For he was all the world to us,
    That hero gray and grim. 
  Right well we knew that fearful slope
    We’d climb with none but him,
  Though while his white head led the way
    We’d charge hell’s portals in.

  This time we were not half-way up. 
    When, midst the storm of shell,
  Our leader, with his sword upraised,
    Beneath our bayonets fell. 
  And, as we bore him back, the foe
    Set up a joyous yell.

  Our hearts went with him.  Back we swept,
    And when the bugle said
  “Up, charge again!” no man was there
    But hung his dogged head. 
  “We’ve no one left to lead us now,”
    The sullen soldiers said.

  Just then before the laggard line
    The colonel’s horse we spied,
  Bay Billy with his trappings on,
    His nostrils swelling wide,
  As though still on his gallant back
    The master sat astride.

  Right royally he took the place
    That was of old his wont,
  And with a neigh that seemed to say,
    Above the battle’s brunt,
  “How can the Twenty-Second charge
    If I am not in front?”

  Like statues rooted there we stood,
    And gazed a little space,
  Above that floating mane we missed
    The dear familiar face,
  But we saw Bay Billy’s eye of fire,
    And it gave us heart of grace.

  No bugle-call could rouse us all
    As that brave sight had done,
  Down all the battered line we felt
    A lightning impulse run. 
  Up! up the hill we followed Bill,—­
    And we captured every gun!

  And when upon the conquered height
    Died out the battle’s hum,
  Vainly mid living and the dead
    We sought our leader dumb. 
  It seemed as if a spectre steed
    To win that day had come.

  And then the dusk and dew of night
    Fell softly o’er the plain,
  As though o’er man’s dread work of death
    The angels wept again,
  And drew night’s curtain gently round
    A thousand beds of pain.

  All night the surgeons’ torches went,
    The ghastly rows between,—­
  All night with solemn step I paced
    The torn and bloody green. 
  But who that fought in the big war
    Such dread sights have not seen?

  At last the morning broke.  The lark
    Sang in the merry skies,
  As if to e’en the sleepers there
    It bade awake, and rise! 
  Though naught but that last trump of all
    Could ope their heavy eyes.

  And then once more with banners gay,
    Stretched out the long brigade. 
  Trimly upon the furrowed field
    The troops stood on parade,
  And bravely mid the ranks were closed
    The gaps the fight had made.

  Not half the Twenty-Second’s men
    Were in their place that morn;
  And Corporal Dick, who yester-noon
    Stood six brave fellows on,
  Now touched my elbow in the ranks,
    For all between were gone.