Line after line, aye, whole platoons, Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons, By the maddened horses were onward borne, And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn; As Keenan fought with his men, side by side. So they rode, till there were no more to ride. And over them, lying there shattered and mute, What deep echo rolls?--’Tis 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 whippoorwill 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. GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP. (From _Dreams and Days_; Copyright, 1892, Charles Scribner’s Sons. By special permission.) 31 THE HERO OF THE GUN The captain galloped to the front, The foam upon his rein; And, as he urged his swerving steed Across a pile of slain, He hailed the gunner at his post: “Ho, Fergus! pour your shell Straight in the face of yon stout line That holds the height so well, “And never slack your raking fire-- No, not to cool your gun; For if we break those stubborn ranks, I think the day is won.” The gunner wiped his smoke-dimmed face-- “I’ll do the best I can, And down--brave fellows though they be-- We’ll bring them to a man!” “I’ll trust you for it!”--Like a flash The captain turned and wheeled, And with his sword above his head Dashed backward to the field. Fierce belched the cannon’s ceaseless fire, With deadly crash and din; And, though the line still held the height, Its ranks began to thin. “Two rounds--and we will clear the hill!” But, as the gunner spoke, A sudden overwhelming storm Of bullets o’er him broke. And when the smoke had lifted, there Still straining all his powers, They heard him shout: “Two shots, my boys, And then the day is ours! “No matter if one arm be gone, I keep the other still; I promised I would do my best, And so you’ll see, I will! “Let me make trial while my strength Can do the duty set; I tell you that this strong left hand Is good for service yet!” They primed the piece, and twice he sent, With all too deadly aim, The shells that mowed the broken line, And swept the hill with flame. “Where’s Fergus?”--and the captain’s horse Came spurring into sight-- “Where’s Fergus? let him take my thanks,-- His fire has won the fight!”