The Silent March.

On one occasion during the war in Virginia, General Lee was lying asleep by the wayside, when an army of fifteen thousand men passed by with hushed voices and footsteps, lest they should disturb his slumbers.

O'ercome with weariness and care, The war-worn veteran lay On the green turf of his native land, And slumbered by the way; The breeze that sighed across his brow, And smoothed its deepened lines, Fresh from his own loved mountain bore The murmur of their pines; And the glad sound of waters, The blue rejoicing streams, Whose sweet familiar tones were blent With the music of his dreams: They brought no sound of battle's din, Shrill fife or clarion, But only tenderest memories Of his own fair Arlington. While thus the chieftain slumbered, Forgetful of his care, The hollow tramp of thousands Came sounding through the air. With ringing spur and sabre, And trampling feet they come, Gay plume and rustling banner, And fife, and trump, and drum; But soon the foremost column Sees where, beneath the shade, In slumber, calm as childhood, Their wearied chief is laid; And down the line a murmur From lip to lip there ran, Until the stilly whisper Had spread to rear from van; And o'er the host a silence As deep and sudden fell, As though some mighty wizard Had hushed them with a spell; And every sound was muffled, And every soldier's tread Fell lightly as a mother's 'Round her baby's cradle-bed; And rank, and file, and column, So softly by they swept, It seemed a ghostly army Had passed him as he slept; But mightier than enchantment Was that with magic move-- The spell that hushed their voices-- Deep reverence and love.