Two mighty hosts,
Ready and panoplied for deadliest war,
And eager for the combat where the prize
Of victory was empire--for the foe
An empire borne upon the bended backs
Of toiling slaves in millions--but for us,
An empire grounded on the rights of man--
Lay on their arms awaiting innocent morn
To light the field for slaughter to begin.
"Silent above us spread the dusky heavens,
Silent below us lay the smoky vale,
Silent beyond, the dreadful crest of hills.
Anon the neigh of horse, a sentry's call,
Or rapid hoof-beats of a flying steed
Bearing an aid and orders, broke the dread,
Portentous silence. I was worn and slept.
"The call of bugles wakened me. The dawn
Was stealing softly o'er the shadowy land,
And morning grew apace. Broad in the east
Uprose above the crest of hazy hills
Like some broad shield by fabled giant borne,
The golden sun, and flashed upon the field.
Ripe for the harvest stood the golden grain,
Nodding on gentle slopes and dewy hills.
Ready for the harvest death's grim reapers stood
Waiting the signal with impatient steel;
And morning passed, and mid-day. Here and there
The crack of rifles on the picket-line,
Or boom of solitary cannon broke
The myriad-voiced and dreadful monotone.
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