Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 November 1883 — THE FIGHT AT THE FORD—A LEGEND OF THE WAR. [ARTICLE]

THE FIGHT AT THE FORD—A LEGEND OF THE WAR.

Oft I linger at eve by wild Bapidsn’a stream. Ere the shimmer of sunset has melted away From the swift-flowing waters that bask in its beam Till the shadowy gloam shuts the portals of day. "Whils the opaline tints slowly fade from the hill'. And the voices of nature are hushed and serene, Then I love to review a fair vista that thrills Every chord of my heart as I gaze on the scene. ’Tis a spot In whose tranquil repose one may ranse And forttet for a season the tumulrs of l'fe. Yet it marks in its space where humanity’s laws Have been cast in the, vortex of veng.an.e and strife. There grim legions opposing in combat were drawn. And the greensward was strewn with the shattered and killed, In the tight that raged fiercely from midnight till dawn. When the river ran red with the blood that was spilled. Then the vanquished were fled, and the victors remained But to gather the wounded and bury the dead Or of friend or of foe, while sweet Mercy constrained The stern hearts that before by Destruction were led. But at eve all were gone from the Itapidan’s side, Where was garnered the terrible harvest of death, B&ve one spent In the contest, whom none had descried As he lay by the river-marge gasping for breath. In the cause he upheld none more noble than he Met the foemen who left him to perish alone, With no balm tor his anguish, nor witness to see How a brave heart could suffer with never a moan. Though ,he uttered no plaint his sad fate to bewail. There came one in the beauty of maidenhood's form* Prom her homo that was nigh to the deathstricken vale. To weep o'er the scene of War's merciless storm. While the gentle girl grieved for the havoc she found. Yet she moved, as if led by a hand from on high. To the dell where yet living, bnt prone on the ground, Was the form of the soldier so youthful to die. Though the soil of the battle begrimed his wan face; Though linstanched was the wound that bled In his side; With that pity that recks not of person or place, Sprang the maiden to do what she might ere he died. Quick with water caught up in the sash she had From river that smiled on the deed while tt flowed, She laved and refreshed the young soldier forlorn. Till his eyes were relumed with a wonder that . glowed. “Art thou come from yon heaven, sweet angel below?” By degrees his faint voice found the language to say: “Let me bless thee, dear soul, for the joy that I know, « Ere thy presence of loveliness passes away.” “Nay—no angel,” she said, “but a weak, timid maid. Who is glad to behold that your life is still spared— Best content, injured, youth, while I Me me for aid. That you* hurts may' be tended and refuge 0, prepared." Lo! he dveils in the vale, though long years have'aped by, Since the fignt at the ford where wild Eapidan flows— For the soldier once succored, who thought but to die. Has returned to requite what his gratitude owes. And the maiden, no longer a maiden, lo there, Still a guardian whose tenderness days but increase. Who rejoices in him whom she saved from despair— Whom she crowns with her love in the conquests of peace. •-Oscar H. Harpel.