Long ere the sharp command Told them their time had come, "Now," the flag-sergeant cried, "Though death and hell betide, Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be Free in this land; or bound Down, like the whining hound, — Bound with red stripes of pain In our old chains again!” O, what a shout there went From the black regiment! "Charge!" Trump and drum awoke, Onward the bondmen broke; Bayonet and sabre-stroke Vainly opposed their rush. Through the wild battle's crush, With but one thought aflush, Down they tear man and horse, Trampling with bloody heel "Freedom!" their battle-cry, - They gave their spirits out; Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod Rolled in triumphant blood. That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty! This was what "freedom" lent To the black regiment. Hundreds on hundreds fell; O, to the living few, Hail them as comrades tried; Fight with them side by side; Never, in field or tent, Scorn the black regiment. JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. July 1, 2, 3, 1863. HA AVE you heard the story that gossips tell No? Ah, well: Brief is the glory that hero earns, The only man who did n't back down When the rebels rode through his native town; But held his own in the fight next day, When all his townsfolk ran away. That was in July, Sixty-three, The very day that General Lee, Flower of Southern chivalry, Baffled and beaten, backward reeled From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. I might tell how but the day before John Burns stood at his cottage door, Looking down the village street, Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine, Or how he fancied the hum of bees But all such fanciful thoughts as these Were strange to a practical man like Burns, Who minded only his own concerns, Troubled no more by fancies fine Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed, kine, Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, Slow to argue, but quick to act. That was the reason, as some folks say, He fought so well on that terrible day. And it was terrible. On the right |