Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BY THE LITTLE BIG-HORN, by JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE Poet's Biography First Line: Down to their death in the valley of silence Last Line: The eight nameless horsemen who never shall die. Subject(s): Courage; Heroism; Honor; Little Bighorn, Battle Of; Loyalty; Military Service, Compulsory; Monuments; Soldiers; Valor; Bravery; Heroes; Heroines; Conscription; Military Draft; Selective Service | ||||||||
(A Montana paper is authority for the statement that a half-breed Sioux, who had served as scout for Gen. Custer, was living in that State a few years ago, and claimed to be the only survivor of Custer's last fight. In the confusion this half-breed mingled with the Sioux and escaped the massacre by reason of close tribal resemblance. He relates how eight horsemen of the Seventh Regiment cut through the Sioux and gained the foot-hills beyond, where they could easily have joined Reno and escaped, had they not looked down and seen the desperate strait in which their general was placed. To the astonishment of all, they shot their own horses, and, forming into line, marched back to die with Custer.) DOWN to their death in the valley of silence, Down where the Sioux's treach'rous ranks lay at bay, Down till the yellow waves turned into crimson The old Seventh rode on that ill-fated day. "Forward, the Seventh! Charge through the Sioux center!" 'Twas Custer who said ithe rode on the right His long yellow hair was the banner they followed And he sat his black horse like the Centaur of fight! Down to their death in that somber-hued valley, They rode through the Sioux with carbine and Colt The reins in their teeth and the glint of their sabers Making the flash for their lead thunderbolt. "Forward, the Seventhguide right! To the center!" 'Twas Custer who said it, as onward he sped, Spurring his steed where the eagle's grey feathers Rose o'er the crest of the billows of red. Out from that valley, that valley of carnage, Eight horsemen have cut through the ranks of the foe; They gain the bold heights and safely look downward, Down on the scene of this new Alamo. For there, his dead steed as a breastwork before him, With the glory of battle ablaze in his eye, Answering it back in flash of his pistols, Our prince of the saddle has stopped thereto die! Again and again roll the billows of fury To be shattered again as the wave on the rock; Again and again melts the line of the Seventh Beneath the Sioux bullet and Wahpeton shock. But see! from the heights where their good steeds have clambered, Out-footing Sioux ponies in fleet-winged flight, The eight have dismountedone glance tells the story They shoulder their rifles and dress to the right. They hear the wild whoop of the bloodmad-dened savage, They see their brave comrades go down in the brunt, They hear through the din the calm voice of brave Custer A breastwork of dead he has made in his front! "Attention, squad!" 'twas the sergeant who said it, "Fours right into lineour duty lies back!" Then quick from his belt came a blue-gleaming barrel, And the steed that had saved him lay dead in its track! Back to their death in that valley of slaughter Eight horsemen march down on the hosts of the Sioux, Not a trumpet gave notenot the gleam of a banner 'Tis only a duty they march down to do. "Forward, squad!" said the sergeant immortal "Charge straight for the centerto Custer once more," And Time, in his pitiless flight, for a moment Looked down on a sight he had ne'er seen before. Up in that valley, that sweetly green valley, O, raise them a monument proudly in air, Telling the story as ages grow hoary What American soldiers for duty will dare. High on the shaft in the glint of the sunlight Let Custer's proud figure, heroic, stand high, And grouped just beneath, with immortelle wreath, The eight nameless horsemen who never shall die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RECRUITING DRIVE by CHARLES STANLEY CAUSLEY EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: BOMBER IN LONDON by RUDYARD KIPLING WAR DISPLAY by EDMUND VANCE COOKE THE LAST RALLY by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER ODE ON THE DEATH OF HAIG'S HORSE: 7 by DOUGLAS GARMAN SONG FOR THE NINETEENTH by THOMAS HOOD THE PASSING OF THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER by VILDA SAUVAGE OWENS THE WAR AT HOME by WILLARD WATTLES A HARVEST SONG by JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE A MEMORIAL DAY POEM FOR THE CONFEDERACY by JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE |
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