Rebel Color-Bearers At Shiloh

_A plea against the vindictive cry raised by civilians shortly after the surrender at Appomattox_ The color-bearers facing death White in the whirling sulphurous wreath, Stand boldly out before the line; Right and left their glances go, Proud of each other, glorying in their show; Their battle-flags about them blow, And fold them as in flame divine: Such living robes are only seen Round martyrs burning on the green-- And martyrs for the Wrong have been. Perish their Cause! but mark the men-- Mark the planted statues, then Draw trigger on them if you can. The leader of a patriot-band Even so could view rebels who so could stand; And this when peril pressed him sore, Left aidless in the shivered front of war-- Skulkers behind, defiant foes before, And fighting with a broken brand. The challenge in that courage rare-- Courage defenseless, proudly bare-- Never could tempt him; he could dare Strike up the leveled rifle there. Sunday at Shiloh, and the day When Stonewall charged--McClellan's crimson May, And Chickamauga's wave of death, And of the Wilderness the cypress wreath-- All these have passed away. The life in the veins of Treason lags, Her daring color-bearers drop their flags, And yield. _Now_ shall we fire? Can poor spite be? Shall nobleness in victory less aspire Than in reverse? Spare Spleen her ire, And think how Grant met Lee.