fairoak

Updated: May 2, 2025

They have torn the Indian fisher's nets, Where flows Pamunkey toward the sea, And blood runs red in the rivulets, That babbled and brawled in glee; The corpses are strewn in Fairoak glades, The hoarse guns thunder from Drury's Ridge, The fishes that played in the cove, deep shades, Are frightened from Bottom Bridge.

George Alfred Townsend - Campaigns of a Non-Combatant,: and His Romaunt Abroad During the War