Whenever they broke our line we broke their line,
They took our guns and we won them again, and around the levels
Where the hill sloped up—with the Eighty-ninth,—we fought like devils
Around the flag;—and on they came and we drove them back,
Until with its very fierceness the fight grew slack.
It was then about nine and dark as a miser's pocket,
When up came Hercules Scott's brigade swift as a rocket,
And charged,—and the flashes sprang in the dark like a lion's eyes;
The night was full of fire—groans, and cheers, and cries;
Then through the sound and the fury another sound broke in—