Well are they skilled what to do, his war-seasoned faithful commanders,
Longstreet, and Ambrose Hill, and Pickett the soldier intrepid
Leading invincible veterans, chosen, the flower of the army.
(Yet, O that Jackson were here, with his blue eyes wild and exalted,
Soldier-saint of the South, to be sharer of all that is coming,
As in the past he shared triumph and council and crisis,
Bivouac-fire in the pines, and the sleep on the brown pine-needles—
O that he too were here, who has crossed the River, and sweetly
Rests in no earthly shade, and returns not to conflict or council!)
This is the moment indeed: it is big with the fate of the battle