Ball's Bluff.

One noonday, at my window in the town,

I saw a sight — saddest that eyes can see —

Young soldiers marching lustily

Unto the wars,

With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;

While all the porches, walks, and doors

Were rich with ladies cheering royally.

They moved like Juny morning on the wave,

Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime

( It was the breezy summer time ),

Life throbbed so strong,

How should they dream that Death in a rosy clime

Would come to thin their shining throng?

Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.

Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,

By night I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,

On those brave boys ( Ah War! thy theft );

Some marching feet

Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;

Wakeful I mused, while in the street

Far footfalls died away till none were left.