above the frosted fields
Twinkled and blazed upon that crest of hills
The camp-fires of the foe. 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.
So fled the anxious hours until the hills
Sent forth their silent shadows to the east--
And then their batteries opened on our left
Advanced into the valley. All along
The rolling crest of Seminary Ridge
Rolled up the smoke of cannon. Answered then
The grim artillery on our chain of hills'
And heaven was hideous with the bellowing boom,
The whiz of shot, the infernal shrieks of shells.
Down from the hills their charging columns came
A glittering mass of steel. As when the snow
Piled by an hundred winters on the peak
Of cloud-robed Bernard thunders down the cliffs,
Nor rocks nor forests stay the mighty mass,
And men and flocks in terror fly the death,
So thundering fell the columns of the foe,
Crushing through Sickles' corps in front and flank;
And, roaring onward like a mighty wind,
They rushed for Little Round-Top--rugged hill,
Key to our left and center--all exposed--
Manned by a broken battery half unmanned.
But Hancock saw the peril. On stalwart steed
Foam-flecked, wide-nostriled, panting like a hound,
That stalwart soldier--Spartan to the soles--
Came dashing down where, prone along the ridge
Upon t