Then drive them to their lair; Do not spare! Let shot and shell reply To their cry. Though their bodies taint the air, And become the vulture's fare, It is just that such invading hordes should die. McDowell, in the van, Sees his beaten columns fly! He calls on God and man For the aid that both deny; The army he would rally, as it runs. Thus, thus, McDowell raves: "Know ye not, ye unworthy knaves, That you fight the fight for slaves-- Sable ones; Come, and purchase redder graves With your guns." But the guns are thrown away, The invaders will not stay; To them a fearful lesson has been read: For miles strewn all around, Encrimsoning the rich ground, Lie their fallen friends--the wounded and the dead. The sun slopes down the west, But the foe in wild unrest Rushes on, though destruction follows fast. The Southern cavalcade Dyes with red each trusty blade, And the carnage is terrible and vast! Oh, where is Scott, the chief? Why brings he not relief? And Patterson, the tardy, where is he? And where is Abe, the Great, With his cap and cloak of state? He should see How his warriors can flee. Fear lendeth speed to flight, And the foe invokes the night To let its starless curtain quickly fall; But it falleth all too slow, For the terrors of the foe, And it seems to them the shadow of a pall. A Nemesis concealed In the shades of wold and field, Breathes of vengeance to the foemen as they run; They are rushing in despair, But there's carnage everywhere, And they know not what to welcome or to shun. Ten thousand of their slain Strew the plain; The shrieks from ten thousand more arise; And the ghosts From their hosts Wail despairingly and vain, In their pain, For a welcome to the skies. At morning, in their pride, Side by side, They went forth in their might To the fight; And now they flee in fear, Trembling like the stricken deer, At the saber and the spear-- It is night. They came forth to destroy, With a fierce, fanatic joy, And boasted of the Rebels they would slay; But, ere the set of sun, There are hundreds chased by one, And they pray their legs to bear them safe away. For miles strewn all around O'er the ground, The records of their flight Meet the sight: Bodies 'neath the horses' tread; Bodies living; bodies dead; And the swords and guns most beautifully bright!