large/7841/battle-pieces_aspects_war_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/battle-pieces_27_melville_64kb_16
large/7841/battle-pieces_aspects_war_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/battle-pieces_27_melville_64kb
English
7841
_ The livelong night they ford the flood; With guns held high they silent press, Till shimmers the grass in their bayonets' sheen   On Morning's banks their ranks they dress; Then by the forests lightly wind, Whose waving boughs the pennons seem to bless, Borne by the cavalry scouting on   Sounding the Wilderness. THE LIVELONG NIGHT THEY FORD THE FLOOD WITH GUNS HELD HIGH THEY SILENT PRESS TILL SHIMMERS THE GRASS AND THEIR BAYONETS SHEEN ON MORNING BANKS THEIR RANKS THEY DRESS THEN BY THE FOREST LIGHTLY WIND WHOSE WAVING BOUGHS THE PENNONS SEEM TO BLESS BORNE BY THE CAVALRY SCOUTING ON SOUNDING THE WILDERNESS
g staves Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords, What care they if Winter raves? _Is life but a dream? and so, In the dream do men laugh aloud? So strange seems mirth in a camp, So like a white tent to a shroud._ II The May-weed springs; and comes a Man And mounts our Signal Hill; A quiet Man, and plain in garb-- Briefly he looks his fill, Then drops his gray eye on the ground, Like a loaded mortar he is still: Meekness and grimness meet in him-- The silent General. _Were men but strong and wise, Honest as Grant, and calm, War would be left to the red and black ants, And the happy world disarm._ That eve a stir was in the camps, Forerunning quiet soon to come Among the streets of beechen huts No more to know the drum. The weed shall choke the lowly door, And foxes peer within the gloom, Till scared perchange by Mosby’s prowling men, Who ride in the rear of doom. _Far West, and farther South, Wherever the sword has been, Deserted camps are met, And desert graves are seen. LAST GHOSTLY SHRIEKS THEIR ROLLICKING STAVES MAKE FROLIC THE HEART BEATING TIME WITH THEIR SWORDS WHAT CARE THEY IF WINTER RAVES IS LIFE BUT A DREAM AND SO IN THE DREAM DO MEN LAUGH ALOUD SO STRANGE SEEMS MIRTH IN A CAMP SO LIKE A WHITE TENT TO A SHROUD TWO THE MAYWEED SPRINGS AND COMES A MAN AND MOUNTS OUR SIGNAL HILL A QUIET MAN AND PLAIN IN GARB BRIEFLY HE LOOKS HIS FILL THEN DROPS HIS GREY EYE ON THE GROUND LIKE A LOADED MORTAR HE IS STILL MEEKNESS AND GRIMNESS MEET IN HIM THE SILENT GENERAL WERE MEN BUT STRONG AND WISE HONEST IS GRANT AND CALM WAR WOULD BE LEFT TO THE RED AND BLACK ANTS AND THE HAPPY WORLD DISARM THAT EVE A STIR WAS IN THE CAMPS FOR RUNNING QUIET SOON TO COME AMONG THE STREETS OF BEECH AND HUTS NO MORE TO KNOW THE DRUM THE WEEDS SHALL CHOKE THE LOWLY DOOR AND FOXES PEER WITHIN THE GLOOM TILL SCARED PERCHANCE BY MOSEBY'S PROWLING MEN WHO RIDE IN THE REAR OF DOOM FAR WEST AND FARTHER SOUTH WHEREVER THE SWORD HAS BEEN DESERTED CAMPS ARE MET AND DESERT GRAVES ARE SEEN
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