“ What is the burden of their sad song?
’Tis their loss! but the tears in their weeping eyes Hide Cabinet, President, Generals,—all; And they only can see a cold form that lies On the hill-side slope, by that fatal wall.
They cannot discriminate men or means,— They only demand that this blundering cease. In their frenzied grief they would end such scenes, Though that end be—even with traitors—peace.
Is thy face from thy people turned, O God? Is thy arm for the nation no longer strong? We cry from our homes—the dead cry from the sod— How long, oh, our righteous God! ”

“ SHERMAN’S MARCH By A Soldier.
Their lips are still as the lips of the dead, The gaze of their eyes is straight ahead; The tramp, tramp, tramp of ten thousand feet Keep time to that muffled, monotonous beat,— Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!
Ten thousand more! and still they come To fight a battle for Christendom! With cannon and caissons, and flags unfurled, The foremost men in all the world! Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!
The foe is entrenched on the frowning hill,— A natural fortress, strengthened by skill; But vain are the walls to those who face The champions of the human race! ”

“ Shall he shrink from a wooden stem? He will think of that brave band He sank in the Cumberland; Ay, he will sink like them.
Nothing left but to fight Boldly his last sea-fight! Can he strike? By Heaven, ’tis true! Down comes the traitor Blue, And up goes the captive White!
Up went the White! Ah, then The hurrahs that once and again Rang from three thousand men All flushed and savage with fight! Our dead lay cold and stark; But our dying, down in the dark, Answered as best they might, Lifting their poor lost arms, And cheering for God and Right! ”

“ And the bugle sounds to the charge at last, And away they plunge, and the front is passed! And the jackets blue grow red as they ride, And the scabbards too, that clank by their side, And the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod As they gallop right on o’er the plashy red sod— Right into the cloud all spectral and dim, Right up to the guns black-throated and grim, Right down on the hedges bordered with steel, Right through the dense columns—then “Right about wheel!” Hurrah! a new swath through the harvest again! Hurrah for the Flag! ”

“ No man of God might say the burial rite Above the “rebel”—thus declared the foe That blanched before him in the deadly fight; But woman’s voice, with accents soft and low, Trembling with pity—touched with pathos—read Over his hallowed dust the ritual for the dead.
“’Tis sown in weakness, it is raised in power!” Softly the promise floated on the air, While the low breathings of the sunset hour Came back responsive to the mourner’s prayer. Gently they laid him underneath the sod, And left him with his fame, his country, and his God! ”

“ VII. No empty boast! for while we speak, more furious, wilder, higher, Dart from the circling batteries a hundred tongues of fire; The waves gleam red, the lurid vault of heaven seems rent above; Fight on, O knightly gentlemen! for faith and home and love!
VIII. There’s not in all that line of flame, one soul that would not rise To seize the victor’s wreath of blood, though death must give the prize— There’s not in all this anxious crowd that throngs the ancient town A maid who does not yearn for power to strike one despot down. ”

“ Whither the vandal cometh, Press home to his heart with your steel, And where’er at his bosom ye cannot, Like the serpent, go strike at his heel.
“Through thicket and wood go hunt him, Creep up to his camp-fire side, And let ten of his corpses blacken, Where one of our brothers hath died.
“In his fainting footsore marches, In his flight from the stricken fray, In the snare of the lonely ambush, The debts that we owe him, pay.
“In God’s hands alone is vengeance, But he strikes with the hands of men, And his blight would wither our manhood, If we smote not the smiter again. ”

“ Up rose serene the August sun Upon that day of glory; Up curled from musket and from gun The war-cloud gray and hoary. It gathered like a funeral pall Now broken and now blended, Where rang the bugle’s angry call, And rank with rank contended. [4]
Four thousand men, as brave and true As e’er went forth in daring, Upon the foe that morning threw The strength of their despairing. They feared not death—men bless the field That patriot soldiers die on— Fair Freedom’s cause was sword and shield, And at their head was Lyon! ”

“ Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course; Trampling with bloody heel Over the crushing steel,— All their eyes forward bent, Rushed the black regiment.
“Freedom!” their battle-cry,— “Freedom! or leave to die!” Ah! and they meant the word, Not as with us ’tis heard, Not a mere party shout; They gave their spirits out, Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death ”

“ In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done, It was all too dark to see his face; But I heard his death groans, one by one, And he holds me still in a cold embrace.
He spoke but once, and I could not hear The words he said, for the cannon’s roar; But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear,— O God! I had heard that voice before! [210]
Had heard it before at our mother’s knee, When we lisped the words of our evening prayer! My brother! would I had died for thee,— This burden is more than my soul can bear! ”

“ One hand on the sabre, And one on the rein, The troopers move forward In line on the plain. As rings the word “Gallop!” The steel scabbards clank, And each rowel is pressed To a horse’s hot flank: And swift is their rush As the wild torrent’s flow, When it pours from the crag On the valley below.
“Charge!” thunders the leader: Like shaft from the bow Each mad horse is hurled On the wavering foe. A thousand bright sabres Are gleaming in air: A thousand dark horses Are dashed on the square. Resistless and reckless Of aught may betide, Like demons, not mortals, The wild troopers ride. ”

“ Minions! we sleep but we are not dead; We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred; We crouch—’t is to welcome the triumph tread Of the peerless Beauregard. Then woe to your vile, polluting horde, When the Southern braves are met; There’s faith in the victor’s stainless sword, There’s life in the old land yet! [27]
Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind With the clank of an iron chain; The spirit of freedom sings in the wind, O’er Merriman, Thomas, and Kane; And we, though we smile not, are not thralls,— Are piling a gory debt ”

“ Our ship and her fame to-day Shall float on the storied Stream When mast and shroud have crumbled away, And her long white deck is a dream. [189]
One daring leap in the dark, Three mortal hours, at the most,— And hell lies stiff and stark On a hundred leagues of coast.
For the mighty Gulf is ours,— The bay is lost and won, An Empire is lost and won! Land, if thou yet hast flowers, Twine them in one more wreath Of tenderest white and red, (Twin buds of glory and death!) For the brows of our brave dead, For thy Navy’s noblest son. ”

“ At the midnight cry she was first to go, To bind up the bleeding wound again.
For sometimes the wreck of a man would rise, Weird and gaunt in the watch-lamp’s gleam, And tear away bandage and splints and ties, Fighting the battle all o’er in his dream.
No wonder the youngest surgeon felt A charm in the presence of that brave soul, Through weary weeks, as she nightly knelt With the letter from home or the doctor’s dole. ”

“ Their arms, their colors, are our spoil; the furious fight is done! Across the plain we follow far and backward push the fray: Cheer! cheer! the grand old Army at last has won the day!
Hurrah! the day has won the cause! No gray-clad host henceforth Shall come with fire and sword to tread the highways of the North! ’Twas such a flood as when ye see, along the Atlantic shore, The great spring-tide roll grandly in with swelling surge and roar: It seems no wall can stay its leap or balk its wild desire Beyond the bound that Heaven hath fixed to higher mount, and higher ”

“ With the lessening smoke and thunder, Our glasses around we aim,— What is that burning yonder? Our Philippi—aground and in flame!
Below, ’twas still all a-roar, As the ships went by the shore, But the fire of the Fort had slacked, (So fierce their volleys had been,) — And now with a mighty din, The whole fleet came grandly in, Though sorely battered and wracked.
So, up the Bay we ran, The Flag to port and ahead,— And a pitying rain began To wash the lips of our dead. ”

