They have met at last -- as storm-clouds Meet in heaven, And the Northmen back and bleeding Have been driven; And their thunders have been stilled, And their leaders crushed or killed, And their ranks with terror thrilled, Rent and riven!
Like the leaves of Valambrosa, They are lying; In the moonlight, in the midnight, Dead and dying; Like the leaves before the gale, Swept their legions, wild and pale; While the host that made them quail Stood, defying.
When aloft in morning sunlight Flags were flaunted, And "swift vengeance on the rebel" Proudly vaunted: Little did they think that night Should close upon their shameful flight. And rebels, victors in the fight, Stand undaunted.
But peace to those who perished In our passes! Light the earth above them; Green the grasses! Long shall Northmen rue the day When they met our stern array, And shrunk from battle's wild affray At Manassas.
