Like children against her breast, spreads her pure cloths there, The Union still holds the Round Tops and the two hard keys of war.

Night falls. The blood drips in the rocks of the Devil’s Den. The murmur begins to rise from the thirsty ground Where the twenty thousand dead and wounded lie.

Such was Longstreet’s war, and such the Union defence, The deaths and the woundings, the victory and defeat At the end of the fish-hook shank. And so Longstreet failed Ere Ewell and Early struck the fish-hook itself At Culp’s Hill and the Ridge and at Cemetery Hill, With better fortune, though not with fortune enough To plant hard triumph deep on the sharp-edged rocks And break the scales of the snake. When that last attack Came, with its cry, Jack Ellyat saw it come on.