“Ho! 
‘Stars and Stripes’ on the right!—­Hurra!—­Hurra! 
The Green Mountain Boys to our aid!—­Hurra!—­Hurra. 
Cannon-roar down on the left!—­Our batteries are there—­
Hurling hot hell-fire’—­See!—­like sickled corn
The close-ranked foemen fall in toppling swaths: 
But still with hurried steps and steady steel
They close the gaps—­like madmen they press on! 
With one wild yell they rush upon the wall! 
Lo from our lines a sheet of crackling fire
Scorches their grimy faces—­back they reel
And tumble—­down and down—­a writhing mass
Of slaughter and defeat!

“Leaped on the wall
A thousand Blues and swung their caps in air,
Thundering their wild Hurra! above the roar
And crash of cannon;—­victory was ours. 
Back to his crest of hills the baffled foe
Reluctant turned and fled the storm of death.

“The smoke of battle floated from the field,
And lo the woodside piled with slaughter-heaps! 
And lo the meadow dotted with the slain! 
And lo the ranks of dead and dying men
That fighting fell behind the broken wall!

“Only a handful of my men remained;
The rest lay dead or wounded on the field;
Nor skulked their captain, but by grace was spared. 
Behold the miracle!—­This Bible holds,
Embedded in its leaves, the Rebel lead
Aimed at my heart.  But here a scratch and there—­
Not worth the mention where so many fell. 
Paul, foremost ever in the deadly hail,
As if protected by a shield unseen,
Escaped unscathed.

“We camped upon the hill. 
Night hovered o’er us on her dusky wings;
Then all along our lines upon the hills
Blazed up the evening camp-fires.  Facing us
Beyond the smoke-robed valley sparkled up
A chain of fires on Seminary Ridge. 
A hum of mingled voices filled the air. 
As when upon the vast, hoarse-moaning sea
And all along the rock-built somber shore
Murmurs the menace of the coming storm—­
The muttering of the tempest from afar,
The plash and seethe of surf upon the sand,
The roll of distant thunder in the heavens,
Unite and blend in one prevailing voice—­
So rose the mingled murmurs of our camps,
So rose the groans and moans of wounded men
Along the slope and valley, and so rolled
From yonder frowning parallel of hills
The muttered menace of our baffled foes;
And so from camp to camp and hill to hill
Rolled the deep mutter and the dreadful moan
Of an hundred thousand voices blent in one.

“That night a multitude of friends and foes
Slept soundly—­but they slept to wake no more. 
But few indeed among the living slept;
We lay upon our arms and courted sleep
With open eyes and ears:  the fears and hopes
That centered in the half-fought battle held
The balm of slumber from our weary limbs. 
Anon the rattle of the random fire
Broke on our drowsy ears and startled us,
As one is startled by some horrid dream;
Whereat old veterans muttered in their sleep.