And the sword of DURYEA, like a torch, led the way,
Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel, that day,—[5]
"Column! Forward!"
Through green-tasselled cornfields our columns were thrown,
And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were mown;
While the cannon's fierce ploughings new-furrowed the plain,
That our blood might be planted for LIBERTY'S grain,—
"Column! Forward!"
Oh! the fields of fair June have no lack of sweet flowers,
But their rarest and best breathe no fragrance like ours;