And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!

John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892]

KEENAN'S CHARGE

THE sun had set;

[MAY 2, 1863]

I

The leaves with dew were wet:

Down fell a bloody dusk

On the woods, that second of May,

Where "Stonewall's" corps, like a beast of prey,

Tore through, with angry tusk.

"They've trapped us, boys!"
Rose from our flank a voice.
With rush of steel and smoke
On came the rebels straight,
Eager as love and wild as hate;
And our line reeled and broke;

Broke and fled.

Not one stayed,— but the dead!

With curses, shrieks, and cries,
Horses and wagons and men

Tumbled back through the shuddering glen,

And above us the fading skies.

There's one hope, still,—

Those batteries, parked on the hill! "Battery, wheel!" ('mid the roar),

"Pass pieces; fix prolonge to fire Retiring. Trot!" In the panic dire A bugle rings "Trot!"-and no more.

The horses plunged,

The cannon lurched and lunged,

To join the hopeless rout.

But suddenly rose a form

Calmly in front of the human storm,
With a stern, commanding shout:

"Align those guns!"

(We knew it was Pleasonton's.)

The cannoneers bent to obey,

And worked with a will at his word,

And the black guns moved as if they had heard.
But, ah, the dread delay!

"To wait is crime;

O God, for ten minutes' time!"

The General looked around.
There Keenan sat, like a stone,

With his three hundred horse alone,
Less shaken than the ground.

"Major, your men?"

"Are soldiers, General." "Then,
Charge, Major! Do your best;
Hold the enemy back, at all cost,

Till my guns are placed; else the army is lost.
You die to save the rest!"

II

By the shrouded gleam of the western skies,
Brave Keenan looked into Pleasonton's eyes
For an instant-clear, and cool, and still;
Then, with a smile, he said: "I will."

"Cavalry, charge!" Not a man of them shrank.

Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank,

Rose joyously, with a willing breath,—

Rose like a greeting hail to death.

Then forward they sprang, and spurred, and clashed;

Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed;

Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow,

In their faded coats of the blue and yellow;

And above in the air, with an instinct true,
Like a bird of war their pennon flew.

With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds,
And blades that shine like sunlit reeds,
And strong brown faces bravely pale
For fear their proud attempt shall fail,
Three hundred Pennsylvanians close
On twice ten thousand gallant foes.

Line after line the troopers came

To the edge of the wood that was ringed with flame; Rode in, and sabred, and shot,—and fell:

Nor came one back his wounds to tell.

And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall,

In the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall, While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung 'Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung.

Line after line, aye, whole platoons,

Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons
By the maddened horses were onward borne
And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn;
As Keenan fought with his men, side by side.

So they rode, till there were no more to ride.

But over them, lying there shattered and mute,
What deep echo rolls? 'Tis a death-salute
From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved
Your fate not in vain: the army was saved!

Over them now,-year following year,—
Over their graves the pine-cones fall,
And the whippoorwill chants his spectre-call;

But they stir not again; they raise no cheer;
They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease,
Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace.

The rush of their charge is resounding still,

That saved the army at Chancellorsville.

George Parsons Lathrop [1851-1898]

THE BLACK REGIMENT

[PORT HUDSON, MAY 27, 1863]

DARK as the clouds of even,
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dead mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land,—
So still and orderly,

Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event,
Stands the black regiment.

Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.

"Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
"Though death and hell betide,
Let the whole nation see
If we are fit to be

Free in this land; or bound

Down, like the whining hound,-
Bound with red stripes of pain
In our old chains again!"

Oh, what a shout there went
From the black regiment!

"Charge!" Trump and drum awoke;

Onward the bondmen broke;

Bayonet and saber-stroke

Vainly opposed their rush.

Through the wild battle's crush,
With but one thought aflush,
Driving their lords like chaff,
In the guns' mouths they laugh;
Or at the slippery brands,
Leaping with open hands,

Down they tear man and horse,
Down in their awful course;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel,
All their eyes forward bent,
Rushed the black regiment.

"Freedom!" their battle-cry,-
"Freedom! or leave to die!"
Ah! and they meant the word,
Not as with us 'tis heard,
Not a mere party shout:
They gave their spirits out;
Trusted the end to God,
And on the gory sod

Rolled in triumphant blood.
Glad to strike one free blow,
Whether for weal or woe;

Glad to breathe one free breath,
Though on the lips of death;
Praying, alas! in vain!-
That they might fall again,

So they could once more see
That burst to liberty!

This was what "freedom" lent

To the black regiment.

Hundreds on hundreds fell;
But they are resting well;
Scourges and shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.
Oh, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true!