Forward, my brave columns, forward!
No other word was spoken;
But in the quick and mighty rustling of their feet,
And in the flashing of their eyes, 'twas proved
_This was enough_.
Men, whose _every_ bosom had a _noble_ heart,
And who had left their homes, their sacred _rights_
To gain: To _these_ this was no trying hour,
No time to waver, and to doubt. But one,
For which they'd hoped and prayed--
One (as they felt) they'd brought not on
Themselves, but which they knew _must come_--
And _nobly_, _O most nobly_, did their
Bravery, their _sense_ of _right_, sustain them.
And Lincoln's hordes--
_They_ knew _not_ with what natures they contended,
Seemed not to feel their _motives_ differed, as
Does heaven from earth.
_They_, the poor, miserable, _hired_ outcasts, whose
Principles were bought,
And men, whose courage, bravery, and noble aims,
Had come to be, throughout the land,
A proverb.
And _what_ the end?
What _could_, what _should it be_, than what it _was_?
A _brilliant, glorious_ VICTORY.
The South weeps o'er her slain:
And well she may; for they were jewels
From her diadem.
She weeps; sheds tears of grief, of sorrow,
And of PRIDE.
LOUISVILLE, KY., _July 24, 1861_.