Driving Home the Cows
by
Kate Putnam Osgood (1841-1910) |
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OUT of the clover and blue-eyed grass
He turned them
into the river-lane;
One after another he let them pass,
Then fastened the meadow-bars again.
Under the
willows, and over the hill,
He patiently followed their
sober pace;
The merry whistle for once was still,
And
something shadowed the sunny face.
Only a boy! and
his father had said
He never could let his youngest go:
Two already were lying dead
Under the feet of the
trampling foe.
But after the evening work was done,
And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp,
Over his
shoulder he slung his gun
And stealthily followed the
foot-path damp.
Across the clover, and through the
wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though
cold was the dew on his hurrying feet
And the blind bat's
flitting startled him.
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 Bass,
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 Southern 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. |
By Kate Putnam Osgood (1841-1910)
Listed February 10, 2013 |
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