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THE BLUE AND THE GRAY

FRANCIS MILES FINCH

HESE tender lines were written in 1867 by Judge Finch, a resident of New York State. The heart of the country, yet torn and bleeding as a result of the war just closed, was softened by the fast-spreading news that, on Decoration Day of that year the women of Columbus, Mississippi, had strewn flowers "Alike for the friend and the foe" on the graves of Confederate and Union soldiers. If the women of the Southland, in the anguish of defeat, could forgive, who could longer cherish bitterness and hatred? Judge Finch seized upon the suggestion of this beautiful deed of the southern women and wrote this poem, so full of tenderness and forgiveness, which made the chords that were broken vibrate once more, for he says, "They banish our anger forever, when they laurel the graves of our dead." Victor and vanquished clasped hands across the chasm, and all bitterness of heart was dissolved in a deluge of "love and tears."

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY

By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;—

Under the one, the Blue,

Under the other, the Gray.

These in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet:-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the laurel, the Blue,
Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,

Lovingly laden with flowers

Alike for the friend and the foe:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the roses, the Blue,
Under the lilies, the Gray.

So, with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all:
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day;-
'Broidered with gold, the Blue,
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Wet with the rain, the Blue,
Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done;
In the storm of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won:

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY

Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more shall the war-cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever

When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;

Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.

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SUGGESTIVE EXERCISES

1. Who were the "Blue"? The "Gray"? Why so called? 2. Explain clearly the meaning of the first two lines.

3. What connection between "robings of glory" and "laurel" in the second stanza? Between "gloom of defeat" and "willow"?

4. What is the significance of "roses" and "lilies" in the third stanza?

5. What was the "touch impartially tender"?

6. How do the last two lines of the stanza show this?

7. What was "the storm of the years that are fading"?

8. Explain fully, "No braver battle was won."

9. What do you think prompted the women of the South to do this "generous deed"?

10. What does the poet declare was accomplished for the whole country by it?

REFERENCES

LINCOLN: Gettysburg Address.

CARLETON: Cover Them Over. To the Unknown Dead.

United at Last.

FIELD: Soldier, Maiden, and Flower.

MAURICE THOMPSON: A Prophecy.

PAINE: The New Memorial Day.

READ: The Brave at Home.

KNOX: Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud?
HENRY JEROME STOCKARD: Over Their Graves.
BEN WOOD DAVIS: Decoration Ode.

TIMROD: At Magnolia Cemetery.

T. W. HIGGINSON: Decoration.

KATE OSGOOD: Driving Home the Cows.
JOHN R. THOMPSON: Music in Camp.

RUPERT HUGHES: For Decoration Days.

LOWELL: Centennial Hymn.

TENNYSON: Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead. RILEY: The Silent Victors.

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK

ALFRED TENNYSON

HIS melody of tears," says Tennyson, "was made

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in a Lincolnshire lane at five o'clock in the morning, between blossoming hedges," but the poet's thoughts were far away at Clevedon, where the body of his be loved friend, Arthur Hallam, lay buried by the sea. With heart grief-crushed, he hears in fancy the slow, measured "swish," "swish," "swish," of the waves as they beat upon the shore. Above the dull, monotonous pulse-beats of the sea, he hears the glad shouts of children and the song of the sailor lad. But the waves of unutterable grief beat in upon his breaking heart, and the sad, low music of the sea is given soul and voice in the beautiful melody.

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK

Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

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