DOWN Loudon Lanes, with swinging reins And clash of spur and sabre, And bugling of the battle horn, Six score and eight we rode at morn, Six score and eight of Southern born, All tried in love and labor. Full in the sun at Hamilton, We met the South's invaders; Who, over fifteen hundred strong, 'Mid blazing homes had marched along All night, with Northern shout and song To crush the rebel raiders. Down Loudon Lanes, with streaming manes, We spurred in wild March weather; And all along our war-scarred way The graves of Southern heroes lay, Our guide-posts to revenge that day, As we rode grim together. Old tales still tell some miracle Of saints in holy writing -- But who shall say while hundreds fled Before the few that Mosby led, Unless the noblest of our dead Charged with us then when fighting? While Yankee cheers still stunned our ears, Of troops at Harper's Ferry, While Sheridan led on his Huns, And Richmond rocked to roaring guns, We felt the South still had some sons She would not scorn to bury. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE LAND WHERE WE WERE DREAMING by DANIEL BEDINGER LUCAS THE QUEEN'S RIDE; AN INVITATION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE LAKE by HELEN BIRCH-BARTLETT THE ORDER OF NATURE by ANICIUS MANLIUS SEVERINUS BOETHIUS THE CAGED LION by ANNE MILLAY BREMER ZOPHIEL; OR THE BRIDE OF SEVEN: CANTO 3. PALACE OF THE GNOMES by MARIA GOWEN BROOKS ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE 'ORIGIN OF LOVE' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |