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=John R. Thompson,[90] 1823-1873.=
=410.= MUSIC IN CAMP.
Two armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain
Of battle's recent slaughters.
The summer clouds lay pitched like tents
In meads of heavenly azure,
And each dread gun of the elements
Slept in its hid embrazure.
The breeze so softly blew, it made
No forest leaf to quiver,
And the smoke of the random cannonade
Rolled slowly from the river.
And now, where circling hills looked down,
With cannon grimly planted,
O'er listless camp and silent town
The golden sunset slanted.
When on the fervid air there came
A strain—now rich and tender;
The music seemed itself aflame
With day's departing splendor.
And yet once more the bugles sang
Above the stormy riot;
No shout upon the evening rang—
There reigned a holy quiet,
The sad, slow stream, its noiseless flood
Poured o'er the glistening pebbles;
All silent now the Yankees stood,
And silent stood the Rebels.