Almost he groped to the prize, to the gleam of the hard white highway
On to Baltimore sweeping, the one sure outlet of safety;
Almost he chanced with his hand on the close-hoarded power of the powder:
Brave and blind, or beholding too late, on the plain and the hillside,
Seven vain hours he fought; then reeling let go the advantage,
Fell back panting and foiled. Once again in its rugged intrenchments
Rested the Corps of the Star; on the field rested many forever.
So sped the morn on the Right.
IV
But the Left lay still, as enchanted: