Lyon. Battle Of Springfield, Missouri.

(August, 1861.) Some hearts there are of deeper sort, Prophetic, sad, Which yet for cause are trebly clad; Known death they fly on: This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon. "They are more than twenty thousand strong, We less than five, Too few with such a host to strive" "Such counsel, fie on! 'Tis battle, or 'tis shame;" and firm stood Lyon. "For help at need in van we wait - Retreat or fight: Retreat the foe would take for flight, And each proud scion Feel more elate; the end must come," said Lyon. By candlelight he wrote the will, And left his all To Her for whom 'twas not enough to fall; Loud neighed Orion Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon. The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale With guard-fires lit; Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it: "A field to die on" Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon. We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn - Fate seemed malign; His horse the Leader led along the line - Star-browed Orion; Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon. There came a sound like the slitting of air By a swift sharp sword - A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad Of black Orion Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon. "General, you're hurt - this sleet of balls!" He seemed half spent; With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent: "The field to die on; But not - not yet; the day is long," breathed Lyon. For a time becharmed there fell a lull In the heart of the fight; The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light; Warm noon-winds sigh on, And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon. Texans and Indians trim for a charge: "Stand ready, men! Let them come close, right up, and then After the lead, the iron; Fire, and charge back!" So strength returned to Lyon. The Iowa men who held the van, Half drilled, were new To battle: "Some one lead us, then we'll do" Said Corporal Tryon: "Men! I will lead," and a light glared in Lyon. On they came: they yelped, and fired; His spirit sped; We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled, Nor stayed the iron, Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon. This seer foresaw his soldier-doom, Yet willed the fight. He never turned; his only flight Was up to Zion, Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon.