And ever the stars above look down John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892] KEENAN'S CHARGE THE sun had set; [MAY 2, 1863] I The leaves with dew were wet: Down fell a bloody dusk On the woods, that second of May, Where "Stonewall's" corps, like a beast of prey, Tore through, with angry tusk. "They've trapped us, boys!" Broke and fled. Not one stayed,— but the dead! With curses, shrieks, and cries, Tumbled back through the shuddering glen, And above us the fading skies. There's one hope, still,— Those batteries, parked on the hill! "Battery, wheel!" ('mid the roar), "Pass pieces; fix prolonge to fire Retiring. Trot!" In the panic dire A bugle rings "Trot!"-and no more. The horses plunged, The cannon lurched and lunged, To join the hopeless rout. But suddenly rose a form Calmly in front of the human storm, "Align those guns!" (We knew it was Pleasonton's.) The cannoneers bent to obey, And worked with a will at his word, And the black guns moved as if they had heard. "To wait is crime; O God, for ten minutes' time!" The General looked around. With his three hundred horse alone, "Major, your men?" "Are soldiers, General." "Then, Till my guns are placed; else the army is lost. II By the shrouded gleam of the western skies, "Cavalry, charge!" Not a man of them shrank. Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, Rose joyously, with a willing breath,— Rose like a greeting hail to death. Then forward they sprang, and spurred, and clashed; Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed; Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, In their faded coats of the blue and yellow; And above in the air, with an instinct true, With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds, Line after line the troopers came To the edge of the wood that was ringed with flame; Rode in, and sabred, and shot,—and fell: Nor came one back his wounds to tell. And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall, In the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall, While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung 'Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung. Line after line, aye, whole platoons, Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons So they rode, till there were no more to ride. But over them, lying there shattered and mute, Over them now,-year following year,— But they stir not again; they raise no cheer; The rush of their charge is resounding still, That saved the army at Chancellorsville. George Parsons Lathrop [1851-1898] THE BLACK REGIMENT [PORT HUDSON, MAY 27, 1863] DARK as the clouds of even, Arm to arm, knee to knee, Down the long dusky line "Now," the flag-sergeant cried, Free in this land; or bound Down, like the whining hound,- Oh, what a shout there went "Charge!" Trump and drum awoke; Onward the bondmen broke; Bayonet and saber-stroke Vainly opposed their rush. Through the wild battle's crush, Down they tear man and horse, "Freedom!" their battle-cry,- Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to breathe one free breath, So they could once more see This was what "freedom" lent To the black regiment. Hundreds on hundreds fell; |