Jasper County Democrat, Volume 22, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 May 1919 — The Phantom Review. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Phantom Review.

by Bret Harte.

IREAD last night of the grand noview In Washington’s chlefest avenue— Two hundred thoueand men In blue, I think they said was the number — Till I seemed to hear their tramping feet. The bugle blast and the drum’s quick beat. Ths clatter of hoofa In ths stony street, The cheers of people who camo to greet. And the thousand details that to repeat Would only my veree encumber— Till I fell In a reverie, sad and sweet. And then to a fitful slumber. When, 10l In a vision I seemed to stand In the lonely Capitol. On each hand Far stretched the portico, dim and grand, Its columns rsngod like a martial band Of sheeted specter*, whom some command Had called to a last reviewing. And the streets of ths city were white and bare; No footfall echoed across ths square; But out of the misty midnight air I heard in the distance a trumpet blare, And the wandering night winds seemed to bear The sound of a far tattooing. • Then I held my breath with fear and dread; For into the square, with a brazen tread, There rods a figure whose stately head O'erlooked the review that morning; That never bowed from its fl rm-set - geat When the living column passed its feet. Yet now rode steadily up the street To the phantom bugle's warning: Till it reached the Capitol Square, aWd wheeled. And there In the moonlight stood revealed A well-known form that In state and field

Had led our patriot sires: Whose face was turned to the sleeping camp, _____ Afar through ths river's fog and damp, That showed no flicker, nor waning lamp, Nor wasted bivouac Area. And I saw a phantom army ooms, With never a sound of fife or drum, But keeping time to a throbbing hum Of walling and lamentation. The martyred heroes of Malvern Hill, Of Gettysburg and Chancallorsvlllo, The men whose wasted figures fill The patriot graves of the nation. And there camo the nameless dead—the men Who perished In fever swamp and fen, The slowly starved of the prison pen; And, marching beside the others, Came the dusky martyrs of Pillow'd fight. With limbs enfranchised and boaring bright; I. thought—perhaps ’t waa the pale moonlights— They looked as white as their broth oral And so all night marched the Nation's dead, With never a banner above them spread, Nor a badge, nor a motto brandished; No mark—eave the bare uncovered head Of the silent bronze Reviewer; With never an arch saved the vaulted sky; » - With never a flower save those that lie On the distant graves—for love could * buy No gift that was purer or truer. So all night long swept the strange array, So all nijjht tong till the morning gray I watched for one who had passed away, With a reverent awe and wonder— Till a blue cap waved In the length'nlng line, And I knew that one that was kin of mine Had come; and 1 spake—and 10l that sign Awakened me from my slumber.