Classic Poem

At early dawn the Army of the North
Began emergence from its rifle pits.
'Tis scarcely possible, so quick it was,
To tell the story. 'Twas a pageant vast
Of blue-tinged marchers, next the heroic charge,
Triumphant leaping over parapets,
Capture of Colors, guns and prisoners,
And then the Southern enfilading fire,
And with it one wide frontal sheet of flame,
And all the field strewn thick with Union dead, —
Ten thousand dead before the sun had risen.

There, midst his smoking guns, the Gray Chief stood;
And all Lee's soul forgot the vision past
Of the predestined end — his shattered dream,
His ashen hopes, and the far solemn strains
Heard upon Seminary Ridge — and felt,
The while he drank the red embattled cup,
The intoxicating wine of victory.
It scarce had passed his lips when forth he drew
His sword, — his spirit's sign in many a fight, —
And lifting it above his ruthless guns,
Avengeful fury in his blazing eyes,
He flung a fresh defiance to his foes.