The life from the quivering heart till we feel
Like the victim whose body is broke on the wheel--
When we think we have touched the far limit at last,
--One throe, and the point of endurance is passed--
When we shivering hang on the verge of despair--
There still is capacity left us to bear.

The storm of the winter, the smile of the Spring,
No respite, no pause, and no hopefulness bring;
The demon of carnage still breathes his hot breath,
And fiercely goes forward the harvest of death.

Days painfully drag their slow burden along;
And the pulse that is beating so steady and strong,
Stands still, as there comes, from the echoing shore
Of the winding and clear Rappahannock, the roar
Of conflict so fell, that the silvery flood
Runs purple and rapid and ghastly with blood.

--Grand army of martyrs!--though victory waves
Them onward, her march must be over _their_ graves:
They feel it--they know it,--yet steadier each
Close phalanx moves into the desperate breach:
Their step does not falter--their faith does not yield,--
For yonder, supreme o'er the fiercely-fought field,
Erect in his leonine grandeur, they see
The proud and magnificent calmness of LEE!

'Tis morn--but the night has brought Alice no rest:
The roof seems to press like a weight on her breast;