Against me raised the hand of every one.
The time had come when I must make my choice,
Defend one side with musket and with voice;
Then I, to conscience and convictions true,
Seemed an apostate,—for I chose the blue.
There are inscriptions on the scrolls of fate
Which seem too bitter even to relate.
I waive the details,—better to conceal
The secret skeletons, than to reveal.
I shall not tell you how my brother stormed,