XXVII
Sooner or later all things come to an end, including wars andhistories,--a God's mercy!--and even the lives of such lucky men asI. All things, did I say? Well, what wonder, for am I not writingof youth and far delights with a hand trembling of infirmity? Allthings save one, I meant to say, and that is love, the immortalvine, with its root in the green earth, that weathers every storm,and "groweth not old," and climbs to paradise; and who eats of itsfruit has in him ever a thought of heaven--a hope immortal asitself.
This book of my life ends on a bright morning in the summer of '17,at the new home of James Donatianus Le Ray, Comte de Chaumont, thechateau having burned the year before.
President Monroe is coming on the woods-pike, and veterans aredrawn up in line to meet him. Here are men who fought at Chippewaand Lundy's Lane and Lake Erie and Chrysler's Farm, and here aresome old chaps who fought long before at Plattsburg andTiconderoga. Joseph Bonaparte, the ex-king of Spain, so like hismighty brother at St. Helena, is passing the line. He stepsproudly, in ruffles and green velvet. Gondolas with liveriedgondoliers, and filled with fair women, are floating on the stilllake, now rich with shadow-pictures of wood and sky and rocky shore.
A burst of melody rings in the great harp of the woodland. In thattrumpet peal, it seems, a million voices sing:--
Hail, Columbia, happy land!
Slowly the line begins to limp along. There are wooden legs andcrutches and empty sleeves in that column. D'ri goes limping infront, his right leg gone at the knee since our last charge.Draped around him is that old battle-flag of the _Lawrence_. Imarch beside him, with only this long seam across my check to showthat I had been with him that bloody day at Chrysler's. We moveslowly over a green field to the edge of the forest. There, in thecool shadow, are ladies in white, and long tables set for a feast.My dear wife, loved of all and more beautiful than ever, comes tomeet us.
"Sweetheart," she whispers, "I was never so proud to be your wife."
"And an American," I suggest, kissing her.
"And an American," she answers.
A bugle sounds; the cavalcade is coming.
"The President!" they cry, and we all begin cheering.
He leads the escort on a black horse, a fine figure in militarycoat and white trousers, his cocked hat in hand, a smile lightinghis face. The count receives him and speaks our welcome.President Monroe looks down the war-scarred line a moment. Hiseyes fill with tears, and then he speaks to us.
"Sons of the woodsmen," says he, concluding his remarks, "you shalllive in the history of a greater land than that we now behold ordream of, and in the gratitude of generations yet unborn, long,long after we are turned to dust."
And then we all sing loudly with full hearts:
O land I love!--thy acres sown With sweat and blood and shattered bone-- God's grain, that ever doth increase The goodly harvest of his peace.
THE END
[Transcriber's note - the following material is the Lilypond(www.lilypond.org) source for the song found earlier in thise-book. Search for the word "roundelay". Thanks to DaveMaddock for its preparation.]
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text = lyrics { Oh, hap -- py is th' mil -- ler who lives by him -- self! As th' wheel goes round, he gath -- ers in 'is wealth, One hand on the hop -- per and the oth -- er on the bag; As the wheel goes round, he cries out, "Grab!" Oh, ain't you a lit -- tle bit a -- shamed o' this, Oh, ain't you a lit -- tle bit a -- sham'd o' this, Oh, ain't you a lit -- tle bit a -- sham'd o' this -- To stay all night for one sweet kiss "Oh, etc."}
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