The Black Regiment
By George H. Boker (1823
- 1890) |
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|
Dark as the clouds of even,
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that
lifts
All the dread mass, and drifts
Tempest and
falling brand
Over a ruined land;--
So still and
orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great
event,
Stands the black regiment.
Down the long
dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the
bright bayonet,
Bristling and firmly set,
Flashed with
a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the
fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.
"Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
"Though death and
hell betide,
Let the whole nation see
If we are fit to
be
Free in this land; or bound
Down, like the whining
hound,--
Bound with red stripes of pain
In our old
chains again!"
O, what a shout there went
From the
black regiment!
"Charge!" Trump and drum awoke,
Onward the bondmen broke;
Bayonet and sabre-stroke
Vainly opposed their rush.
Through the wild battle's
crush.
With but one thought aflush,
Driving their
lords like chaff,
In the guns' mouths they laugh;
Or
at the slippery brands
Leaping with open hands,
Down
they tear man and horse,
Down in their awful course;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel,
All their eyes forward bent,
Rushed the black regiment.
"Freedom!" their battle-cry,--
"Freedom! or leave to
die!"
Ah! and they meant the word,
Not as with us 'tis
heard,
Not a mere party shout:
They gave their spirits
out;
Trusted the end to God,
And on the gory sod
Rolled in triumphant blood.
Glad to strike one free
blow,
Whether for weal or woe;
Glad to breathe one
free breath,
Though on the lips of death.
Praying--alas! in vain!--
That they might fall again,
So they could once more see
That burst to liberty!
This was what "freedom" lent
To the black regiment.
Hundreds on hundreds fell;
But they are resting well;
Scourges and shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.
O, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true!
Hail
them as comrades tried;
Fight with them side by side;
Never, in field or tent,
Scorn the black regiment. |
By
George H. Boker (1823 - 1890)
Listed August 14, 2012 |
|
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