There sprang an armed man!)

Not then;--but when by measures meet,--
By victory, and by defeat,--
By courage, patience, skill,
The People's fixed _"We will!"_

Had pierced, had crushed Rebellion dead,--
Without a Hand, without a Head:--
At last, when all was well,
He fell--O, _how_ he fell!

The time,--the place,--the stealing Shape,--
The coward shot,--the swift escape,--
The wife--the widow's scream,--
It is a hideous Dream!

A Dream?--what means this pageant, then?
These multitudes of solemn men,
Who speak not when they meet,
But throng the silent street?

The flags half-mast, that late so high
Flaunted at each new victory?
(The stars no brightness shed,
But bloody looks the red!)

The black festoons that stretch for miles,
And turn the streets to funeral aisles?
(No house too poor to show