I 'fv r f/..-flW-l Kt/M (fimxmW Winxvmi^ J lihvm^ BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Henrs m. Sage 1891 ([A^Mll A^r^i.t. Wi E647 .888°""" """""'* """"T War-lyrics and other poems. olin 3 1924 030 917 326 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924030917326 WAR-LYR I C S AND OTHER POEMS. HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. BOSTON: TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 1866. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year z86j, by TiCKNOS AND Fields, 1 die Qerk's Office of the District Court of tlie District of Massachusetts. University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge. TO THE VICE-ADMIRAL, DAVID GLASGOW .FARRAGUT. Sir,— Permit me to inscribe to you this book, a part of which is due to the inspiration of your deeds and your example. What you have been in war is known to your coimtiy, to her enemies, and to the world ; but only those who have had the honor of approaching you nearly can know how great is your love for peace, how real your kindliness, how true your feeling for nature, your interest in art, letters, and science, how genial, even in the roughest times, your sense of wit and humor and of all the amenities of social life. It is in remembrance of these traits, and of the personal friendship you were pleased to accord me while serving under your command, that I once again write myself, Very respectfully. Your obedient servant, THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. Page The Bay Fi&ht '. . . i The River Fight 23 Annus Memo^bilis 35 The Battle Summers 37 SuspiRiA Ensis 43 Down ! . . . ... . . . , 47 Words that can be sung 49 The Eagle of Corinth 51 The Color-Bearer 56 A War Study . . . . . . . 59 Bury Them 60 Wood and Coal ....... 62 Night-Quarters , . .65 Coming 67 Sumter 68 April 19, 1775-1861 6g On Fire 70 Let us alone 72 The March of the Regiment . . . .74 vi CONTENTS. Lines by our Corporal 79 Hearts of Oak 82 On the Killing of certain Dogs ... 84 Mr. . Carlyle's Chimney 86 The Fall of Al-Accoub 88 One Word 96 Only a Word 99 Somnia Cceli 100 The Battle of Charlestown . . ,. . 109 Honest Abe iii The Camp of November 114 Abraham Lincoln 116 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. fsychaura 141 Old Papers 142 All together 144 suspiria noctis . ,. , 146 To THE Poet 147 Gone 148 Presentiment 149 Midnight — A Lament 150 Occidente 152 November, by L. E. B 152 Mare Non Ciausum 154 CONTENTS. VU The Burial of the Dane 155 Ad Navem , 153 t The Retuen of Kane 159 At Sea 161 Alone 164 Waiting for the Ship, by C. D'W. B. . . .165 In Articolo Mortis 166 Song of the Archangels 167 Afs&s la Sommeil 168 The Changeling 169 Twilight 169 Rapport 170 Qu'iL MouRUT ,,,.•.. 170 The Steam-Spirit 171 Lines by a Farsinger 174 EARLY POEMS. "Even this will pass away" . . . • i79 Place de la Revolution 181 The Tomb of Columbus 183 The Sphinx i8g The Book 192 Philip the Freed-Man i95 The Nurse of Nero '97 The Portrait '9^ vm CONTENTS. Departed 200 To John . . . ... . . . 201 The Passing-Bell^ 204 ObSd the Skipper 205 Jack's Visitor 21? Difis Ir^b 224 To 226 iEoRi SoMNiA . 22;? Anacreontic 228 The Adieu , 230 Long Ago 231 NOTES. 233 THE BAY FIGHT. (Mobile Bay, August 5, 1864.) " On the forecastle, Ulf the Red Watched the lashing of the ships — * If the Serpent lie so far ahead, We shall have hard work of it here,* Said he." Longfellow's "Saga o/King Olaf." THREE days through sapphire seas we sailed, The steady Trade blew strong and free, The Northern Light his banners paled. The Ocean Stream our channels wet, We rounded low Canaveral's lee. And passed the isles of emerald set In blue Bahama's turquoise sea. By reef and shoal obscurely mapped. And hauntings of the gray sea-wolf^ The palmy Western Key lay lapped In the warm washing of the Gulf. But weary to the hearts of all The burning glare, the barren reach Of Santa Rosa's withered beach, And Pensacola's ruined wall. And weary was the long patrol, The thousand miles of shapeless strand, From Brazos to San Bias that roll Their drifting dunes of desert sand. Yet, coast-wise as we cruised or lay, The land-breeze still at nightfall bore. By beach and fortress-guarded bay, Sweet odors from the enemy's shore. Fresh from the forest