I was doing some research for my local history column in the Gettysburg Times last week and stumbled on this poem. It had nothing to do with my topic. I wasn’t writing about the Battle of Gettysburg and I’m not a big fan of poetry.
What caught my attention is who wrote the poem. Herman Melville. For those who don’t know he’s the man who wrote Moby Dick. Given Melville’s sea-faring background, I didn’t picture him in relation to the Civil War. Melville didn’t fight in the war, but it influenced him as it must have anyone alive at that time.
The poem is his version of Pickett’s Charge, the Confederate Army’s last-ditch effort to win the Battle of Gettysburg.
So here’s the poem.
 
Gettysburg
O Pride of the days in prime of the months
Now trebled in great renown,
When before the ark of our holy cause
Fell Dagon down-
Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed,
Never his impious heart enlarged
Beyond that hour; God walled his power,
And there the last invader charged.
 
He charged, and in that charge condensed
His all of hate and all of fire;
He sought to blast us in his scorn,
And wither us in his ire.
Before him went the shriek of shells-
Aerial screamings, taunts and yells;
Then the three waves in flashed advance
Surged, but were met, and back they set:
Pride was repelled by sterner pride,
And Right is a strong-hold yet.
 
Before our lines it seemed a beach
Which wild September gales have strown
With havoc on wreck, and dashed therewith
Pale crews unknown-
Men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun
Died on the face of each lifeless one,
And died along the winding marge of fight
And searching-parties lone.
 
Sloped on the hill the mounds were green,
Our centre held that place of graves,
And some still hold it in their swoon,
And over these a glory waves.
The warrior-monument, crashed in fight,
Shall soar transfigured in loftier light,
A meaning ampler bear;
Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer
Have laid the stone, and every bone
Shall rest in honor there.