One sharp shudder ran through the host of the South, the beholders.
(Over the mind of the Chief a memory, thrilling electric,
Flashed, the revenge of Time: and he saw the blue-coated battalions
Move through the winterly light of the cruel Thirteenth of December
Up to the sunken wall that was topped with the rifles of Georgia:
Stubborn and stern they came, to pile the bleak field with their bodies.
He, who had looked on that day, looked now on his own, his Virginians,
Drinking the cup of fire, like their brothers, their foemen, before them.
Sorrow and pride in his soul struggled; he suffered, and spoke not.)
Pain possessed the field, and the smoke-veil settled upon it;