solitudes. Unchallenged of his sentry lines — The bursting of his cypress buds. And the warm fragrance of his pines. Ah, never braver bark and crew, Nor bolder Flag a foe to dare. Had left a wake on ocean blue Since Lion-Heart sailed Trenc-le-mer /* But little gain by that dark ground Was ours, save, sometime, freer breath For friend or brother strangely found, 'Scaped from 'the drear domain of death. And little venture for the bold. Or laurel for our valiant Chief, Save some blockaded British thief. Full fraught with murder in his hold. Caught unawares at ebb or iioad — Or dull bombardment, day by day, With fort and earth-work, far away, Low couched in sullen leagues of mud. A weary time, — but to the strong The day at last, as ever, came ; And the volcano, laid so long, Leaped forth in thunder and in flame ! " Man your starboard battery ! " Kimberly shouted — The ship, with her hearts of oak, Was going, mid roar and smoke, On to victory ! None of us doubted. No, not our dying — Farragut's Flag was flying! Gaines growled low on our left, Morgan roared on our right — Before us, gloomy and fell. With breath like the fume of hell, Lay the Dragon of iron shell, Driven at last to the fight ! Ha, old ship ! do they thrill. The brave two hundred scars You got in the River- Wars ? That were leeched with clamorous skill, (Surgery savage and hard,) Splinted with bolt and beam, Probed in scarfing and seam, Rudely linted and tarred With oakum and boiling pitch, And sutured with splice and hitch, At the Brooklyn Navy- Yard ! Our lofty spars were down. To bide the battle's frown, (Wont of old renown) — But every ship was drest In her bravest and her best, As if for a July day ; Sixty flags and three, As we floated up the bay — Every peak and mast-head flew The brave Red, White, and Blue — We were eighteen ships that day. With hawsers strong and taut. The weaker lashed to port, On we sailed, two by two — That if either a bolt should feel Crash through "caldron or wheel, Fin of bronze or sinew of steel, Her mate might bear her through. Steadily n earing the head, The great Flag-Ship led. Grandest of sights ! On her lofty mizen flew Our Leader's dauntless Blue, That ha.d waved o'er twenty fights — So we went, with the first of the tide. Slowly,- mid the roar Of the Rebel guns ashore And the thunder of each full broadside. Ah, how poor the prate Of statute and state We once held with these fellows — Here, on the flood's pale-green, Hark how he bellows. Each bluff old Sea-Lawyer ! Talk to them, Dahlgren, Parrott, and Sawyer ! On, in the whirling shade Of the cannon's sulphury breath, We drew to the Line of Death That our devilish Foe had laid — Meshed in a horrible net. And baited villanous well. Right in our path were set Three hundred traps of hell ! And there, O sight forlorn ! There, while the cannon Hurtled and thundered — (Ah, what ill raven Flapped o'er the ship that morn !) — Caught by the under-death, In the drawing of a breath Down went dauntless Craven, He and his hundred ! A moment we saw her turret, A little heel she gave, And a thin white spray went o'er her, Like the crest of a breaking wave — In that great iron coffin, The channel for their grave, The fort their monument, (Seen afa,r in the offing,) Ten fathom deep lie Craven, And the bravest of our brave. Then, in that deadly track, A little the ships held back, Closing up in their stations — There are minutes that fix the fate Of battles and of nations, (Christening the generations,) ^Vhen valor were all too late. If a moment's doubt be harbored — From the main-top, bold and brief, Came the word of our grand old Chief - " Go on ! " 'twas all he said — Our helm was put to starboard. And the Hartford passed ahead. Ahead lay the Tennessee, On our starboard bow he lay, With his mail-clad consorts three, (The rest had run up the Bay) — There he was, belching flame from his bow, And the steam from his throat's abyss Was a Dragon's maddened hiss — In sooth a most cursdd craft ! — In a sullen ring at bay By the Middle Ground they lay, Raking us fore and aft. Trust me, our berth was hot, Ah, wickedly well they shot ; How their death-bolts howled and stung ! And the water-batteries played With their deadly cannonade Till the air around us rung ; So the