Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7.
Frank Moore, Ed.

[79] Drum I drum!
Ha! here they come;
And now how peer
All, fraught with fear,
With eager signs,
Along the lines!
And crave to trace
Therein the face
Of him they kissed,
And through the mist
Of tears, saw fade
In sombre shade!

Drum! drum!
God! what a shriek!
A poignant beak
Of vulture hath
In mystic wrath
Pierced one poor heart!
Keen with the smart,
She blankly stares
With fickle glares,
Her palm close-pressed
Against her breast,
And dumbly reels!
She knows or feels
Not now the blow
Of death and woe!
Nay, do not wake
Her now, the ache
Of sore regret
She feels not yet.
The awful shock
Hath stunned to rock!
God stay the fang!
God help the pang!

God bless them all!
Who dared to fall
Face to the foe
When blow on blow
In death crushed low,
Yet with a front
No foe could daunt,
Still looked with proud
White face to God!
Laud high their deed--
Crowns are their meed!

Ah! few remain
To tell the pain,
The frenzied strife
And wasted life
Of that red day!
In sad array
They pass along
With silent tongue,
And brows sublime
With scars and grime!

And slowly throbs that solemn beat
Of martial lines of weary feet
Down, down the stony street!
And loud reverberant from the ground,
The city's walls exultant sound
The lordly metre, deep and strong,
That proudly wakes the awe-struck throng;
Till on their beats from heart to heart
The truth sublime with subtle art--
“Pledge cordial hands, true hearts and all,
United stand; divided fall!”
Drum!