Rifle-bolt, round-shot, and shell, from the right, from the left of them raking, Buzzing and screaming and bursting, harrowed the ranks of them redly; Strangely the Centre was silent,--the Centre, and eyes of the captains Fixed, in the storm, on the landmark, the dark little cluster of oak-trees Faintly and fitfully seen, and the low stone wall through the smoke-veil. Mingled anon in the whirl the whistle and whip of the bullets Sped from the sharpshooters’ rifles; anon in the iron confusion, Musketry crashed on the flank; and now on the breast of the column Flamed the canister-fire from the gunners of Hays and of Gibbon. Blending, the sheeted blaze of the heavily-volleying muskets Suddenly fringed the front, from the regiments crouching expectant: Almost with awe they awaited the furious onset of foemen Tried in the five-fold fire, and from hell undaunted emerging. Waited not long: with the crash of answering volley for volley, Raising the yell of the charge, wild as the howl of the wolf-pack, Surged up out of the smoke the first of the lean tanned faces, Teeth half-bared as in joy, and the sunken eyes savagely gleaming Under the old gray brims and the slant of the battered visors. Man to man at last! In the grip and the sway of the wrestle Springing the regiments clinched, flinging away their formation, Red-blind, sobbing for breath, mad in the terrible mellay, Mad for the blood-bright flags, for the star-crossed flags of the Southland, Borne on the crest of the wave through the broken lines of the Union-- Broken ---- Again to close; brief was the desperate triumph! Happy the Southron who died as cheering he planted his colors, Passed on the crest of the wave as it curved to the crash of its falling! Happy, not knowing defeat, Garnett, the gallant, and happy Armistead leaping the wall, lifting his cap on his sword-point, Smiting his hand on the cannon, and suddenly sinking across it! Not for them the crawl of the sick slow days of the captive, Torture of wounds, nor bruit of the perishing cause that they fought for-- Rather swift conquest of Peace, and to enter the City of Silence! Not for them be sorrow; but sorrow for such men as haply, Flung on the flag of the South as it burst through the line of the Union, Fell, and died in their doubt, and knew not the sweep of the darkness Over their faces upturned was the passing of Victory’s garment!