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Come up from the fields father, here’s a letter from our Pete,
And come to the front door mother, here’s a letter from thy dear son. Lo, ‘tis autumn,
Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder,
Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind,
Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis’d vines,
(Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?
Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzing?)
Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain and with wondrous clouds,
Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm prospers well.
Down in the fields all prospers well,
But now from the fields come father, come at the daughter’s call,
And come to the entry mother, to the front door come right away
Fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling,
She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her cap;
Open the envelope quickly,
O this is not our son’s writing, yet his name is sign’d,
O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother’s soul!
All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main words only,
Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital,
At present low, but will soon be better,
Ah now the single figure to me,
Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with all its cities and farms,
Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint,
By the jamb of a door leans.
Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter speaks through her sobs,
The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay’d,)
See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.
Alas poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to be better, that brave and simple soul,)
While they stand at home at the door he is dead already,
The only son is dead.
But the mother needs to be better,
She with thin form presently drest in black,
By day her meals untouch’d, then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking,
In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing,
O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape and withdraw,
To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son.
SUMMARY AND CRITICAL ANALYSIS
Introduction. Come Up From The Fields Father is a very poignant pathetic poem of six-lined stanzas giving the details connected with the tragic death of the only son of the family during a skirmish at the time of the Civil War. A few flashlights are thrown upon as it were some incidents relating to the events to underscore the tragedy.
Summary. The first thirteen lines describe the background. During the autumn the trees appear beautiful with greener leaves and yellow and red leaves. The villages of the Ohio State in America abounding in apples, wheat and other crops appeared calm and transparent after the rain all vital and beautiful. There was prosperity everywhere. Despite the prosperity, a family with the parents and young daughters had a great tragedy in the premature death of the single son who had been to the warfront. The way in which the news was conveyed is very pathetic. A letter was received from the military headquarters. The elder girl thought it was from her brother. She calls her father and mother to see the contents. In a few words the poet announces the fact mildly.
Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast,Cavalry Skirmish, taken to hospitalAt present low, but will soon be better.
The reactions of the mother and the small children were different. There was some hope in the minds of the young people but not so in the case of the mother. The youngsters try to console the mother in vain. The closing lines are very pathetic, bringing out clearly the poignant grief of the lady.
Critical Analysis. How tragic and disastrous can a war be with millions of mothers losing their sons and millions of sisters losing their brother’s is described clearly revealing the underlying pathos. We become sympathetic in their distress. The impact of the poem on all readers is really poignant. The lines depicting the reaction of the mother bring tears to our eyes:
But the mother needs to be betterShe with thin form presently drest in blackBy day her meals untouched, then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking,In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longingO that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape and withdrawTo follow, to seek, to be with her dear, dead son.