Nights Come To A Pennsylvania Field Poem by R. G. Bell

(One mounted figure, Lee, stands apart, alone.
A second, Jackson, approaches.)


Lee - Where have you been a hundred years
one armed friend?

Jackson - Among our boys, sir,
among our boys.

Lee - Ours? I think
they are but yours.

Jackson - Ours they were, sir,
our they still remain.

Lee - They welcome you
as is your due.
It's one of them that emptied your sleeve
And ended you when needed most.
I cannot claim the same.
O, that I could!
But it was I who sent them,
I sent them!
God help me. I sent them!
Then retired in peace, without a mark,
Unworthy to haunt this place among them.

Jackson - It was your call, sir,
it was your call.
And well answered. They say it. All.

Lee - Call? Call! Of course I call!
My call has not been answered yet.
I sit here night to night
And call those fifteen-thousand back.
Come back! Come back!
That way was not the way.
That call has not been answered yet.
They could not hear me.
They cannot hear me.
The guns made too much noise.
I think I hate that sound the worst
Until it quits,
replaced by moans
and rattling throats.

Dear God they go again!
Come back my boys, come back!
That way was not the way!
Whatever made me think it was?
I've had to watch them go
across that field so many times,
I fear they must fall nightly
to Eternity and never hear my call.

Jackson - They hear you, sir.
They always have after the first.
But on they went,
and on they'll go.
For you they did it gladly,
once in pain.
Now, without the pain, but memory,
They relive death for you.
The falling short has made them
no less proud of how they tried.
Come, sit with us again
and take your rest.
Our fires are still bright, though cold.
They'll raise a cheer to wake the living.
It will be Glorious, sir. Come.

Lee - Gladly? Proud of how they tried?
At last, friend, you've brought my peace.
I need call no more.
It's they who now call me.
I'll never understand such loyalty.
Go. Show me where our boys make camp.
Perhaps they'll pitch my tent again.