Malvern Hill

July, 1862     Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill     In prime of morn and May,     Recall ye how McClellan's men         Here stood at bay?     While deep within yon forest dim     Our rigid comrades lay--     Some with the cartridge in their mouth,     Others with fixed arms lifted South--         Invoking so--     The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!     The spires of Richmond, late beheld     Through rifts in musket-haze,     Were closed from view in clouds of dust         On leaf-walled ways,     Where streamed our wagons in caravan;     And the Seven Nights and Days     Of march and fast, retreat and fight,     Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight--     Does the elm wood     Recall the haggard beards of blood?     The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed,     We followed (it never fell!)--     In silence husbanded our strength--     Received their yell;     Till on this slope we patient turned     With cannon ordered well;     Reverse we proved was not defeat;     But ah, the sod what thousands meet!--         Does Malvern Wood     Bethink itself, and muse and brood?     We elms of Malvern Hill     Remember everything;     But sap the twig will fill:     Wag the world how it will,     Leaves must be green in Spring.