Thrice since then had the lanes been white,
    And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;
  And now, when the cows came back at night,
    The feeble father drove them home.

  For news had come to the lonely farm
    That three were lying where two had lain;
  And the old man’s tremulous, palsied arm
    Could never lean on a son’s again.

  The summer day grew cool and late,
    He went for the cows when the work was done;
  But down the lane, as he opened the gate,
    He saw them coming one by one,—­

  Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,
    Shaking their horns in the evening wind;
  Cropping the buttercups out of the grass,—­
  But who was it following close behind?

  Loosely swung in the idle air
    The empty sleeve of army blue;
  And worn and pale, from the crisping hair,
    Looked out a face that the father knew.

  For gloomy prisons will sometimes yawn,
    And yield their dead unto life again;
  And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
    In golden glory at last may wane.

  The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;
    For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb;
  And under the silent evening skies
    Together they followed the cattle home.

KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.

* * * * *

SHERMAN’S MARCH TO THE SEA.[A]

[Footnote A:  This song was sung by thousands of Sherman’s soldiers after the march, and had the honor of giving its name to the campaign it celebrates.  Its author had been one of Sherman’s army, and was captured at the battle of Chattanooga.  While a prisoner he escaped, disguised himself in a Confederate uniform, went to the Southern army, and witnessed some of the fierce fighting about Atlanta.  He was discovered and sent back to prison at Columbia, S.C., where he wrote the song.  He soon escaped again, rejoined Sherman’s army, and for a time served on General Sherman’s staff.  From Cape Fear River he was sent North with despatches to Grant and President Lincoln, bringing the first news of Sherman’s successes in the Carolinas.]

[May 4 to December 21, 1864.]

  Our camp-fires shone bright on the mountains
    That frowned on the river below,
  While we stood by our guns in the morning
    And eagerly watched for the foe,
  When a rider came out of the darkness
    That hung over the mountain and tree,
  And shouted, “Boys, up and be ready! 
    For Sherman will march to the sea.”

  Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman
    Went up from each valley and glen,
  And the bugles re-echoed the music
    That came from the lips of the men;
  For we knew that the stars in our banner
    More bright in their splendor would be,
  And that blessings from Northland would greet us
    When Sherman marched down to the sea.