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At Bisland he stood, like a rock in the ocean
That stems the strong- waves on the shore, Calm and unmoved, in the midst of commotion, Our army he saved by his dauntless devotion—
What chieftain has ever done more ? Brashear, and Fordoche, Pleasant Hill and Mansfield,
All breathe of his glory and fame— There his genius burst forth like the lightning conceal'd, And destiny seem'd to his glance reveal'd—
Fate crowning in triumph his name.
O we weep for the veteran hearts that are gone—
Scurry, Randall, Riley, Buchel, Shepherd, Chalmers, Ragsdale, Raines, McNeal and Mouton, Their glorious names and deeds shall live on—
Peace to the heroes that fell. And O, for the soldiers that bled with them there,
Their country's strong bulwark and trust, United to do, and the courage to dare. In life they had borne all privation and care,
In dust, undivided's their dust.
And Liberty's tree, from the blood of the brave,
In strength and in grandeur shall rise; Its branches extend to each ocean's blue wave, And sacred its fruit o'er each patriot's grave:
How dearly that fruit shall we prize ! Is the hero, O say, in that mystical world,
Surrounded on Time's silent shore By the veteran dead, with their banners now furl'd— "War's trumpet unblown, and his lances unhurl'd—
Are they still with the chief they adore?