Ships, through a hundred foes, from Saxon lands And spicy Indian ports, Bring Saxon steel and iron to her hands, And summer to her courts. But still, along yon dim Atlantic line, The only hostile smoke Creeps like a harmless mist above the brine, From some frail floating oak. Shall the Spring dawn, and she, still clad in smiles, And with an unscathed brow, Rest in the strong arms of her palm-crowned isles, As fair and free as now? We know not; in the temple of the Fates God has inscribed her doom: And, all untroubled in her faith, she waits HENRY TIMROD. THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR. [Bombardment of Fort Sumter by the South Atlantic Squadron, U. S. Navy, April 7, 1863.] I. Two hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe April day, The Northman's mailed "Invincibles" steamed up fair Charleston Bay; They came in sullen file and slow, low-breasted on the wave, Black as a midnight front of storm, and silent as the grave. II. A thousand warrior-hearts beat high as those dread monsters drew More closely to the game of death across the breezeless blue, And twice ten thousand hearts of those who watched the scene afar, Thrill in the awful hush that bides the battle's broadening star. III. Each gunner, moveless by his gun, with rigid aspect stands, The ready lanyards firmly grasped in bold, untrembling hands, So moveless in their marbled calm, their stern heroic guise, They looked like forms of statued stone with burning human eyes! IV. Our banners on the outmost walls, with stately rustling fold, Flash back from arch and parapet the sunlight's ruddy gold, They mount to the deep roll of drums, and widelyechoing cheers, And then-once more, dark, breathless, hushed, wait the grim cannoneers. V. Onward-in sullen file and slow, low glooming on the wave, Near, nearer still, the haughty fleet glides silent as the grave, When sudden, shivering up the calm, o'er startled flood and shore, Burst from the sacred Island Fort the thunderwrath of yore! VI. Ha! brutal Corsairs! though ye come thrice-cased in iron mail, Beware the storm that's opening now, God's vengeance guides the hail! Ye strive, the ruffian types of Might, 'gainst law and truth and Right: Now quail beneath a sturdier Power, and own a mightier Might! VII. No empty boast! for while we speak, more furious, wilder, higher, Dart from the circling batteries a hundred tongues of fire; The waves gleam red, the lurid vault of heaven seems rent above; Fight on, O knightly gentlemen! for faith and home and love! VIII. There's not in all that line of flame, one soul that would not rise To seize the victor's wreath of blood, though death must give the prize There's not in all this anxious crowd that throngs the ancient town A maid who does not yearn for power to strike one despot down. IX. The strife grows fiercer! ship by ship the proud armada sweeps, Where hot from Sumter's raging breast the volleyed lightning leaps; And ship by ship, raked, overborne, ere burned the sunset light, Crawls in the gloom of baffled hate beyond the field of fight! X. O glorious Empress of the Main! from out thy storied spires Thou well mayst peal thy bells of joy, and light thy festal fires, Since Heaven this day hath striven for thee, hath nerved thy dauntless sons, And thou in clear-eyed faith hast seen God's angels near the guns! PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. TWILIGHT ON SUMTER. [In the spring and summer of 1863, Fort Sumter, in possession of the Confederates since the surrender of Major Anderson, two years before, was bombarded by the Federal fleet, and by the artillery on Morris Island, until reduced almost to ruins.] STILL and dark along the sea A light was overhead, As from burning cities shed, Far away. Not a solitary gun Left to tell the fort had won Nothing but the tattered rag And the sea-birds screaming round it in their play. How it woke one April morn, As from Moultrie, close at hand, Raining hid the doubtful light; (Theirs the glory, ours the shame!) Then their flag was proudly struck, and Sumter fell! Now-oh, look at Sumter now, Mark its scarred and shattered walls, In its doom; For this blasted spot of earth And when Sumter sinks at last From the heavens, that shrink aghast, Hell shall rise in grim derision and make room! RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. KEENAN'S CHARGE. [At the battle of Chancellorsville, Va., May 2, 1863, it became necessary to bring a Federal battery into position to resist a sudden onset by Stonewall Jackson. To gain a few minutes' time, Major Peter Keenan, of the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, was ordered to charge the enemy; and, with his four hundred men, he rode against ten thousand, in a charge as gallant as that of the Light Brigade.] By the shrouded gleam of the western skies, 66 |
