But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath.
Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal,
Asking where to go in,--through the clearing or pine?
"O, anywhere! Forward! 'Tis all the same, Colonel:
You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line!"
O, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly,
That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried!
Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily,
The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride!
Yet we dream that he still,--in that shadowy region
Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer's sign,--
Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion,
And the word still is Forward! along the whole line.
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
* * * * *
THE GENERAL'S DEATH.
The general dashed along the road
Amid the pelting rain;
How joyously his bold face glowed
To hear our cheers' refrain!
His blue blouse flapped in wind and wet,
His boots were splashed with mire,
But round his lips a smile was set,
And in his eyes a fire.
A laughing word, a gesture kind,--
We did not ask for more,
With thirty weary miles behind,
A weary fight before.
The gun grew light to every man,
The crossed belts ceased their stress,
As onward to the column's van
We watched our leader press.
Within an hour we saw him lie,
A bullet in his brain,
His manly face turned to the sky,
And beaten by the rain.
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