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Ye elms that
wave on Malvern Hill
In prime of morn and May,
Recall ye how McClellan's men
Here stood at bay?
While deep within yon forest dim
Our rigid comrades
lay -
Some with the cartridge in their mouth,
Others with fixed arms lifted South -
Invoking so
The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!
The spires
of Richmond, late beheld
Through rifts in
musket-haze,
Were closed from view in clouds of dust
On leaf-walled ways,
Where streamed our wagons in
caravan;
And the Seven Nights and Days
Of march
and fast, retreat and fight,
Pinched our grimed faces
to ghastly plight -
Does the elm wood
Recall the
haggard beards of blood?
The battle-smoked flag,
with stars eclipsed,
We followed (it never fell!) -
In silence husbanded our strength -
Received their
yell;
Till on this slope we patient turned
With
cannon ordered well;
Reverse we proved was not
defeat;
But ah, the sod what thousands meet! -
Does Malvern Wood
Bethink itself, and muse and brood?
We elms of Malvern Hill
Remember every thing;
But sap the twig will fill:
Wag the world how it
will,
Leaves must be green in Spring.
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