Heart of the Stranger

Sooner or later
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Twilight, how gentle you are and how tender!
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It weeps in my heart
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Love to faults is always blind,
Always is to joy inclin'd,
Lawless, wing'd & unconfin'd,
And breaks all chains from every mind.

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Over the hill and over the dale,
And over the bourn to Dawlish --
Where Gingerbread Wives have a scanty sale,
And gingerbread huts are smallish.

Rantipole Betty she ran down a hill
And kicked up her petticoats fairly
Says I I'll be Jack if you will be Gill.
So she sat on the grass debonnairly.

Here's somebody coming, here's somebody coming!
Says I 'tis the wind at parley
So without any fuss and hawing and humming
She lay on the grass debonnairly.

Here's somebody here and here's somebody there!
Says I hold your tongue you young Gipsey;
So she held her tongue and lay plump and fair
And dead as a venus tipsy.

O who wouldn't go to Dawlish fair
O who wouldn't stop in a Meadow,
wouldn't rumple the daisies there
And make the wild ferns for a bed do!

Lying out under the night sky in October
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Oh, when I was in love with you,
Then I was sweet and brave,
And miles around the wonder grew
so well did I behave.

But now the fancy passes by,
And nothing will remain,
And miles around they'll say that I
Am quite myself again.

There was a silver sycle
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June 18th. --
 ...  Poor youth, so handsome, athletic, with
profuse  ...  shining hair. One time as I sat looking at him while
he lay asleep, he suddenly, without the least start, awaken'd, open'd
his eyes, gave me a long steady look, turning his face very slightly
to gaze easier -- one long, clear, silent look -- a slight sigh --
then turn'd back and went into his doze again. Little he knew, poor
death-stricken boy, the heart of the stranger that hover'd near.

W. H. E., CO. F., 2d N. J. -- His disease is pneumonia. He lay sick
at the wretched hospital below Aquia creek, for seven or eight days
before brought here. He was detail'd from his regiment to go there and
help as nurse, but was soon taken down himself. Is an elderly,
sallow-faced, rather gaunt, gray-hair'd man, a widower, with
children. He express'd a great desire for good, strong green tea. An
excellent lady, Mrs. W., of Washington, soon sent him a package; also
a small sum of money. The doctor said give him the tea at pleasure; it
lay on the table by his side, and he used it every day. He slept a
great deal; could not talk much, as he grew deaf. Occupied bed 15,
ward I, Armory. (The same lady above, Mrs. W., sent the men a large
package of tobacco.)

  J. G. lies in bed 52, ward I; is of company B, 7th Pennsylvania. I
gave him a small sum of money, some tobacco, and envelopes. To a man
adjoining also gave twenty-five cents; he flush'd in the face when I
offer'd it -- refused at first, but as I found he had not a cent, and
was very fond of having the daily papers to read, I prest it on
him. He was evidently very grateful, but said little.

  J. T. L., of company F., 9th New Hampshire, lies in bed 37, ward
I. Is very fond of tobacco. I furnish him some; also with a little
money. Has gangrene of the feet; a pretty bad case; will surely have
to lose three toes. Is a regular specimen of an old-fashion'd, rude,
hearty, New England countryman, impressing me with his likeness to
that celebrated singed cat, who was better than she look'd.

  Bed 3, ward E, Armory, has a great hankering for pickles, something
pungent. After consulting the doctor, I gave him a small bottle of
horse-radish; also some apples; also a book. Some of the nurses are
excellent. The woman-nurse in this ward I like very much. (Mrs. Wright
-- a year afterwards I found her in Mansion house hospital, Alexandria
-- she is a perfect nurse.)

  In one bed a young man, Marcus Small, company K, 7th Maine -- sick
with dysentery and typhoid fever -- pretty critical case -- I talk
with him often -- he thinks he will die -- looks like it indeed. I
write a letter for him home to East Livermore, Maine -- I let him talk
to me a little, but not much, advise him to keep very quiet -- do most
of the talking myself -- stay quite a while with him, as he holds on
to my hand -- talk to him in a cheering, but slow, low and measured
manner -- talk about his furlough, and going home as soon as he is
able to travel.

  Thomas Lindly, 1st Pennsylvania cavalry, shot very badly through the
foot -- poor young man, he suffers horribly, has to be constantly
dosed with morphine, his face ashy and glazed, bright young eyes -- I
give him a large handsome apple, lay it in sight, tell him to have it
roasted in the morning, as he generally feels easier then, and can eat
a little breakfast. I write two letters for him.

  Opposite, an old Quaker lady is sitting by the side of her son, Amer
Moore, 2d U. S. artillery -- shot in the head two weeks since, very
low, quite rational -- from hips down paralyzed -- he will surely
die. I speak a very few words to him every day and evening -- he
answers pleasantly -- wants nothing -- (he told me soon after he came
about his home affairs, his mother had been an invalid, and he fear'd
to let her know his condition.) He died soon after she came.
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From whence cometh song?
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