And my lily-fingered neighbor.

SEE THE FIELD OF BATTLE GLEAMS.

See, the field of battle gleams

Yonward past the tented streams,

There the foe is camping;

By the thirst-assuaging rill,

From the copse behind the hill

Hear his war-steeds champing.

Northern Knights and Southern Sons,

Onward to the gleaming guns!

Now's the hour of battle!

Though his files be ten to one,

Seek the foe from sun to sun,

Where his muskets rattle.

O'er the walls with slaughter wet,

O'er the ball-scarred parapet,

Daring man and missile,

Charge to meet his best or worst,

Where his shrieking bombshells burst

And his bullets whistle.

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