Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79. | | | | Southern States: Richmond, Va. | | In Libby Prison, New Year’s Eve, 1863–64 | | Frederick A. Bartleson (1833–1864) |
| | | ’T IS twelve o’clock! Within my prison dreary, | |
| My head upon my hand, sitting so weary, | |
| Scanning the future, musing on the past, | |
| Pondering the fate that here my lot has cast, | |
| The hoarse cry of the sentry on his beat | 5 |
| Wakens the echoes of the silent street,— | |
| “All ’s well!” | |
| |
| Ah! is it so? My fellow-captive sleeping | |
| Where the barred window strictest watch is keeping, | |
| Dreaming of home and wife and prattling child, | 10 |
| Of the sequestered vale, the mountain wild,— | |
| Tell me, when cruel morn shall break again, | |
| Wilt thou repeat the sentinel’s refrain, | |
| “All ’s well!” | |
| |
| And thou, my country! Wounded, pale, and bleeding, | 15 |
| Thy children deaf to a fond mother’s pleading, | |
| Stabbing with cruel hate the nurturing breast | |
| To which their infancy in love was prest,— | |
| Recount thy wrongs, thy many sorrows name, | |
| Then to the nations, if thou canst, proclaim, | 20 |
| “All ’s well!” | |
| |
| But through the clouds the sun is slowly breaking; | |
| Hope from her long deep sleep is re-awaking: | |
| Speed the time, Father! when the bow of peace, | |
| Spanning the gulf, shall bid the tempest cease, | 25 |
| When foemen, clasping each other by the hand, | |
| Shall shout once more, in a united land, | |
| “All ’s well!” | | | | |
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