- description
- # The Martyr.
## Overview
"The Martyr." is a segment of poetry, spanning lines 3117 to 3161. It is part of the larger collection "[Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.](arke:01KG8AJ6FNQ0XKWBY52P8DRPC9)".
## Context
This segment was extracted from the file "[battle_pieces_and_aspects_of_the_war.txt](arke:01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8)", which is part of the "[Melville Complete Works](arke:01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW)" collection. It follows the segment titled "[The Surrender at Appomattox.](arke:01KG8AJPZH1S0BAWHFJJFJSK5Z)" and precedes the segment titled "[“The Coming Storm:”](arke:01KG8AJPZHT7ZM74BQ6V3R6MXF)".
## Contents
The poem reflects on the aftermath of war, focusing on a defeated Confederate soldier. It touches upon themes of rebellion, pride, and defeat, referencing historical figures such as Hill, Ashby, and Stuart. The verses depict the soldier's internal state, his memories of fallen comrades, and the stark contrast between the victorious Union soldiers returning home to celebration and his own disarmed, imprisoned state. The imagery evokes a sense of loss and displacement, with the soldier's Southern homeland described as draped in "cypress-moss," mirroring the somber mood of his memories. The segment concludes with the soldier lingering in the "City of the Foe," unable to return to a home that is irrevocably lost.
- description_generated_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:21.115Z
- description_model
- gemini-2.5-flash-lite
- description_title
- The Martyr.
- end_line
- 3161
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:35.910Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3117
- text
- As now in the Nineveh of the North--
How mad the Rebellion then!
And yet but dimly he divines
The depth of that deceit,
And superstition of vast pride
Humbled to such defeat.
Seductive shone the Chiefs in arms--
His steel the nearest magnet drew;
Wreathed with its kind, the Gulf-weed drives--
’Tis Nature’s wrong they rue.
His face is hidden in his beard,
But his heart peers out at eye--
And such a heart! like mountain-pool
Where no man passes by.
He thinks of Hill--a brave soul gone;
And Ashby dead in pale disdain;
And Stuart with the Rupert-plume,
Whose blue eye never shall laugh again.
He hears the drum; he sees our boys
From his wasted fields return;
Ladies feast them on strawberries,
And even to kiss them yearn.
He marks them bronzed, in soldier-trim,
The rifle proudly borne;
They bear it for an heir-loom home,
And he--disarmed--jail-worn.
Home, home--his heart is full of it;
But home he never shall see,
Even should he stand upon the spot;
’Tis gone!--where his brothers be.
The cypress-moss from tree to tree
Hangs in his Southern land;
As weird, from thought to thought of his
Run memories hand in hand.
And so he lingers--lingers on
In the City of the Foe--
- title
- The Martyr.