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letra de a night battle - ned rorem

what scene is this? — is this indeed humanity — these butchers’ shambles? there they lie, in an open sp-ce in the woods, 300 poor fellows — the groans and screams mixed with the fresh scent of the night, that slaughter-house! o well is it their mothers cannot see them. some have their legs blown off — some bullets through the breast — some indescribably horrid wounds in the face or head, all mutilated, sickening, torn, gougеd out — some mere boys– thеy take their turns with the rest. such is the camp of the wounded while over all the clear, large moon comes out at times softly, amid the crack and crash and yelling sounds the clear-obscure up
there, those buoyant upper oceans — a few large placid stars beyond
coming languidly out, and then disappearing — the melancholy, draperied night around. and there, upon the roads and in those woods, that contest, never one more desperate in any age or land

what history, i say, can ever give — for who can know — the mad
determin’d tussle of the armies? who know the conflict in flashing-moonbeam’d woods — the writhing squads — the cries, the din, the distant cannon — the cheers and calls and threats and awful music of the oaths — the indescribable mix — the officers’ orders, the devils fully rous’d in human hearts — the strong shout, charge, men, charge and still again the moonlight pouring silvery soft its radiant patches over all. who paint the scene, the sudden partial panic of the afternoon, at dusk? who paint the scene, the sudden partial panic of the afternoon, at dusk?

- ned rorem

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