Dawn peered through the pines as we dashed at the ford; Afar the grim guns of the infantry roared; There were miles yet of dangerous pathway to pass, And Moseby might menace, and Stuart might mass; But we mocked every doubt, laughing danger to scorn, As we quaffed with a shout from the wine of the morn Those who rode with Kilpatrick to valor were born! How we chafed at delay! How we itched to be on! How we yearned for the fray where the battle-reek shone! It was _forward_, not _halt_, stirred the fire in our veins, When our horses’ feet beat to the clink of the reins; It was _charge_, not _retreat_, we were wonted to hear; It was _charge_, not _retreat_, that was sweet to the ear; Those who rode with Kilpatrick had never felt fear! At last the word came, and troop tossed it to troop; Two squadrons deployed with a falcon-like swoop; While swiftly the others in echelons formed, For there, just ahead, was the line to be stormed. The trumpets rang out; there were guidons ablow; The white summer sun set our sabres aglow; Those who rode with Kilpatrick charged straight at the foe! We swept like the whirlwind; we closed; at the shock The sky seemed to reel and the earth seemed to rock; Steel clashed upon steel with a deafening sound, While a redder than rose-stain encrimsoned the ground; If we gave back a space from the fierce pit of hell, We were rallied again by a voice like a bell, Those who rode with Kilpatrick rode valiantly well! Rang sternly his orders from out of the wrack: _Re-form there, New Yorkers! You, Harris Light, back! Come on, men of Maine! we will conquer or fall! Now, forward, boys, forward, and follow me, all!_ A Bayard in boldness, a Sidney in grace, A lion to lead, and a stag-hound to chase— Those who rode with Kilpatrick looked Death in the face! Though brave were our foemen, they faltered and fled; Yet that was no marvel when such as he led! Long ago, long ago, was that desperate day! Long ago, long ago, strove the Blue and the Gray! Praise God that the red sun of battle is set! That our hand-clasp is loyal and loving—and yet Those who rode with Kilpatrick can never forget! The Lochinvar key is also struck in the description of Kilpatrick. Mr. Scollard sounds a less sanguinary note in most of the ballads, as that of “The Troopers” or “King Philip’s Last Stand.” “On the Eve of Bunker Hill,” while recording no thrilling story, has a note of pensive beauty in its quiet description of the preparation for battle before that memorable day, and of the prayer offered in the presence of the soldiers, “ranged a-row” in the open night. The initial stanza gives the setting and key: