Eight and a quarter the strife is o'er,
Blind with powder and red with gore,
Richmond's garrison, surly and dumb,
Stand, while by them with bugle and drum
General Weitzel's Freedmen come;
And through their streets the cavalry drive
On the third of April 'Sixty-five.
And forth from gateway, alley and lane,
Glad slaves run trooping, a swarthy train,
And martyrs from Libby's Prison hole