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74
THE BATTLE OF GAINES' HILL.
But ah, the rain to come! No noise Within our guarded limits ran;But heavy hands shook slumber's poise, And wearily, in rear and van, Our dark retreat began.
The stars, with crimson torches, sought Their darkened pathways through the skies,When woke our challenge-guns, and brought From wary foemen's batteries The boom of quick replies;
As if fresh slaughter to prelude: The while—by stratagem discreet—Receding, pausing, scarce pursued, With no disorder of defeat, So moved our slow retreat.
But when the sun his sword unsheathed, And smote us sore, at bay we stood—To God, the Just, our lives bequeathed; Planted our guns by vale and wood, To wait the rain of blood.
It came! Full soon the war-fiend came— Stern as hell's king, and fiery-browed!We saw him smite, with hand of flame,