battle raged and roared — Ah, had you been aboard To have seen the fight we made ! How they leaped, the tongues of flame. From the cannon's fiery lip ! How the broadsides, deck and frame. Shook the great ship ! And how the enemy's shell Came crashing, heavy and ofit. Clouds of splinters flying aloft And falling in oaken showers — But ah, the pluck of the crew ! Had you stood on that deck of ours, • You had seen what men may do. Still, as the fray grew louder, Boldly they worked and well ; Steadily came the powder. Steadily came the shell. And if tackle or truck found hurt, Quickly they cleared the wreck ; And the dead were laid to port. All a-row, on our deck. Never a nerve that failed, Never a cheek that paled. Not a tinge of gloom or pallor — There was bold Kentucky's grit, And the old Virginian valor. And the daring Yankee wit. There were blue eyes from turfy Shannon, There were black orbs from palmy Niger - But there, alongside the cannon. Each man fought like a tiger ! ' A little, once, it looked ill. Our consort began to burn — They quenched the flames with a will. But our men were falling still, And still the fleet was astern. Right abreast of the Fort In an awful shroud they lay, Broadsides thundering away, And lightning from every port — - Scene of glory and dread ! A storm-cloud all aglow With flashes of fiery red — ■ The thunder raging below, And the forest of flags o'erhead 1 So grand the hurly and roar, So fiercely their broadsides blazed, The regiments fighting ashore Forgot to fire as they gazed. There, to silence the Foe, Moving grimly and slow, They loomed in that deadly wreath, Where the darkest batteries frowned - Death in the air all round. And the black torpedoes beneath! And now, as we looked ahead. All for'ard, the long white deck Was growing a strange dull red ; But soon, as once and agen Fore and aft we sped, (The firing to guide or check,) You could hardly choose but tread On the ghastly human wreck, I* (Dreadful gobbet and shred That a minute ago were men !) Red, from main-mast to bitts ! Red, on bulwark and wale — Red, by combing and hatch — Red, o'er netting and rail 1 And ever, with steady con. The ship forged slowly by — And ever the crew fought on. And their cheers rang loud and high. Grand was the sight to see How by their guns they stood, Right in front of our dead Fighting square abreast — Each brawny arm and chest All spotted with black and red. Chrism of fire and blood ! Worth our watch, dull and sterile. Worth all the weary time — Worth the woe and the peril, To stand in that strait sublime ! Fear ? A forgotten form ! Death? A dream of the eyes ! We were atoms in God's great storm That roared through the angry skie& One only doubt was ours, One only dread we knew — Could the day that dawned so well Go down for the Darker Powers ? Would the fleet get through ? And ever the shot and shell Came with the howl of hell, The splinter-clouds rose and fell, And the long line of corpses grew — Would the fleet win through ? They are men that never will fail, (How aforetime they 've fought !) But Murder may yet prevail — They may sink as Craven sank. Therewith one hard, fierce thought, Burning on heart and lip, Ran like fire through the ship — Fight her, to the last plank ! A dimmer Renown might strike If Death lay square alongside — But the Old Flag has no like. She must fight, whatever betide — When the War is a tale of old, And this day's story is told. They shall hear how the Hartford died ! But as we ranged ahead, And the leading ships worked in, Losing their hope to win The enemy turned and fled — And one seeks a shallow reach, And another, winged in her flight. Our mate, brave Jouett, brings in — And one, all torn in the fight, Runs for a wreck on the beach, Where her flames soon fire the night. And the Ram, when well up the Bay, And we looked that our stems should meet, (He had us fair for a prey,) Shifting his helm midway, Sheered ofi' and ran for the fleet ; There, without skulking or sham. He fought them, gun for gun. And ever-he sought to ram. But could finish never a one. From the first of the iron shower Till we sent our parting shell, 'Twas just one savage hour Of the roar and the rage of hell. With the lessening smoke and thunder. Our glasses around we aim — AVhat is that burning yonder ? Our Philippi, — aground and in flame 1 Below, 'twas still all a-roar, As the ships went by the shore. 13 But the fire of the Fort had slacked, (So fierce their volleys had been) — And now, with a mighty din, The whole fleet came grandly in, ■ Though sorely battered and wracked. So, up the Bay we ran. The Flag to port and ahead ; And a pitying rain began To wash the lips of pur dead. A league from the Fort we lay. And deemed that the end must lag ; When lo ! looking down the Bay, There flaimted the Rebel Rag — The Ram is again underway And heading dead for the Flag ! Steering up with the stream, Boldly his course he lay. Though the fleet all answered his fire. And, as he still drew nigher, Ever on bow and beam Our Monitors pounded away — How the Chicasaw hammered away ! Quickly breasting the wave. Eager the prize to win. First of us all the brave 14 Monongahela went in Under full head of steam — Twice she struck him abeam, Till her stem was a sorry work,' (She might have run on a crag !) The Lackawana hit fair. He flung her aside like cork. And still he held for the Flag. High in the mizen shroud, (Lest the smoke his sight o'erwhelm,) Our Admiral's voice rang loud, " Hard-a-starboard your helm ! Starboard ! and run him down ! " Starboard it was — and so. Like a black squall's lifting frown, Our mighty bow bore down On the iron beak of the Foe. We stood on the deck together, Men that had looked on death In battle and stormy weather — • Yet a little we held our breath. When, with the hush of death, The great ships drew together. Our Captain strode to the bow, Drayton, courtly and wise, Kindly cynic, and wise, (You hardly had known him now, The flame of fight in his eyes !) IS His brave heart eager to feel How the oak would tell on the steel I But, as the space grew short, A little he seemed to shun us. Out peered a form grim and lanky, And a voice yelled — " Hard-a-port ! Hard-a-port ! — here 's the damned Yankee Coming right down on us ! " He sheered, but the ships ran foul With a gnarring shudder and growl — He gave us a deadly gun ; But as he passed in his pride, (Rasping right alongside !) The Old Flag, in thunder tones, Poured in her port broadside, Rattling his iron hide, And cracking his timber bones ! Just then, at speed on the Foe, With her bow all weathered and brown, The great Lackawana came down, Full tilt, for another blow j We were forging ahead. She reversed — but, for all our pains. Rammed the old Hartford, instead. Just for'ard the mizzen chains ! Ah ! how the masts did buckle and bend, And the stout hull ring and reel, i6 As she took us right on end ! (Vain were engine and wheel, She was under full steam) — With the roar of a thunder-stroke Her two thousand tons of oak Brought up on us, right abeam ! A wreck, as it looked, we lay — (Rib and plankshear gave way To the stroke of that giant wedge !) Here, after all, we go — The old ship is gone ! — ah, no. But cut to the water's edge. Never mind, then — at him again ! His flurry now can't last long ; He '11 never again see land — Try that on him, Marchand ! On him again, brave Strong ! Heading square at the hulk, Full on his beam we bore ; But the spine of the huge Sea-Hog Lay on the tide like a log. He vomited flame no more. By this, he had found it hot — Half the fleet, in an angry ring, Closed round the hideous Thing, Hammering with solid shot. And bearing down, bow on bow — 17 He has but a minute to choose ; Life or renown ? — which now Will the Rebel Admiral lose ? Cruel, haughty, and cold, He ever was strong and bold — Shall he shrink from a wooden stem ? He will think of that brave band He sank in the Cumberland — Aye, he will sink like them, Nothing left but to fight Boldly his last sea-fight ! Can he strike ? By heaven, 'tis true I Down comes the traitor Blue, And up goes the captive White ! Up went the White ! Ah then The hurrahs that, once and agen, Rang from three thousand men All flushed and savage with fight ! Our dead lay cold and stark. But our dying, down in the dark. Answered as best they might — Lifting their poor lost arms. And cheering for God and Right 1 Ended the mighty noise, Thunder of forts and ships. Down we went to the hold O,. our dear dying boys 1 i8 How we