The High Tide at Gettysburg

Then at the brief command of Lee
Moved out that matchless infantry,
With Pickett leading grandly down,
To rush against the roaring crown
Of those dread heights of destiny.

A thousand fell where Kemper led;
A thousand died where Garnett bled;
In blinding flame and strangling smoke
The remnant through the batteries broke
And crossed the works with Armistead.

Above the bayonets mixed and crossed,
Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost
Receding through the battle cloud
And heard across the tempest loud
The death-cry of a Nation lost!

~ W. Thompson (1888)