Then _'Hail Columbia'_ rang the brazen horns,
And all the hill-tops shouted unto heaven;
The welkin shouted to the shouting hills--And
heavens and hill-tops shouted _'Victory!'_
"Night with her pall had wrapped the bloody field.
The little remnants of our regiment
Were gathered and encamped upon the hill.
Paul was not with them, and they could not tell
Aught of him. I had seen him in the fight
Bravest of all the brave. I saw him last
When first the foremost foemen reached our wall,
Thrusting them off with bloody bayonet,
And shouting to his comrades, _'Steady, men!'_
Sadly I wandered back where we had met
The onset of the foe. The rounds of cheers
Repeated oft still swept from corps to corps,
And as I passed along the line I saw
Our dying comrades raise their weary heads,
And cheer with feeble voices. Even in death
The cry of victory warmed their hearts again.
Paul lay upon the ground where he had fought,
Fast by the flag that floated on the line.
He slept--or seemed to sleep, but on his brow
Sat such a deadly pallor that I feared
My Paul would never march and fight again.
I raised his head--he woke as from a dream;
I said, 'Be quiet--you are badly hurt;
I'll call a surgeon; we will dress your wound.
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