Rouse, E.S.S. (1828-1913) The Soldiers' Welcome!

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THE SOLDIERS' WELCOME!
A Poem Read at the Celebration in Mount Vernon, July 4th, 1865,
By E.S.S. ROUSE.

"The 4th Day of July, 1776."
"It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward, forevermore." - [JOHN ADAMS]

O, welcome, ay, this good old day,
This Fourth day of July,
With bells, and guns, and drums and shouts,
And music sounding high;

And flags, and banners floating out,
All gaily on the air,
And men, and women, boys and girls,
All jubilant and fair.

This is the day, the good old day,
When, tired of lords and kings,
Our fathers fearlessly cut loose
From England's apron strings.

They bravely fought, and thousands died,
This splendid land to free:-
Their potent watchword nerved them on,
'Twas "death, or liberty."

And liberty they gained at last,
Then laid aside their guns,
And handed down the heavenly boon
To us, their grateful sons.

And we were bound, in honor bright,
With heart, and soul, and nerve,
All unimpaired by slavery snobs,
The blessing to preserve.

Forth, then, our warriors took the field;
The strife was fierce and stern;
They fought the fight, and won the day,
We welcome their return.

O, may the present rising race
Your memories ne'er shelve,
Forgotten, as, almost, are er
Of eighteen hundred twelve.

Yes, soldiers, you are welcome home,
The conflict now is o'er;
Your duty you have nobly done,
God bless you, evermore.

Even copperheads say welcome,-
Ay, ay, they did the same,
To the cowardly deserters,
To their everlasting shame.

They called the war a failure,
The peace-sneak, cowardly thieves:
And if you met with a reverse,
Were tickles in their sleeves.

But when you gained a victory,
'Twas quite a different song;
Their faces then, like asses' ears,
Were twenty inches long!

Did they give a dollar for your aid?
I tell you ne'er a time:-
But for the base Vallandigham,
Each man subscribed his dime.

They wished you "Lincoln hirelings"
Were captures, all, or slain:-
Now don't you think ihey're [sic] mighty glad
To see you back again?

'Tis your votes that they are after,
As a hog takes after corn:-
I think I see you vote for them,
In a cock-mosquito's horn!

With Sherman, Grant, and Sheridan,
Wilson, and Canby, too,
And more than I have time to name,
You fought the fight, and won the game,
And put the rebels through:-

And Lee, and Johnson, caught, at last,
Dick Taylor, and many more:
And Richmond caved, and Mobile fell,
And then the war was o'er.

Of all the strange and funny sights
Of the rebel great downfall,
Jeff. Davis with petticoats o'er his boots,
Was the funniest sight of all.

With water-bucket on his arm,
And shaker o'er his eyes,
He thought to fool the boys in blue,
And cheat them of their prize.

But his petticoat it was too short,
Or else his legs too long;
So he was caught, which brings me to
The middle of my song.
******
They took him down to Fort Monroe,
And lodged him safe and sound,
To mediate upon his crimes
Till hanging-day comes round.

And Lee, and Longstreet, Cobb and Clay,
And Bragg, and Maury too,
Ewell, and Forrest, all must swing,
Ere Justice gets her due.

Wade Hampton, too, and H.A. Wise,
Deserve no better fate;
And fifty more, whom I could name,
Should dangle, soon or late.
They starved our men by thousands,
Our wounded ones they slew;-
Shall we now let them go scot free?
'Twill never, never do.

Our future peace demands, and
Mercy proclaims 'tis time-
High time for teaching traitors
That treason is a crime,

Now, all unwhipt of justice,
Shall we let the rascals go?
Voices, like the roar of ocean,
Answer a loud No! No!

And hundreds should be banished
Far from this land away,
Who are unfit to live or die,
Too vile to go, or stay.

We have our home-bred traitors;
At present, they sing low,
Lord! how we smote them, hip and thigh,
'Twas scarce two years ago!

They harbored the deserters,
And plied their treason craft,
Got frightened off to Canada,
All to avoid the draft!

And now they're coming sneaking back.
The mean, and cowardly knaves;
And that's the sort they're welcoming
To-day, down at the Caves.

For copperheads, there could not be
A more appropriate place-
More fit for the assembling of
The venomous, reptile race.

If they be duly sensible
Of their enormous sin,
They'll call on rocks and mountains
And the caves to close them in!

But ere each one gets fairly in,
The last wiggle of his tail,
I fear the caves will spew them out,
As Jonah didn't the whale!

The land needs purifying,
And when 'tis thoroughly done,
'Twill prosper beyond all others
'Neath the circuit of the sun.

Our sons-there are none braver;
Our daughters-none more fair;
Our children-where are prettier?
Ay, echo answers "where?"

The transatlantic nations
Wisely defer the hour,
For, would they fain insult us,
They know, and dread our power.

They know, full well, an insult,
We'll neither give, nor take;
So they'll leave us unmolested,
For peace and safety's sake.

And thus, our land, in quiet,
And peace, shall prosper on,
Till untold generations
Have, successively, come and gone.

Then welcome, all, this good old day,
This fourth day of July,
With bells, and guns, and drums and shouts,
And banners waving high!

And welcome, welcome soldiers, home,
The conflict now is o'er:-
Your duty you have nobly done;
God bless you, evermore!