pressed their poor brave lips, (Ah, so pallid and cold !) And held their hands to the last, (Those that had hands to hold). Still thee, O woman heart ! (So strong an hour ago) — If the idle tears must start, 'Tis not in vain they flow. They died, our children, dear. On the drear berth deck they died ; Do not think of them here — Even now their footsteps near The immortal, tender sphere — (Land of love and cheer ! Home of the Crucified !) And the glorious deed survives. Our threescore, quiet and cold. Lie thus, for a myriad lives And treasure-millions untold — (Labor of poor men's lives, Hunger of weans and wives. Such is war-wasted gold.) Our ship and her fame to-day Shall float' on the storied Stream, When mast and shroud have crumbled away And her long white deck, is a dream. One daring leap in the dark, Three mortal hours, at the most— And hell lies stifE and stark On a hundred leagues of coast. For the mighty Gulf is ours — The Bay is lost and won, An Empire is lost and won ! Land, if thou yet hast flowers. Twine them in one more wreath Of tenderest white and red,, (Twin buds of glory and death !) For the brows of our brave dead - For thy Navy's noblest Son. Joy, O Land, for thy sons, Victors by flood and field ! The traitor walls and guns Have nothing left but to- yield — (Even now they surrender !) And the ships shall sail once more, And the cloud of war sweep on To break on the cruel shore — But Craven is gone. He and his hundred are gone. The flags flutter up and down At sunrise and twilight dim^ The cannons menace and frown - But never again for him, Him and the hundred. The Dahlgrens are dumb, Dumb are the mortars — Never more shall the drum Beat to colors and quarters — The great guns are silent. O brave heart and loyal ! Let all your colors dip — Mourn him, proud Ship ! From main deck to royal. God rest our Captain, Rest our lost hundred. Droop, flag and pennant ! What is your pride for ? Heaven, that he died for, Rest our Lieutenant, Rest our brave threescore. O Mother Land ! this weary life We led, we lead, is 'long of thee ; Thine the strong agony of strife, And thine the lonely sea. Thine the long decks all slaughter-sprent, The weary rows of cots that lie 21 With wrecks of strong men, marred and rent, 'Neath Pensacola's sky. And thine the iron caves and dens Wherein the flame our war-fleet drives ; The fiery vaults, whose breath is men's Most dear and precious lives. Ah, ever, when with storm sublime Dread Nature clears our inurky air. Thus in the crash of falling crime Some lesser guilt must share. Full red the furnace fires must glow That melt the ore of mortal kind : The Mills of God are grinding slow, But ah, how close they grind ! To-day the Dahlgren and the. drum Are dread Apostles of his Name ; His Kingdom here can only come By chrism of blood and flame. Be strong : already slants the gold Athwart these wild and stormy skies ; From out this blackened waste, behold. What happy homes shall rise 1 But see thou well no traitor gloze, No striking hands with Death and Shame, Betray the sacred blood that flows So freely for thy name. And never fear a victor foe — Thy children's hearts are strong and high j Nor mourn too fondly — well they know On deck or field to die. Nor shalt thou want one willing breath, Though, ever smiling round the brave, The blue sea bear us on to death. The green were one wide grave. U. S. Flag Ship Hartford, Mobile Bay, August, .1864. 23 THE RIVER FIGHT. (Mississippi River, April 24, 1862.) DO you know of the dreary Land, If land such region may seem, Where 'tis neither sea nor strand, Ocean nor good dry land, But the nightmare marsh of a dream — Where the Mighty River his death-road takes, 'Mid pools, and windings that coil like snakes, (A hundred leagues of bayous and lakes,) To die in the great Gulf Stream ? No coast-line clear and true, (Granite and deep sea blue,) On that dismal shore you pa.ss — Surf-worn boulder nor sandy beach. But ooze-flats far as the eye can reach, With shallows of water-grass — Reedy savannas, vast and dun, L3dng dead in the dim March sun — Huge rotting trunks and roots that lie Like blackened bones of the Shapes gone by. And miles of sunken morass. 