A Dirge for McPherson,[13] Killed in front of Atlanta.

(July, 1864.)


Arms reversed and banners craped -
Muffled drums;
Snowy horses sable-draped -
McPherson comes.

But, tell us, shall we know him more,
Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?

Brave the sword upon the pall -
A gleam in gloom;
So a bright name lighteth all
McPherson's doom.

Bear him through the chapel-door -
Let priest in stole
Pace before the warrior
Who led. Bell - toll!

Lay him down within the nave,
The Lesson read -
Man is noble, man is brave,
But man's - a weed.

Take him up again and wend
Graveward, nor weep:
There's a trumpet that shall rend
This Soldier's sleep.

Pass the ropes the coffin round,
And let descend;
Prayer and volley - let it sound
McPherson's end.

True fame is his, for life is o'er -
Sarpedon of the mighty war.


13. The late Major General McPherson, commanding the Army of the Tennessee, a major of Ohio and a West Pointer, was one of the foremost spirits of the war. Young, though a veteran; hardy, intrepid, sensitive in honor, full of engaging qualities, with manly beauty; possessed of genius, a favorite with the army, and with Grant and Sherman. Both Generals have generously acknowledged their professional obligiations to the able engineer and admirable soldier, their subordinate and junior.

In an informal account written by the Achilles to this Sarpedon, he says: "On that day we avenged his death. Near twenty-two hundred of the enemy's dead remained on the ground when night closed upon the scene of action."

It is significant of the scale on which the war was waged, that the engagement thus written of goes solely (so far as can be learned) under the vague designation of one of the battles before Atlanta.

Herman Melville

Herman Melville was an American novelist, short story writer, and poet of the American Renaissance period. His most famous work, Moby-Dick, was published in 1851 and initially was not a commercial success. Melville's writing draws on his experiences at sea, philosophical musings, and criticisms of society. While he died in relative obscurity, his reputation grew significantly in the 20th century, and he is now considered one of America’s greatest writers. Melville’s other works include Typee, White-Jacket, and Billy Budd.

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Through storm-cloud and eclipse must move
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Who could Antietam's wreath foretell?

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On Sherman's Men who fell in the Assault of Kenesaw Mountain, Georgia.

They said that Fame her clarion dropped
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Chattanooga

November, 1863

A kindling impulse seized the host
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Their hearts outran their General's plan,
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He said, and measured the mountain then:
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On yester-morn in grayish mist,
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The summit-cannon plunge their flame
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The Frenzy in the Wake.

[14]
Sherman's advance through the Carolinas.
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So strong to suffer, shall we be
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That grinds upon the neck?
O, the garments rolled in blood
Scorch in cities wrapped in flame,
And the African - the imp!
He gibbers, imputing shame.

Shall Time, avenging every woe,
To us that joy allot
Which Israel thrilled when Sisera's brow
Showed gaunt and showed the clot?
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Like planets strike us through.

From frozen Maine they come,
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A kindling impulse seized the host
Inspired by heaven's elastic air;[10]
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He said, and measured the mountain then:
So master-riders fling the rein -
But you must know your men.

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Armies like ghosts on hills had fought,
And rolled from the cloud their thunders loud
The Cumberlands far had caught:
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And smoked as one who feels no cares;
But mastered nervousness intense
Alone such calmness wears.

The summit-cannon plunge their flame
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M. W. Ransom

(Died October 8, 1904)



        For him, who in a hundred battles stood
            Scorning the cannon's mouth,
        Grimy with flame and red with foeman's blood,
            For thy sweet sake, O South;

        Who, wise as brave, yielded his conquered sword
            At a vain war's surcease,
        And spoke, thy champion still, the statesman's word
            In the calm halls of peace;

        Who pressed the ruddy wine to thy faint lips,
            Where thy torn body lay,
        And saw afar time's white in-sailing ships
            Bringing a happier day:

        Oh, mourn for him, dear land that gave him birth!
            Bow low thy sorrowing head!
        Let thy seared leaves fall silent on the earth
  ...

John Charles McNeill