That is big with the fate of the world!
Drawing rein at the station of Longstreet,
Eagerly springs from the saddle George Pickett the soldier intrepid,
Face fire-red with his hope and his haste, and the lion-shaggy
Mane of his cavalier locks tossed with the rush of his riding.
“Charge? do we charge?” So he stands.
—As over the slope of a mountain
Glooms a shadow broad, and the birds in the forest stop singing,
Darkens with secret foreboding the visage of Longstreet the leader;
Shadow hangs on his soul, and his lips are locked; yet reluctant