The Thunder-Cloud

ALL hushed the farm-lands, with a listening air ;
Silent the straggling suburbs. In the warm,
Paved street hoof-wakened echoes suddenly swarm.
A turn, and lo ! — still, black, before you there,
As noiseless as a picture, in the square

A thousand horse drawn up in marching form,
And at their head, as sun-gleam to the storm,
A fair-faced boy, with long, bright-streaming hair.
Not a breath sounded nor a trooper stirred,
And yet you saw how fierce would leap and flash
The lightning of a thousand sabres, heard
How all the elements would clang and clash,
The thunder-riven valley quake and crash,
When Custer turned his head and gave the word !