Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 5.
Frank Moore, Ed.

[30] VI.
     They dream in happiness of home endearments--
A flow'ret budding on a broken stem--
     While close at hand are laid the martial cerements
To be unfolded, and perhaps for them.

VII.
     Ah! while on every side is death-like stillness,
How dull, with care, is every moment fraught;
     Then through the frame there creeps a sudden chillness,
As the more busy brain is flushed with thought.

VIII.
     The vain imagination often traces
Forms without substance on the vacant air,
     And hears in every breath the night embraces,
Sounds that the heart alone can answer there.

IX.
     Hark! shall mean fear or terror overthrow me,
As now I feel a lurking foe is near?
     Why crash the thickets, in the vale below me?
Why the hushed noises that now reach mine ear?

X.
     Comrades! arouse from your oft-broken slumbers!
For lo! a foe is prowling close at hand.
     But up! be ready, meet their armed numbers,
As fits the valor, soldiers should command!

XI.
     May we be brave, though all be soon surrounded,
Let it be said we stood the action well,
     Although we all be dying or are wounded,
Scarce one soul left, our luckless fate to tell.

XII.
     Oh! rouse! oh! rouse! Why will ye still be sleeping?
Cannot pale terror stir you into life?
     Must I the vigil's watch in vain be keeping?
Arm! arm! prepare! Be ready for the strife!

XIII.
     Look — all is dark! see here!--now there!--is blazing--
Incessant din — again — once more, a gun;
     The sulph'rous smell almost to madness crazing,
And all — all is done.

XIV.
     At length, alas! grim death one victim claiming,
Hath numbered one poor comrade for his own,
     Though justice, too, with truth the rifle aiming,
Hath sped one missive which will his death atone.

XV.
     But ah! the light from yon horizon breaking,
Reveals a sad misfortune to our sight;
     It is our friends that we, for foes mistaking,
Have met in combat and in deadly fight.

XVI.
     No! comrade, no! although we now lament thee,
With the poor comfort of a soldier's grief,
     We'll ever bear in mind what fortune rent thee
From us, whose life, at most, like thine, is brief.

XVII.
     Oh! be not rash, or wrongly seek to blame us;
Our hearts are full, already, with despair;
     Nor add the fuel to a fire to flame us,
While icy death doth breathe our vital air.

XVIII.
     But think not, ye who, free from these, our dangers,
That draw, in freedom, life's too fleeting breath,
     Think not that ye from such are total strangers,
For, in our lives, we live in constant death!