. Westmoreland County, Virginia : parts I and II : a short chapter and bright day in its history. he—Calm and resolute Eobert Lee. Quick and watchful, he kept his eyeOn two bold rebel brigades close by—Eeserves that were standing (and dying) at easeWhere the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees. For still with their loud, bull dog bayThe Yankee batteries blazed with every murderous second that spedA dozen brave fellows, alas! fell dead. The grand old beard rode to the space Where Death and his victims stood face to face. And silently waves his old slouch hat— A world of meaning the
. Westmoreland County, Virginia : parts I and II : a short chapter and bright day in its history. he—Calm and resolute Eobert Lee. Quick and watchful, he kept his eyeOn two bold rebel brigades close by—Eeserves that were standing (and dying) at easeWhere the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees. For still with their loud, bull dog bayThe Yankee batteries blazed with every murderous second that spedA dozen brave fellows, alas! fell dead. The grand old beard rode to the space Where Death and his victims stood face to face. And silently waves his old slouch hat— A world of meaning there was in that! Follow me ! Steady ! Well save the day!This was what he seemed to say;And to the light of his glorious eyeThe bold brigades thus made the reply: Well go forward, but you must go back,And they moved not an inch in the perilous to the rear, and well give them a rout,Then the sound of the battle was lost in their shout. Turning his bridle, Eobert LeeEode to the rear. Like the waves of the seaBursting the dykes in their overflow,Madly his veterans dashed on the foe;. Oi, -I WESTMORELAND COUNTY, VIRGINIA 131 And biUkwaid in terror that foe was driven,Their banners rent and their eoliunns rivenWherever the tide of battle rolled,Over the Wilderness, wood, and wold. Sunset out of a crimson sky,Streamed oer a field of a ruddier the brook ran on with a purple stainFrom the blood of ten thousand foemen slain. Seasons have passed since that day and year,Again oer the pebbles the brook runs clear,And the field in a richer green is drestWhere the dead of the terrible conflict rest. Hushed is the roll of the rebel drum; The sabres are sheathed, and the cannon are dumb; And Fate, with pitiless hand, has furled The flag that once challenged the gaze of the world. But the fame of the Wilderness fight abides,And down into the history grandly and unmoved, as in battle he sat,The grey-bearded man in the black slouch hat. —John R. Thompson. XIV. We
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