By the wind the smoke-cloud lifted lightly, drifted, to the nor’ward,
And displayed in all their pride the scarlet foe;
We beheld them, with a steady tramp, and fearless, moving forward,
With their banners proudly waving, and their bayonets levelled low.
Morgan gave his order clearly—“Fall back nearly to the border
Of the hill, and let the enemy come nigher!”
Oh! they thought we had retreated, and they charged in fierce disorder,
When out rang the voice of Howard—“To the right about, face!—Fire!”
JOHN E. HOWARD.