24 No lovely, delicate thing Of life o'er the waste is seen — But the cayman couched by his weedy spring, And the pelican, bird unclean — Or the buzzard, flapping on heavy wing Like an evil ghost, o'er the desolate scene. Ah, many a weary day With our Leader there we lay. In the sultry haze and smoke. Tugging our ships o'er the bar — Till the Spring was wasted far, Till his brave heart almost broke — For the sullen River seemed As if our intent he drearned — All his shallow mouths did spew and choke. But, ere April fully past. All ground over at last. And we knew the die was cast — Knew the day drew nigh To dare to the end one stormy deed. Might save the Land at her sorest need, Or on the old deck to die ! Anchored we lay — and, a mom the more. To his captains and all his men Thus wrote our stout old Commodore — (He wasn't Admiral then :) 25 GENERAL ORDERS. " Send your to'gailant masts down, Rig in each flying jib-boom ! Clear all ahead for the loom Of traitor fortress and town, Or traitor fleet bearing down. In with your canvas high — We shall want no sail to fly ! / Topsail and foresail, spanker and jib, (With the heart of oak in the oaken rib,) Shall serve us to win or die ! Trim every hull by the head, (So shall you spare the lead,) Lest, if she ground, your ship swing round, Bows in-shore, for a wreck — See your grapnels all clear, with pains, And a solid kedge in your port main-chains, With a whip to the main-yard — Drop it, heavy and hard, When you grapple a traitor deck ! On forecastle and on poop Mount guns, as best you may deem — If possible, rouse them up, (For still you must bow the stream) — Also hoist and secure with stops Howitzers firmly in your tops, To fire on the foe abeam. 26' Look well to your pumps and hose — Have water-tubs, fore and aft, For quenching flame in your eraft. And the gun-crews' fiery thirst — See planks with felt fitted close, To plug evety shot-hole tight — Stand ready to meet the worst ! For, if I have reckoned aright. They will serve us shot, both cold and hot, Freely enough, to^iight. Mark well each signal I make — (Our life-long service at stake. And honor that must not lag !) Whate'er the peril and awe. In the battle's fieriest flaw. Let never one ship, withdraw Till orders come from the Flag ! " Would you heajr of the River-Fight? It was two, of a soft spring night — God's stars looked down on all, And all was clear and bright But the low fog's chilling breath — Up the River of Death Sailed the Great Admiral. On our high poop-deck he stood. And round him ranged the men 27 Who have made their birthright good Of manhood, once and agen — Lords of helm and of sail, Tried in tempest and gale, Bronzed in battle and wreck- — Bell and Bailey grandly led Each his liine of the Blue and Red — Wainwright stood by our starboard rail, Thornton fought the deck. And I mind me of more than they, Of the youthful, steadfast ones. That have shown them worthy sons Of the Seamen passed away — (Tyson conned our helm, that day, Watson stood by his guns.) What thought our Admiral, then. Looking down on his men ? Since the terrible day, (Day of renown and tears !) When at anchor the Essex "lay. Holding her foes at bay, AVhen, a boy, by Porter's side' he stood Till deck and plank-shear were dyed with blood, 'Tis half a hundred years — Half a hundred years, to-day ! Who could fail, with him? Who reckon of life or limb ? Not a pulse but beat the higher 1 28 There had you seen, by the star-light dim, Five hundred faces strong and grim ^ — The Flag is going under fire ! Right up by the fort, with her helm hard-a-port, The Hartford is going under fire ! The way to our work was plain, Caldwell had broken the chain, (Two hulks swung down amain, Soon as 'twas sundered) — Under the night's dark blue, Steering steady and true, Ship after ship went through — Till, as we hove in view, Jackson out-thundered. Back echoed Philip ! — ah, then, Could you have seen our men. How they sprung, in the dim night haze, To their work of toil and of clamor ! How the loaders, with sponge and rammer, And their captains, with cord and hammer, Kept every niuzzle ablaze ! How the guns, as with cheer and shout Our tackle-men hurled them out, Brought up on the water-ways ! First, as we fired at their flash, 'Twas lightning and black eclipse, With a bellowing roll and crash — r 