‘We thought it hard, my comrades brave, to lose the field to-day;
But harder will our struggle be, to labor in the fray;
For he is gone, our gallant chief, who could our hopes restore,
And rout and ruin is our fate, since Stonewall is no more.’
“I cannot tell you how we felt, or how we acted then,
For words are weak to tell a tale when grief has mastered men;
But this I know, I pulled the cloth from off brave Jackson’s face,
And almost jumped with joy to see him gaze around the place.
“But, boys, it was a fleeting dream, a vacant stare he cast;
He did not see the canvas shaken by the sudden blast;