Again the battle gathers strength on yonder wooded hill, Behind whose awful batteries fresh ranks are forming still; A reeking veil of undergrowth divides the hostile lines, But lurid through its tangled web the vivid lightning shines! And so affrighting Death appears behind that dreadful pall, The stoutest spirit hesitates and flinches from his call. Now who will pierce that curtain dire and meet the battle’s brunt, Before their armies gather there and burst upon our front? Again the stern, portentous cry of “bayonets” is heard, But not again the serried line springs forward at the word; Behind the trees as skirmishers the cowering soldiers hide, And from afar the harmless trade of musket balls is plied. In vain, in vain their leaders shout, they cannot make them stir, But perish singly in the lead with scarce a follower! But hark, a sound of hoofs behind, a clang of sabres loud! I see a squad of mighty men go by me like a cloud! As the immortals rode to war when Hector fought for Troy, These ride, as if immortals, too, inspired with awful joy. Before them spurs their leader with a form that fills the air, So does his bearing fill their eyes, as if a god were there! Look how he goes to battle with a glory on his brow, As if prophetic Victory held laurels o’er it now! They are racing to the rescue: it is Johnston rides before; God grant they be in time to turn the battle’s tide once more! I hear their shoutings in the din; I hear the cries to “form,” I see a stiffening battle-line take shape within the swarm; And again the rank advances with an impetus of wrath, Their chieftain’s rage in every heart impels them on their path. A thousand rifles leveled low, but every rifle dumb, The beating of a thousand feet upon a monster drum, A surging of the war cloud as they disappear beneath, A sickening of the spirit and a gasping of the breath; Redoubled din--a lull--a cheer; I would the smoke would go! Oh, see our swooping battle flags! Oh, see the fleeing foe! Now glory to those gallant men! and Father, to Thy hand To-morrow shall our praises ring throughout our stricken land! But where is he who rallied them? I miss his charger there; I see him now ’midst yonder three whose saddles all are bare; And two men staggering with a load this side of them I see; Oh, who is it they carry in their arms so tenderly? They lay him gently on the leaves. Ah, well I know him now! I know that lordly figure and that grand imperial brow! ’Tis he; but oh, how prostrate is that form which filled the air! And his the pallid face; but look, the glory still is there!