But the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the morn,
As we passed by the hay-fields and green waving corn,—
"Column! Forward!"
For the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June,
And the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in tune;
And the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb,
That we heard our own heart-beats, like taps of a drum,—
"Column! Forward!"
Till the lull of the lowlands was stirred by a breeze,
And the buskins of Morn brushed the tops of the trees,