394 SKETCHES IN RHYME. 



The Federals, ranged from height to height, 

 In awe-struck silence view the sight 

 As onward the Confederate braves 

 Come marching o'er their future graves, 

 And as they cross the meadow's marge 

 They double-quick the final charge. 



Now roar the Federal guns again, 

 Now flash their hundred fires amain, 

 The graveyard frees its hidden death 

 And Round Top blows its poisoned breath. 

 While the long, low ridge which lies between 

 Seething with fire and smoke is seen. 



The torn lines break but charge again ; 

 Behind a broadening trail of slain, 

 In front a narrowing sea of gray, 

 On the famed Stone Wall breaks away, 

 Reddening the surface with its spray. 



And still he heard from the lonely ward 

 The battle above as it surged and roared, 

 While the bursting shells wove a fiery bridge 

 Of arches which sprang from ridge to ridge. 

 Spanning the reeking battle mist. 

 Over which they shrieked and hissed ; 

 Spanning the swaying noisy sea 

 Of demonized humanity 

 With its under current flowing red. 

 Wounded and dying among the dead. 



The sun rose twice, and twice went down, 

 Back of the mountains dim and brown ; 

 Twice the moon with softened glare 

 Rode through the sulphur-laden air. 

 And the fight was over. Ah ! who can tell 

 How many were sleeping where they fell. 



