{"id":"01KG8AK228C428DV0GBW5P3XN7","cid":"bafkreie7remorptxxupjipx3rgnoo47evkkblxxqptwhi2rzijkp6uk2yu","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":3641,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:50.352Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J19Y3FNVN5KWASY78BP4","start_line":3525,"text":"A REQUIEM\r\n\r\n\r\n_For Soldiers lost in Ocean Transports_\r\n\r\n\r\nWhen, after storms that woodlands rue,\r\n    To valleys comes atoning dawn,\r\nThe robins blithe their orchard-sports renew;\r\n    And meadow-larks, no more withdrawn\r\nCaroling fly in the languid blue;\r\nThe while, from many a hid recess,\r\nAlert to partake the blessedness,\r\nThe pouring mites their airy dance pursue.\r\n    So, after ocean’s ghastly gales,\r\nWhen laughing light of hoyden morning breaks,\r\n        Every finny hider wakes—\r\n    From vaults profound swims up with glittering scales;\r\n    Through the delightsome sea he sails,\r\nWith shoals of shining tiny things\r\nFrolic on every wave that flings\r\n    Against the prow its showery spray;\r\nAll creatures joying in the morn,\r\nSave them forever from joyance torn,\r\n    Whose bark was lost where now the dolphins play;\r\nSave them that by the fabled shore,\r\n    Down the pale stream are washed away,\r\nFar to the reef of bones are borne;\r\n    And never revisits them the light,\r\nNor sight of long-sought land and pilot more;\r\n    Nor heed they now the lone bird’s flight\r\nRound the lone spar where mid-sea surges pour.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCOMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY\r\n\r\n\r\nSailors there are of the gentlest breed,\r\n    Yet strong, like every goodly thing;\r\nThe discipline of arms refines,\r\n    And the wave gives tempering.\r\n    The damasked blade its beam can fling;\r\nIt lends the last grave grace:\r\nThe hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman\r\n    In Titian’s picture for a king,\r\nAre of hunter or warrior race.\r\n\r\nIn social halls a favored guest\r\n    In years that follow victory won,\r\nHow sweet to feel your festal fame\r\n    In woman’s glance instinctive thrown:\r\n    Repose is yours—your deed is known,\r\nIt musks the amber wine;\r\nIt lives, and sheds a light from storied days\r\n    Rich as October sunsets brown,\r\nWhich make the barren place to shine.\r\n\r\nBut seldom the laurel wreath is seen\r\n    Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;\r\nThere’s a light and a shadow on every man\r\n    Who at last attains his lifted mark—\r\n    Nursing through night the ethereal spark.\r\nElate he never can be;\r\nHe feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth,\r\n    Sleep in oblivion.—The shark\r\nGlides white through the phosphorus sea.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nA MEDITATION\r\n\r\n\r\nHow often in the years that close,\r\n    When truce had stilled the sieging gun,\r\nThe soldiers, mounting on their works,\r\n    With mutual curious glance have run\r\nFrom face to face along the fronting show,\r\nAnd kinsman spied, or friend—even in a foe.\r\n\r\nWhat thoughts conflicting then were shared,\r\n    While sacred tenderness perforce\r\nWelled from the heart and wet the eye;\r\n    And something of a strange remorse\r\nRebelled against the sanctioned sin of blood,\r\nAnd Christian wars of natural brotherhood.\r\n\r\nThen stirred the god within the breast—\r\n    The witness that is man’s at birth;\r\nA deep misgiving undermined\r\n    Each plea and subterfuge of earth;\r\nThey felt in that rapt pause, with warning rife,\r\nHorror and anguish for the civil strife.\r\n\r\nOf North or South they reeked not then,\r\n    Warm passion cursed the cause of war:\r\nCan Africa pay back this blood\r\n    Spilt on Potomac’s shore?\r\nYet doubts, as pangs, were vain the strife to stay,\r\nAnd hands that fain had clasped again could slay.\r\n\r\nHow frequent in the camp was seen\r\n    The herald from the hostile one,\r\nA guest and frank companion there\r\n    When the proud formal talk was done;\r\nThe pipe of peace was smoked even ’mid the war,\r\nAnd fields in Mexico again fought o’er.\r\n\r\nIn Western battle long they lay\r\n    So near opposed in trench or pit,\r\nThat foeman unto foeman called\r\n    As men who screened in tavern sit:\r\n“You bravely fight” each to the other said—\r\n“Toss us a biscuit!” o’er the wall it sped.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJKEHZVZV2WZ3MBWQ259P","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J19Y3FNVN5KWASY78BP4","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AK227J9PK6HQ7DQEYY0WK","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:51.880Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:47:54.022Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}