The clumsy and unwieldy-new brigades Not yet distempered into battle-worms; The whole, huge, innocent army, ready to fight But only half-taught in the tricks of fighting, Ready to die like picture-postcard boys While fighting still had banners and a sword And just as ready to run in blind mob-panic, Salutes you with a vast and thunderous cry, Ave, Caesar, ave, O congressmen, Ave, O Iliad gods who forced the fight! You bring your carriages and your picnic-lunch To cheer us in our need. You come with speeches, Your togas smell of heroism and bay-rum. You are the people and the voice of the people And, when the fight is done, your carriages Will bear you safely, through the streaming rout Of broken troops, throwing their guns away. You come to see the gladiator’s show, But from a high place, as befits the wise: You will not see the long windrows of men Strewn like dead pears before the Henry House Or the stone-wall of Jackson breathe its parched Devouring breath upon the failing charge,