| A MARCH in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown, |
| A route through a heavy wood with muffled steps in the darkness, |
| Our army foil'd with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating, |
|
Till after midnight glimmer upon us the lights of a dim-lighted
building, |
|
We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-
lighted building, |
|
'Tis a large old church at the crossing roads, now an impromptu
hospital, |
|
Entering but for a minute I see a sight beyond all the pictures and
poems ever made, |
|
Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving candles and
lamps, |
|
And by one great pitchy torch stationary with wild red flame and
clouds of smoke, |
|
By these, crowds, groups of forms vaguely I see on the floor, some
in the pews laid down, |
|
At my feet more distinctly a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of
bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen,) |
|
I stanch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as
a lily,) |
|
Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene fain to
absorb it all, |
|
Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most in obscurity,
some of them dead, |
|
Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether,
the odor of blood, |
|
The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms, the yard outside
also fill'd, |
|
Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in
the death-spasm sweating, |
| An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's shouted orders or calls, |
|
The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of the
torches, |
| These I resume as I chant, I see again the forms, I smell the odor, |
| Then hear outside the orders given, Fall in, my men, fall in; |
|
But first I bend to the dying lad, his eyes open, a half-smile gives
he me, |
|
Then the eyes close, calmly close, and I speed forth to the
darkness, |
| Resuming, marching, ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks, |
| The unknown road still marching. |