Flutters their tattered banner on our wall!
Thunders their shout of victory! Appalled
Our serried ranks are broken--but in vain!
On either hand our cannon enfilade,
Crushing great gaps along the stalwart lines;
In front our deadly rifles volley still,
Mowing the toppling swaths of daring men.
Behold--they falter!--Ho!--they break!--they fly!
With one wild cheer that shakes the solid hills
Spring to the charge our eager infantry.
Headlong we press them down the bloody slope,
Headlong they fall before our leveled steel
And break in wild disorder, cast away
Their arms and fly in panic. All the vale
Is spread with slaughter and wild fugitives.
Wide o'er the field the scattered foemen fly;
Dread havoc and mad terror swift pursue
Till battle is but slaughter. Thousands fall--
Thousands surrender, and the Southern flag
Is trailed upon the field.
[D] Norse fire-fiend
[E] Cabri--the small, fleet antelope of the northern plains, so called
by the Crees and half-breeds.
"The day was ours,
And well we knew the worth of victory.
Loud rolled the rounds of cheers from corps to corps;
Comrades embraced each other; iron men
Shed tears of joy like women; men profane
Fell on their knees and thanked Almighty God.
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