“ Would you hear of the river fight? It was two of a soft spring night; God’s stars looked down on all; And all was clear and bright But the low fog’s clinging breath; Up the River of Death Sailed the great Admiral.
On our high poop-deck he stood, And round him ranged the men Who have made their birthright good Of manhood once and again,— Lords of helm and of sail, Tried in tempest and gale, Bronzed in battle and wreck. Bell and Bailey grandly led Each his line of the Blue and Red; Wainwright stood by our starboard rail; Thornton fought the deck. ”

“ It is useless to linger While others are claiming your care; There is need of your delicate finger, For your womanly sympathy, there! There are sick ones athirst for caressing— There are dying ones raving for home— There are wounds to be bound with a blessing— And shrouds to make ready for some.
They have gathered about you the harvest Of death, in its ghastliest view; The nearest as well as the farthest Is here with the traitor and true! ”

“ Chorus.—The Union forever, hurrah! boys, hurrah, Down with the traitor, up with the star, While we rally round the flag, boys, rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.
We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, And we’ll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.—Chorus. [276]
We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true, and brave, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, And altho’ they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom.—Chorus. ”

“ And whether we fight or whether we fall By sabre-stroke or rifle-ball, The hearts of the free will remember us yet, And our country, our country will never forget!
Then mount and away! let the coward delight To be lazy all day and safe all night; Our joy is a charger, flecked with foam, And the earth is our bed and the saddle our home ”

“ Shout—for the fiery fort, and the field, and the day are ours— The day is ours—thanks to the brave endeavor Of heroes, boy, like thee! The day is ours—the day is ours! Glory and deathless love to all who shared with thee, And bravely endured and dared with thee— The day is ours—the day is ours— Forever! [32] Glory and Love for one and all; but—but—for thee— Home! Home! a happy “Welcome—welcome home” for thee! And kisses of love for thee— And a mother’s happy, happy tears, and a virgin’s bridal wreath of flowers— For thee! ”

“ For from the hour that the Rebel Stream With the Crescent City lying abeam, Shuddered under our keel, Smit to the heart with self-struck sting, Slavery died in her scorpion-ring And Murder fell on his steel.
’Tis well to do and dare; But ever may grateful prayer Follow, as aye it ought, When the good fight is fought, When the true deed is done. Aloft in heaven’s pure light, (Deep azure crossed on white,) Our fair Church pennant waves O’er a thousand thankful braves, Bareheaded in God’s bright sun. ”

“ A dimmer renown might strike If Death lay square alongside,— But the old Flag has no like, She must fight, whatever betide;— When the War is a tale of old, And this day’s story is told, They shall hear how the Hartford died! ”

“ By the shrouded gleam of the western skies, Brave Keenan looked in Pleasanton’s eyes For an instant—clear, and cool, and still; Then, with a smile, he said: “I will.” [125]
“Cavalry, charge!” Not a man of them shrank; Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, Rose joyously, with a willing breath— Rose like a greeting hail to death. Then forward they sprang, and spurred, and clashed; Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed; Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, In their faded coats of the blue and yellow; And above in the air, with an instinct true, Like a bird of war their pennon flew. ”

“ Right abreast of the Fort In an awful shroud they lay, Broadsides thundering away, And lightning from every port; Scene of glory and dread! A storm-cloud all aglow With flashes of fiery red, The thunder raging below, And the forest of flags o’erhead!
So grand the hurly and roar, So fiercely their broadsides blazed, The regiments fighting ashore Forgot to fire as they gazed.
There, to silence the foe, Moving grimly and slow, [179] They loomed in that deadly wreath, Where the darkest batteries frowned,— Death in the air all round, And the black torpedoes beneath! ”

“ For now, O comrades dear and leal—from whom no ills could part, Through the long years of hopes and fears, the nation’s constant heart— Men who have driven so oft the foe, so oft have striven in vain, Yet ever in the perilous hour have crossed his path again,— [139] At last we have our heart’s desire, from them we met have wrung A victory that round the world shall long be told and sung! It was the memory of the past that bore us through the fray, That gave the grand old army strength to conquer on this day! ”