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6.Why this is a show! It has called the dead out of
the earth!
The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to
see!
Uncountable phantoms gather by flank and rear
of it!
Cocked hats of mothy mould! crutches made of
mist!
Arms in slings! old men leaning on young men's
shoulders!

7.What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all
this chattering of bare gums?
Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you mistake
your crutches for fire-locks, and level
them?

8.If you blind your eyes with tears, you will not see
the President's marshal,
If you groan such groans you might balk the government
cannon.

9.For shame, old maniacs! Bring down those tossed
arms, and let your white hair be,
Here gape your smart grand-sons—their wives gaze
at them from the windows,
See how well-dressed—see how orderly they conduct
themselves.

10.Worse and worse! Can't you stand it? Are you
retreating?
Is this hour with the living too dead for you?