The head of the column broke from the last cover of the wood and came into full sight at the edge of the open country.

Thus there came into view the whole panorama of the field, dotted with the slain and with those who sought the slain.

The music of triumph was encountered by the concerted voice of grief and woe.

There appeared for the feet of this army not a mere road, a mere battlefield, but a ground sacred, hedged high about, not rudely to be violated.
But the band major was a poet, a great man.

There came to him no order telling him what he should do, but the thing was in his soul that should be done.