"Lie still, lie still, my Captain,
'Tis a call for volunteers;
And the noise that vexes your fever
Is only our soldiers' cheers."
"Where go they?" "Across the river."
"O God! and must I lie still,
While that drum and that measured trampling
Move from me far down the hill?
"How many?" "I judge, four hundred."
"Who are they? I'll know to a man."
"Our own Nineteenth and Twentieth,
And the Seventh Michigan."
"Oh, to go, but to go with my comrades!
Tear the curtain away from the hook;
For I'll see them march down to their glory,
If I perish by the look!"
They leaped in the rocking shallops.
Ten offered where one could go;
And the breeze was alive with laughter
Till the boatmen began to row.
Then the shore, where the rebels harbored,
Was fringed with a gush of flame,
And buzzing, like bees, o'er the water
The swarms of their bullets came.
In silence, how dread and solemn!
With courage, how grand and true!
Steadily, steadily onward
The line of the shallops drew.
Not a whisper! Each man was conscious
He stood in the sight of death;
So he bowed to the awful presence,
And treasured his living breath.
'Twixt death in the air above them,
And death in the waves below,
Through balls and grape and shrapnel
They moved—my God, how slow!
And many a brave, stout fellow,
Who sprang in the boats with mirth,
Ere they made that fatal crossing
Was a load of lifeless earth.