{"id":"01KG8AK90NQRTY3PP1RKP9HQYV","cid":"bafkreiay7tc7ymfx2zptxnqog4o6acfa62jfo3gyt7fycfnhso6tyayf7q","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":2019,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:58.829Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","start_line":1910,"text":"And others turned the reddish soil,\r\n  Like diggers of graves they bent:\r\nThe reddish soil and tranching toil\r\n    Begat presentiment.\r\n\r\n        _Did the Fathers feel mistrust?\r\n          Can no final good be wrought?\r\n        Over and over, again and again\r\n          Must the fight for the Right be fought?_\r\n\r\nThey lead a Gray-back to the crag:\r\n  “Your earth-works yonder--tell us, man”\r\n“A prisoner--no deserter, I,\r\n  Nor one of the tell-tale clan”\r\nHis rags they mark: “True-blue like you\r\n  Should wear the color--your Country’s, man”\r\nHe grinds his teeth: “However that be,\r\n  Yon earth-works have their plan.”\r\n\r\n        _Such brave ones, foully snared\r\n          By Belial’s wily plea,\r\n        Were faithful unto the evil end--\r\n          Feudal fidelity._\r\n\r\n“Well, then, your camps--come, tell the names”\r\n  Freely he leveled his finger then:\r\n“Yonder--see--are our Georgians; on the crest,\r\n  The Carolinians; lower, past the glen,\r\nVirginians--Alabamians--Mississippians--Kentuckians\r\n  (Follow my finger)--Tennesseeans; and the ten\r\nCamps _there_--ask your grave-pits; they’ll tell.\r\n  Halloa! I see the picket-hut, the den\r\nWhere I last night lay.” “Where’s Lee”\r\n  “In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men!”\r\n\r\n        _The tribes swarm up to war\r\n          As in ages long ago,\r\n        Ere the palm of promise leaved\r\n          And the lily of Christ did blow._\r\n\r\nTheir mounted pickets for miles are spied\r\n  Dotting the lowland plain,\r\nThe nearer ones in their veteran-rags--\r\n  Loutish they loll in lazy disdain.\r\nBut ours in perilous places bide\r\n  With rifles ready and eyes that strain\r\nDeep through the dim suspected wood\r\n  Where the Rapidan rolls amain.\r\n\r\n        _The Indian has passed away,\r\n          But creeping comes another--\r\n        Deadlier far. Picket,\r\n          Take heed--take heed of thy brother!_\r\n\r\nFrom a wood-hung height, an outpost lone,\r\n  Crowned with a woodman’s fort,\r\nThe sentinel looks on a land of dole,\r\n    Like Paran, all amort.\r\nBlack chimneys, gigantic in moor-like wastes,\r\n  The scowl of the clouded sky retort;\r\nThe hearth is a houseless stone again--\r\n  Ah! where shall the people be sought?\r\n\r\n        _Since the venom such blastment deals,\r\n          The south should have paused, and thrice,\r\n        Ere with heat of her hate she hatched\r\n          The egg with the cockatrice._\r\n\r\nA path down the mountain winds to the glade\r\n  Where the dead of the Moonlight Fight lie low;\r\nA hand reaches out of the thin-laid mould\r\n  As begging help which none can bestow.\r\nBut the field-mouse small and busy ant\r\n  Heap their hillocks, to hide if they may the woe:\r\nBy the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen,\r\n  And the drum which the drummer-boy dying let go.\r\n\r\n        _Dust to dust, and blood for blood--\r\n          Passion and pangs! Has Time\r\n        Gone back? or is this the Age\r\n          Of the world’s great Prime?_\r\n\r\nThe wagon mired and cannon dragged\r\n  Have trenched their scar; the plain\r\nTramped like the cindery beach of the damned--\r\n  A site for the city of Cain.\r\nAnd stumps of forests for dreary leagues\r\n  Like a massacre show. The armies have lain\r\nBy fires where gums and balms did burn,\r\n  And the seeds of Summer’s reign.\r\n\r\n        _Where are the birds and boys?\r\n          Who shall go chestnutting when\r\n        October returns? The nuts--\r\n          O, long ere they grow again._\r\n\r\nThey snug their huts with the chapel-pews,\r\n  In court-houses stable their steeds--\r\nKindle their fires with indentures and bonds,\r\n  And old Lord Fairfax’s parchment deeds;\r\nAnd Virginian gentlemen’s libraries old--\r\n  Books which only the scholar heeds--\r\nAre flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range,\r\n  And gardens are left to weeds.\r\n\r\n        _Turned adrift into war\r\n          Man runs wild on the plain,\r\n        Like the jennets let loose\r\n          On the Pampas--zebras again._\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AK5SQ3AGSN1WN20CN2KC2","peer_type":"section","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1G8S4TRWXNCBRKCRKS8","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AK90PJBTB8Y6TB2F1GTFA","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:47:58.997Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:01.795Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}