Fortresses fit for the Left. So the Line had been forged out of failure,
Battle-line hard to break.
Yet sick were the souls of the leaders,
Burdened with pity and loss; the field with unspeakable anguish
Groaned to the large clear moon; might the army abide such a morrow?
Cautious courageous Meade, not playing with lives as with counters,
Held his commanders in council, retracing, unweaving the war-web,
Shifting the fiery threads. At the last, it was brought to the question.
Was it retreat that slept in the brazen throats of the bugles?
Each after each answered No; Newton and Gibbon and Birney,