A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS.
97
With naked blades the troopers, and nerves wire-strung for the onset,
When suddenly, up from the rocks, a sign at last from the Cheyennes!
Two tall braves on the rocks—"Re-form!" brays the cavalry trumpet,
And grimly the soldiers return, reluctantly leaving the conflict.
Still on the rocks two forms of bronze, as if prepared for the stormers,
Then down to the field, and behold, they dash toward the wondering troopers!
The soldiers stare at the charge, but no man laughs at the foemen,
Instead of a sneer a tremor at many a mouth in sorrow.
On they come to their death, and, standing at fifty paces,
They fire in the face of the squadron, and dash with their knives to the death-grip
