  By GEORGE H. BOKER. D Dark as the clouds of even, Ranked in the western heaven, Waiting the breath that lifts All the dead mass, and drifts Tempest and falling brand Over a ruined land,— So still and orderly, Arm to arm, knee to knee, Waiting the great event, Stands the black regiment.Down the long dusky line Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; And the bright bayonet, Bristling and firmly set, “Now,” the flag-sergeant cried, “Though death and hell betide, Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be Free in this land; or bound Down, like the whining hound,— Bound with red stripes of pain In our cold chains again!” Oh, what a shout there went From the black regiment! “Charge!” trump and drum awoke; Onward the bondsmen broke; Bayonet and sabre-stroke Vainly opposed their rush. Through the wild battle’s crush, With but one thought aflush, Driving their lords like chaff, In the gun’s mouth they laugh; Or at the slippery brands, Leaping with open hands, “Freedom!” their battle-cry,— “Freedom! or leave to die!” Ah! and they meant the word, Not as with us ’tis heard, Not a mere party shout; They gave their spirits out, Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death; Praying,—alas! in vain! That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty! This was what “freedom” lent To the black regiment. Hundreds on hundreds fell; But they are resting well; May 27, 1863. Banner Banner
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