A march in the ranks hard-pressed, and the road unknown; A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the darkness; Our army foiled with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating; Till after midnight glimmer upon us the lights of a dim-lighted building; We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted building. 'Tis a large old church, at the crossing roads--'tis now an impromptu hospital; --Entering but for a minute, I see a sight beyond all the pictures and poems ever made: Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving, candles and lamps, And by one great pitchy torch, stationary, with wild red flame, and clouds of smoke; By these, crowds, groups of forms, vaguely I see, on the floor, some in the pews laid down; At my feet more distinctly, a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen;) I staunch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as a lily;) Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene, fain to absorb it all; Faces, varieties, postures, beyond description, most in obscurity, some of them dead; Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, the odour of blood; The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms of soldiers--the yard outside also filled; Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in the death- spasm sweating; An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's shouted orders or calls; The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of the torches; These I resume as I chant--I see again the forms, I smell the odour; Then hear outside the orders given, _Fall in, my men, Fall in_. But first I bend to the dying lad--his eyes open--a half-smile gives he me; Then the eyes close, calmly close: and I speed forth to the darkness, Resuming, marching, as ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks, The unknown road still marching. _A SIGHT IN CAMP._ 1. A sight in camp in the daybreak grey and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless, As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent, Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended lying; Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket, Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all. 2. Curious, I halt, and silent stand; Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first, just lift the blanket; Who are you, elderly man, so gaunt and grim, with well-greyed hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes? Who are you, my dear comrade? Then to the second I step--And who are you, my child and darling? Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?