The news creeps back to the watchers oversea. They ponder on it, aloof and irresolute The balance they watch is dipping against the South. It will take great strokes to redress that balance again. There will be one more moment of shaken scales When the Laird rams almost alter the scheme of things, But it is distant. The watchers stare at the board Waiting a surer omen then Chancellorsville Or any battle won on a Southern ground.

Lee sees that dip of the balance and so prepares His cast for the surer omen and his last stroke At the steel-bossed Northern shield. Once before he tried That spear-rush North and was halted. It was a chance. This is a chance. He weighs the chance in his hand Like a stone, reflecting. Four years from Harper’s Ferry Two years since the First Manassas⁠—and this last year Stroke after stroke successful⁠—but still no end.