The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed, And on the churchyard by the road, I know, It falls as white and noiselessly as snow. 'Twas such a night two weary summers fled; The stars, as now, were waning overhead. Listen! Again the shrill-lipped bugles blow Where the swift currents of the river flow Past Fredericksburg,—far off the heavens are red With sudden conflagration: on yon height, Linstock in hand, the gunners hold their breath: A signal-rocket pierces the dense night, Flings its spent stars upon the town beneath: Hark!—the artillery ma**ing on the right; Hark!—the black squadrons wheeling down to d**h!