fancy that were king
| OF the princely knight Of the Golden Ring,
| with the song of the minstrel in mine ear,
| And the tender legend that trembles here,
| I'd give the best on his bended knee,
| The whitest soul of my chivalry,
| For Little Giffen. of Tennessee