Classic Poem

My Boy at the Berkeley

Save us! what are these soldiers all,
In uniforms of blue,
With real guns and bayonets,
And real brass buttons too?

It is a noble regiment
As one would care to see.
The veterans must be quite sixteen;
Cadets — none less than three.

And towering in the bristling ranks
There goes, as I'm alive,
Above the average four feet six,
One giant of nearly five.

" Attention! " now the warriors form;
" Knees straight and shoulders square,
Heels on a line, eyes to the front! "
And look! my boy is there.

Cross-belts, waist-belt, and cartridge-box
With several dreadful " rounds; "
The gun alone can scarcely weigh
An ounce less than two pounds.

But at the order, " Carry ARMS ! "
Up goes that gun so grim.
Why, in these arms but yesterday,
It seems, I carried him.

" Right shoulder ARMS ! " Now look at that!
The sturdy little elf!
I 've half a mind to break the ranks,
And " shoulder " him myself.

That private with a general's air,
In uniform of blue,
Seems such a funny burlesque of
The babe that once I knew.

To-day, with belt and glittering gun
He marches in platoon;
Of old, his full equipments were
A bib and shining spoon.

Ah! different then the orders came
From the regimental head, —
" Don't tip your bowl so much, my son;
You 'll spill your milk and bread! "

I told him stories on my knee,
Stories that were not true;
If I should tell them to him now,
I think he 'd run me through.

For now he knows geography,
And can such things expound
As why the seasons march straight on,
And why the earth goes round.

Arithmetic, zoology,
German and French and such, —
I'd count myself a learned man
If I knew half as much.

But what most awes me in the boy,
And strikes me dumb and still
With a sense of insignificance,
Is — when I see him drill;

When, with " both feet turned out alike, "
I see him stand — MY SON ! —
His martial " chin drawn slightly in "
Behind that awful gun!English