The red blood flushed, his dusky cheek—
His dark eyes all agleam.
Sturgis and Cook in vain essayed,
And others yet may try,
But now the gallant Fifty-first
Must storm the bridge or die.
Bright flashed the sword their leader drew—
“Charge!” Like a simoon’s blast,
The Fifty-first, mid shot and shell,
Dashed on—the bridge is passed;