Classic Poem

I beckon onward charging men,
I head the bleeding rally,
I flaunt along the rattling glen,
Along the booming valley.

I waver through the bloody sedge
That rims the black morasses;
I climb the mountain's smoky ledge
And rive the columned masses.

I span the river's icy flight,
I flout the squadroned horses,
I scale the rampart's steely height
And throb above the corses.

A dozen men have borne my staff,
And, clutching it, have perished;
But still along the war I laugh,
And still my rags are cherished.

I lead my children through the flame,
All marching in their places;
I cheer my darlings on to fame
And kiss their dying faces.

I muster scarce a hundred braves
Beneath my crimsoned glory.
O heroes, forward to your graves,
And plant my pike in story!