So they rode, till there were no more to ride.
But over them, lying there shattered and mute,
What deep echo rolls?--'T is a death-salute,
From the cannon in place; for heroes, you braved
Your fate not in vain: the army was saved!
Over them now--year following year--
Over their graves the pine-cones fall,
And the whip-poor-will chants his spectre-call;
But they stir not again: they raise no cheer:
They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease,
Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace.
The rush of their charge is resounding still
That saved the army at Chancellorsville.
MARTHY VIRGINIA'S HAND
"There, on the left!" said the colonel: the battle
had shuddered and faded away,
Wraith of a fiery enchantment that left only
ashes and blood-sprinkled clay--
"Ride to the left and examine that ridge, where
the enemy's sharpshooters stood.
Lord, how they picked off our men, from the
treacherous vantage-ground of the wood!
But for their bullets, I'll bet, my batteries sent
them something as good.
Go and explore, and report to me then, and tell
me how many we killed.
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