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.