They have met at last--as storm-clouds
meet in heaven;
And the Northmen, back and bleeding,
have been driven:
And their thunders have been stilled,
And their leaders crushed or killed,
And their ranks, with terror thrilled,
rent and riven!

Like the leaves of Vallambrosa
they are lying;
In the moonlight, in the midnight,
dead and dying:
Like those leaves before the gale,
Swept their legions, wild and pale;
While the host that made them quail
stood, defying.

When aloft in morning sunlight
flags were flaunted,
And "swift vengeance on the rebel"
proudly vaunted:
Little did they think that night
Should close upon their shameful flight,
And rebels, victors in the fight,
stand undaunted.

But peace to those who perished
in our passes!
Light be the earth above them!
green the grasses!
Long shall Northmen rue the day,
When they met our stern array,
And shrunk from battle's wild affray
at Manassas!

Virginia.