Battle of Springfield, Missouri.
                       (August, 1861.)

Some hearts there are of deeper sort,
            Prophetic, sad,
Which yet for cause are trebly clad;
            Known death they fly on:
This wizard-heart and heart-of-oak had Lyon.

“They are more than twenty thousand strong,
            We less than five,
Too few with such a host to strive”
            “Such counsel, fie on!

’Tis battle, or 'tis shame;” and firm stood Lyon.

“For help at need in van we wait—
            Retreat or fight:
Retreat the foe would take for flight,
            And each proud scion
Feel more elate; the end must come,” said Lyon.

By candlelight he wrote the will,
            And left his all
To Her for whom ’twas not enough to fall;
            Loud neighed Orion
Without the tent; drums beat; we marched with Lyon.

The night-tramp done, we spied the Vale
            With guard-fires lit;
Day broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it:
            “A field to die on”
Presaged in his unfaltering heart, brave Lyon.

We fought on the grass, we bled in the corn—
            Fate seemed malign;
His horse the Leader led along the line—
            Star-browed Orion;
Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave Lyon.

There came a sound like the slitting of air
            By a swift sharp sword—
A rush of the sound; and the sleek chest broad
            Of black Orion
Heaved, and was fixed; the dead mane waved toward Lyon.

“General, you're hurt—this sleet of balls!”
            He seemed half spent;
With moody and bloody brow, he lowly bent:
            “The field to die on;
But not—not yet; the day is long,” breathed Lyon.

For a time becharmed there fell a lull
            In the heart of the fight;
The tree-tops nod, the slain sleep light;
            Warm noon-winds sigh on,
And thoughts which he never spake had Lyon.

Texans and Indians trim for a charge:
            “Stand ready, men!
Let them come close, right up, and then
            After the lead, the iron;
Fire, and charge back!” So strength returned to Lyon.

The Iowa men who held the van,
            Half drilled, were new
To battle: "Some one lead us, then we'll do"
            Said Corporal Tryon:

“Men! I will lead,” and a light glared in Lyon.

On they came: they yelped, and fired;
            His spirit sped;
We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled,
            Nor stayed the iron,
Nor captured the crimson corse of Lyon.

This seer foresaw his soldier-doom,
            Yet willed the fight.
He never turned; his only flight
            Was up to Zion,
Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon.

This poem is in the public domain.