Publisher's Synopsis
ONCE upon a time, it matters little when, and in stalwart England, it matters little where, a fiercebattle was fought. It was fought upon a long summer day when the waving grass was green. Many awild flower formed by the Almighty Hand to be a perfumed goblet for the dew, felt its enamelledcup fill high with blood that day, and shrinking dropped. Many an insect deriving its delicate colorfrom harmless leaves and herbs, was stained anew that day by dying men, and marked its frightenedway with an unnatural track. The painted butterfly took blood into the air upon the edges of itswings. The stream ran red. The trodden ground became a quagmire, whence, from sullen poolscollected in the prints of human feet and horses' hoofs, the one prevailing hue still lowered andglimmered at the sun.Heaven keep us from a knowledge of the sights the moon beheld upon that field, when, coming upabove the black line of distant rising-ground, softened and blurred at the edge by trees, she rose intothe sky and looked upon the plain, strewn with upturned faces that had once at mothers' breastssought mothers' eyes, or slumbered happily. Heaven keep us from a knowledge of the secretswhispered afterwards upon the tainted wind that blew across the scene of that day's work and thatnight's death and suffering! Many a lonely moon was bright upon the battle-ground, and many a starkept mournful watch upon it, and many a wind from every quarter of the earth blew over it, beforethe traces of the fight were worn away.They lurked and lingered for a long time, but survived in little things, for Nature, far above the evilpassions of men, soon recovered Her serenity, and smiled upon the guilty battle-ground as she haddone before, when it was innocent. The larks sang high above it, the swallows skimmed and dippedand flitted to and fro, the shadows of the flying clouds pursued each other swiftly, over grass andcorn and turnip-field and wood, and over roof and church-spire in the nestling town among thetrees, away into the bright distance on the borders of the sky and earth, where the red sunsets faded.Crops were sown, and grew up, and were gathered in; the stream that had been crimsoned, turned awatermill; men whistled at the plough; gleaners and haymakers were seen in quiet groups at work;sheep and oxen pastured; boys whooped and called, in fields, to scare away the birds; smoke rosefrom cottage chimneys; sabbath bells rang peacefully; old people lived and died; the timid creaturesof the field, and simple flowers of the bush and garden, grew and withered in their destined terms: 3and all upon the fierce and bloody battle-ground, where thousands upon thousands had been killedin the great fight.
