Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/124

112 The stormers go forward—the Federals cheer them;
 * They breast the smooth hillside—the black mouths are dumb;

The riflemen lie in the works till they near them,
 * And cover the stormers as upward they come.

Was ever a death-march so grand and so solemn?
 * At last, the dark summit with flame is enlined;

The great guns belch doom on the sacrificed column,
 * That reels from the height, leaving hundreds behind.

The armies are hushed—there is no cause for cheering:
 * The fall of brave men to brave men is a pain.

Again come the stormers! and as they are nearing
 * The flame-sheeted rifle-lines, reel back again.

And so till full noon come the Federal masses—
 * Flung back from the height, as the cliff flings a wave;

Brigade on brigade to the death-struggle passes,
 * No wavering rank till it steps on the grave.