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-crest, Softly creeping, aye and ever To the river's yielding breast. Ha! above the foliage yonder Something flutters wild and free! "Massa! Massa! Hallelujah! The flag's come back to Tennessee!" "Pompey, hold me on your shoulder, Help me stand on foot once more, That I may salute the colors As they pass my cabin door. Here's the paper signed that frees you, Give a freeman's shout with me-- 'God and Union!' be our watchword Evermore in Tennessee!" Then the trembling voice grew fainter, And the limbs refused to stand; One prayer to Jesus--and the soldier Glided to the better land. When the flag went down the river Man and master both were free; While the ring-dove's note was mingled With the rippling Tennessee. _Ethel Lynn Beers._ The White-Footed Deer It was a hundred years ago, When, by the woodland ways, The traveler saw the wild deer drink, Or crop the birchen sprays. Beneath a hill, whose rocky side O'er-browed a grassy mead, And fenced a cottage from the wind, A deer was wont to feed. She only came when on the cliffs The evening moonlight lay, And no man knew the secret haunts In which she walked by day. White were her feet, her forehead showed A spot of silvery white, That seemed to glimmer like a star In autumn's hazy night. And here, when sang the whippoorwill, She cropped the sprouting leaves, And here her rustling steps were heard On still October eves. But when the broad midsummer moon Rose o'er the grassy lawn, Beside the silver-footed deer There grazed a spotted fawn. The cottage dame forbade her son To aim the rifle here; "It were a sin," she said, "to harm Or fright that friendly deer. "This spot has been my pleasant home Ten peaceful years and more; And ever, when the moonlight shines, She feeds before our door, "The red men say that here she walked A thousand moons ago; They never raise the war whoop here, And never twang the bow. "I love to watch her as she feeds, And think that all is well While such a gentle creature haunts The place in which we dwell." The youth obeyed, and sought for game In forests far away, Where, deep in silence and in moss, The ancient woodland lay. But once, in autumn's golden time, He ranged the wild in vain, Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer, And wandered home again. The crescent moon and crimson eve Shone with a mingli
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