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THE BATTLE OF GAINES' HILL.
75
The solemn battle-harp and proud, Where rose the sulphurous cloud.
Behind our potent guns we stood— Therefrom the awful war-bolts flew;Bomb following bomb, full many a rood They plowed the smoking woodlands through, And what beside—God knew.
We waited till the hour approved, To hurl our forces undismayed,Where Death in all his grandeur moved; God's cause and Liberty's to aid By bayonet, ball, or blade.
There, fires that leap when patriots fall, All startling sights that cowards shun;All sounds that hurtle and appall— The bursting shell, the roaring gun— O'er all, the seething sun!
Full closely swarmed the traitor horde; Across the hill their bullets sang;Along our yielding van they poured— Their shouts like peals of victory rang— Then, at the word, we sprang.
