Fredericksburg

The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed, And on the churchyard by the road, I know It falls as white and noiselessly as snow . . . . 'Twas such a night two weary summers fled; The stars, as now, were waning overhead. Listen! Again the shrill-lipped bugles blow Where the swift currents of the river flow Past Fredericksburg; far off the heavens are red With sudden conflagration; on yon height, Linstock in hand, the gunners hold their breath; A signal rocket pierces the dense night, Flings its spent stars upon the town beneath; Hark! -- the artillery massing on the right, Hark! -- the black squadrons wheeling down to Death!