Upon our country’s border lay,
Holding the ruthless foe at bay,
Through chilly night and burning day,
Our army at Manassas.
To them our eager eyes were turned,
While many a restless spirit burned,
And many a fond heart wildly yearned,
O’er loved ones at Manassas.
For fast the Vandals gathered, strong
In wealth and numbers, all along
Our highways pressed a countless throng,
To battle at Manassas.
With martial pomp and proud array,
With burnished arms and banners gay,
Panting for the inhuman fray,
They rolled upon Manassas.
The opening cannons’ thunders rent
The air, and ere their charge was spent,
Muskets and rifles quickly sent
Death to us at Manassas.
But, like a wall of granite, stood
The true, the great, the brave, the good,
Who, firmly holding field and wood,
Guarded us at Manassas.
They promptly answered fire with fire;
Danger could not with fear inspire
Their hearts, whose courage rose the higher,
When death ruled at Manassas.
At dawn the murderous work begun;
The battle fiercely raged at noon;
Evening drew on—’twas not done—
The carnage at Manassas.
Oh, trembling Freedom! didst thou stay
Throughout that agonizing day,
To watch where victory would lay
Her laurels at Manassas?
Yea! and thy potent trumpet tone
Ordered our gallant warriors on,
To the bold charge which for thee won
The triumph at Manassas.
Well might the dastard foemen yield,
When Right and Vengeance joined to wield
The well-aimed ball and glittering steel,
Which hurled them from Manassas.
They broke, and fear lent wings to feet
Flying before our chargers fleet,
Which followed up their wild retreat—
Their mad rout at Manassas.
Strike! Southrons, strike! for ne’er a foe
So worthy of your every blow
Can your good swords and carbines know,
As those who sought Manassas.
For that our homes are still secure,
Our wives and sisters still left pure,
Our altars drip not with our gore;
Thanks, victors of Manassas!
Thy charmèd trumpet sound, O Fame!
Let music catch the loud refrain,
While in a glad, triumphant strain,
We celebrate Manassas.
And every soldier’s breast shall fire
With emulation, and desire
To equal—fame can point no higher—
The heroes of Manassas.
Alas! that many writhe in pain,
Whose precious blood was spilt to gain
Glory and freedom on thy plain—
Thy bloody plain, Manassas.
If sympathy can aught avail,
If fervent prayers with Heaven prevail,
In your behalf they shall not fail,
Poor wounded of Manassas.
Alas! that blended with the tone
Of triumph, breathes the stifled moan
For many brave, whose dear lives won
The victory of Manassas.
A grateful nation long shall keep
Their memory, and flock to weep
Above the turf where softly sleep
The martyrs of Manassas.
Hanover Co., Va., July 30. |