er!--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.
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.'
He gravely said:

"'Tis vain; for I have done
With camp and march and battle. Ere the dawn
Shall I be mustered out of your command,
And mustered into the Grand Host of heaven.'

"I sought a surgeon on the field and found;
With me he came and opened the bloody blouse,
Fe