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Poem
August 2, 1888
Wood County Reporter
Wisconsin Rapids, Wood County, Wisconsin
What is this article about?
A touching Civil War ballad about a lone picket sentry along the Potomac who dreams of his family before being shot and dying, highlighting the quiet personal losses of war.
Clipping
OCR Quality
98%
Excellent
Full Text
THE PICKET GUARD.
[One of the most touching poems of the war of the rebellion was the one which we give below. When first printed it brought tears to many eyes, and few will read it unmoved even after the lapse of a quarter of a century.]
All quiet along the Potomac, they say,
Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing—a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost—only one of the men
Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
Or the light of the watch fire gleaming.
A tremulous sigh as the gentle night wind
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping;
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard—for the army is sleeping.
There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And he thinks of the two in the low trundle bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack—his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep—
For their mother may heaven defend her!
The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then—
That night when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to our lips, when low murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then, drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to his place,
As if to keep down the heart swelling.
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree;
The footsteps is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle—"Ah! Mary, good-by!"
And the life blood is ebbing and plashing.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
No sound save the rush of the river:
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead—
The picket's off duty forever!
[One of the most touching poems of the war of the rebellion was the one which we give below. When first printed it brought tears to many eyes, and few will read it unmoved even after the lapse of a quarter of a century.]
All quiet along the Potomac, they say,
Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing—a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost—only one of the men
Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
Or the light of the watch fire gleaming.
A tremulous sigh as the gentle night wind
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping;
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard—for the army is sleeping.
There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And he thinks of the two in the low trundle bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack—his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep—
For their mother may heaven defend her!
The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then—
That night when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to our lips, when low murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then, drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to his place,
As if to keep down the heart swelling.
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree;
The footsteps is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle—"Ah! Mary, good-by!"
And the life blood is ebbing and plashing.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
No sound save the rush of the river:
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead—
The picket's off duty forever!
What sub-type of article is it?
Ballad
What themes does it cover?
War Military
Death Mourning
What keywords are associated?
Picket Guard
Potomac
Civil War
Sentry
Soldier Death
Family Memories
War Tragedy
Poem Details
Title
The Picket Guard.
Subject
Picket Guard Along The Potomac During The War Of The Rebellion
Key Lines
All Quiet Along The Potomac, They Say,
Except Now And Then A Stray Picket
Is Shot, As He Walks On His Beat To And Fro,
By A Rifleman Hid In The Thicket.
"Ah! Mary, Good By!"
And The Life Blood Is Ebbing And Plashing.
The Picket's Off Duty Forever!