Then the lights grew faint and meagre,
Though the hideous noise rolled on;
And out of a bath of glory
Uprose the noble sun.
It brightened the tossing banner;
It yellowed the leafy crest;
It smote on the serried weapons,
On helmet and scarlet breast.
It drove on the mist below them
Where Stark and his foremost stood,
Flashing volley for volley
Into the stubborn wood.
A thousand stalwart figures
Sprang from the gulf profound,
A thousand guns uplifted
Went whirling round and round.
Like some barbarian onslaught
On a lofty Roman hold;
Like the upward rush of Titans
On Olympian gods of old;
With a swirl of the wrangling torrents
As they dash on a castle wall;
With the flame-seas skyward surging
At the mountain demon's call,
Heedless of friend and brother
Stricken to earth below,
The sons of New England bounded
On the breastwork of the foe.
Each stalwart form on the ramparts
Swaying his battered gun
Seemed a vengeful giant, looming
Against the rising sun.
The pond'rous clubs swept crashing
Through the bayonets round their feet
As a woodman's axe-edge crashes
Through branches mailed in sleet,
Shattering head and shoulder,
Splintering arm and thigh,
Hurling the redcoats earthward
Like bolts from an angry sky.