Broke and fled.

No one staid--but the dead!

With curses, shrieks, and cries,

Horses and wagons and men

Tumbled back through the shuddering glen;

And, above us, the fading skies.

There's one hope, still—

Those batteries parked on the hill! "Battery, wheel!" ('mid the roar) "Pass pieces; fix prolonge to fire Retiring. Trot!" In the panic dire A bugle rings "Trot "--and no more.

The horses plunged,

The cannon lurched and lunged,

To join the hopeless rout.

But suddenly rode a form

Calmly in front of the human storm,

With a stern, commanding shout:

Align those guns!"

(We knew it was Pleasanton's.)

The cannoneers bent to obey,

And worked with a will, at his word:

And the black guns moved as if they had heard,

But ah, the dread delay!

"To wait is crime;

O God, for ten minutes' time!"

The general looked around.

There Keenan sat, like a stone,

With his three hundred horse alone

Less shaken than the ground.

"Major, your men- ?"

"Are soldiers, General." "Then, Charge, Major! Do your best: Hold the enemy back, at all cost,

Till my guns are placed;

You die to save the rest!"

else the army is lost.

II.

By the shrouded gleam of the western skies,
Brave Keenan looked into Pleasanton's eyes
For an instant-clear, and cool, and still;
Then, with a smile, he said: "I will."

"Cavalry, charge!" Not a man of them shrank. Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank,

Rose joyously, with a willing breath

Rose like a greeting hail to death.

Then forward they sprang, and spurred and clashed;

Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed;

Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow,

In their faded coats of the blue and yellow;

And above in the air, with an instinct true,
Like a bird of war their pennon flew.

With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds,

And blades that shine like sunlit reeds,

And strong brown faces bravely pale
For fear their proud attempt shall fail,
Three hundred Pennsylvanians close
On twice ten thousand gallant foes.

Line after line the troopers came

To the edge of the wood that was ring'd with flame;

Rode in, and sabred and shot-and fell;

Nor came one back his wounds to tell.

And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall

In the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall,
While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung
Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung.
Line after line; ay, whole platoons,

Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons
By the maddened horses were onward borne
And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn ;
As Keenan fought with his men, side by side.

So they rode, till there were no more to ride.

But over them, lying there, shattered and mute,
What deep echo rolls? 'Tis a death-salute
From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved
Your fate not in vain: the army was saved!

Over them now-year following year

Over their graves, the pine-cones fall,
And the whip-poor-will chants his spectre-call;

But they stir not again: they raise no cheer;
They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease,
Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace.

The rush of their charge is resounding still,

That saved the army at Chancellorsville.

OFF ROUGH POINT.

We sat at twilight nigh the sea,
The fog hung gray and weird,
Through the thick film uncannily
The broken moon appeared.

We heard the billows crack and plunge,
We saw nor waves nor ships.

Earth sucked the vapors like a sponge,
The salt spray wet our lips.

Closer the woof of white mist drew,

Before, behind, beside.

How could that phantom moon break through,

Above that shrouded tide?

The roaring waters filled the ear,

A white blank foiled the sight.
Close-gathering shadows near, more near,
Brought the blind, awful night.

O friends who passed unseen, unknown!

O dashing, troubled sea!

Still stand we on a rock alone,

Walled round by mystery.

THE WORLD'S JUSTICE.

If the sudden tidings came

That on some far, foreign coast, Buried ages long from fame,

Had been found a remnant lost

Of that hoary race who dwelt

By the golden Nile divine,

Spake the Pharaohs' tongue and knelt At the moon-crowned Isis' shrineHow at reverend Egypt's feet, Pilgrims from all lands would meet !

If the sudden news were known,
That anigh the desert place
Where once blossomed Babylon,
Scions of a mighty race

Still survived, of giant build,

Huntsmen, warriors, priest and sage, Whose ancestral fame had filled

Trumpet-tongued, the earlier age,

How at old Assyria's feet

Pilgrims from all lands would meet !

Yet when Egypt's self was young,

And Assyria's bloom unworn,

Ere the mythic Homer sung,

Ere the Gods of Greece were born,

Lived the nation of one God,

Priests of freedom, sons of Shem,

Never quelled by yoke or rod,

Founders of Jerusalem— Is there one abides, to-day, Seeker of dead cities, say!