Drown the tone of the steeple bells,
Scared at the thickening thunder peals,
Hurrying feet and whirling wheels,
Flee at the fleeing traitor's heels,
And none to stay them are left alive
By the third of April, 'Sixty-five'.
Six in the morning, sunrise red,
Showed long rows of the Rebel dead,
Tired Battalion and torn Brigade
Quivered to Weitzel's cannonade;