But the Left lay still, as enchanted: Two huge armies outstretched, and between them the undulant valley Basking broad, as asleep; only now and again through the quiet Ripped the skirmishers’ rifles, a crackle increasing, then ceasing; Now and again from the Right came the rolling rumors of battle Echoing far, but disturbed not the dream of the armies enchanted: Ceased at the last all sound, and the magical slumber was deepened. So the bright hot day drew on to the noontide, and passed it. Scarce had the old-fashioned clocks, in the farmhouses hushed, apprehensive,-- Equably telling the tale of the fire-wingèd minutes that fleeted Bearing the death of men, as in days of peace, when the minutes Bore but the blessing of toil, and a sleep with its face to the morrow, --Scarce had the clocks struck One, when the deep-toned boom of the cannon,-- Hark, it was twice!--on the ridge that was held by the Southron, gave signal: Boom, boom, boom after boom to the right, to the left, in the centre; Cloud, cloud, cloud after cloud, white smoke-clouds that sprang out and hung there, Massing, concealing, yet severed again and again by the flame-gush. Now from the heights of the Union the batteries thundered their answer, Boom, boom, boom after boom, from the right and the left and the centre, Surf on a winter-bound coast, a tempestuous roaring incessant. Piercingly rose as a cry, on that ground of vast sound elemental, Scream of the travailing shells as they burst o’er the cloud-covered valley. Trembled the solid earth, as she thrills in the throes of the earthquake; Prickled the sulphurous air with the demon-breath of the powder; Fainted the hearts of men at the endless unbearable clamor; Filled were the heaven and the earth with the clang of that duel of iron: Such they beheld not before, and heard not,--a combat of giants! What did it mean on the earth? Stark terror and blood and confusion; Shriek of the battery-horses, and hell-blaze of caissons exploding; Reel of the torn cannoneer as he suddenly drops by his cannon, Spring of the quick volunteer to snatch from his dead hand the rammer; Orderlies galloping past, and a rumor of somewhat a-brewing: Crouching of soldiers in gray, at the rear, in the underwoods’ flicker,-- Charge? we shall charge by and by? then a pipe of Virginia tobacco! Over their heads as they lie, by the trunks of the fallen trees pillowed, Jesting and resting an hour, come showering the boughs of the saplings. Crouching of soldiers in blue, at the front, by the walls and the fences, Waiting a charge--will they charge? and the brown fingers lock on the musket; Sharply a rifle-gun bolt rips up the ground underneath him. There in the field on the slope is a bellow of suffering cattle, Out by the farmgate yonder, a tangle and mangle of horses;