In phantom form and grand array They stalk the valley through today, A prelude to that distant hell At Little Big Horn where they fell. His lady with the leader rides, A captain spurs Comanche's sides, While after them, in columns long, Six hundred men bring up with song. Do they perceive the great renown That waits them at the Indian town, Where life and love are blood and dross, Precluding everything but loss? Do they suspect the bitter strife Wherein each gives his precious life, While Sitting Bull's red warriors hold To racial hatreds, ages old? No frown of fear assails a ghost Of all that disembodied host, As up the valley trail they ride To show a Nation how they died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ARROW AND THE SONG by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE CLOUD by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY MARIE MIGNOT by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM BELLA GORRY; THE PAZON'S STORY by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |