Thus ended the second day of the locked bull-horns And the wounding or slaying of the twenty thousand. And thus night came to cover it. So the field Was alive all night with whispers and words and sighs, So the slow blood dripped in the rocks of the Devil’s Den. Lincoln, back in his White House, asks for news. The War Department has little. There are reports Of heavy firing near Gettysburg⁠—that is all. Davis, in Richmond, knows as little as he. In hollow Vicksburg, the shells come down and come down And the end is but two days off. On the field itself Meade calls a council and considers retreat. His left has held and the Round Tops still are his. But his right has been shaken, his centre pierced for a time, The enemy holds part of his works on Culp’s Hill, His losses have been most stark. He thinks of these things And decides at last to fight it out where he stands.