29 But soon, upon either bow, What with forts, and fire-rafts, and ships — (The whole fleet was hard at it, now, All pounding away !) — and Porter Still thundering with shell and mortar — 'Twas the mighty sound and form Of an Equatorial storm ! (Such you see in the Far South, After long heat and drouth, As day draws nigh to even — Arching from North to South, Blinding the tropic sun. The great black bow comes on — ■■ Till the: thunder-veil is riven. When all is crash and levin. And the cannonade of heaven Rolls down the Amazon !) But, as we worked along higher, Just where the river enlarges, Down came a pyramid of fire — It was one of your long' coal barges. (We had often had the like before) — 'Twas coming down on us to larboard, Well in with the eastern shore — And our pilot, to let it pass round, (You may guess we never stopped to sound,) Giving us a rank sheer to starboard. Ran the Flag hard and fast aground! 30 'Twas nigh abreast of the Upper Fort, And straightway a rascal Ram (She was shaped like the devil's dam)! Puffed away for us, with a snort. And shoved it, with spiteful strength, Right alongside of us, to port — It was all of our ship's length, A huge crackling Cradle of the Pit, Pitch-pine knots to the brim. Belching flame red and grim — What a roar came up from it ! Well, for a little it looked bad — But thes6 things are, somehow, shorter In the acting than the telling — There was no singing-out nor yelling. Nor any fussing and fretting. No stampede, in short — But there we were, my lad. All a-fire on our port quarter ! Hammocks a-blaze in the netting. Flame spouting in at every port — Our Fourth Cutter burning at the davit, (No chance to lower away and, save it.) In a twinkling, the flames had risen Half way to main top and mizzen. Darting up the shrouds like snakes ! Ah, how we clanked at the brakes. And the deep steam-pumps throbbed under, 31 Sending a ceaseless flow — Our top-men, a dauntless crowd, Swarmed in rigging and shroud — There, ('twas a wonder !) The burning ratlins and strands They quenched with their bare hard hands — But the great guns below Never silenced their thunder ! At last, by backing and sounding, When we were clear of grounding, And under head-way once more, The whole rebel fleet came rounding The point if we had it hot befor-e, 'Twas now, from shore to shore, One long, loud thundering roar — Such crashing, splintering, and pounding,. And smashing as you never heaiid before! But that we fought foul wrong to wreck. And to save the Land we loved so well, You might have deemed our long gun deck Two hundred feet of hell- ! For all above was battle, Broadside, and blaze, and rattle^ Smoke and thunder alone — (But, down in the sick-bay. Where our wounded and dying lay, There was scarce a sob or a moan.) 32 And at last, when the dim day broke, And the sullen sun awoke, ■ Drearily blinking O'er the haze and the cannon-smoke. That ever such morning dulls — There were thirteen traitor hulls On fire and sinking ! Now, up the river ! — though mad Chalmette Sputters a vain resistance yet. Small helm we gave her, our course to steer — 'Twas nicer work than you well would dream, With cant and sheer to keep her clear Of the burning wrecks that cumbered the stream. The Louisiana, hurled on high, Mounts in thunder to meet the sky ! Then down to the depth of the turbid flood, Fifty fathom of rebel mud ! The Mississippi comes floating down, A mighty bonfire, from off the town — And along the river, on stocks and ways, A half-hatched devil's brood is a-blaze — The great Anglo-Norman is all in flames,' (Hark to the roar of her tumbling frames !) And the smaller fry that Treason would spawn, Are lighting Algiers like an angry dawn ! From stem to stern, how the pirates burn, Fired by the furious hands that built ! So to ashes forever turn The suicide wrecks of wrong and guilt ! 33 But, as we neared the city, By field and vast plantation, (Ah, mill-stone of our Nation !) With wonder and with pity What crowds we there espied Of dark and wistful faces. Mute in their toiling-places, Strangely and sadly eyed — Haply, 'mid doubt and fear. Deeming deliverance near — (One gave the ghost of a cheer!) And on that dolorous strand, To greet the victor-brave One flag did welcome wave — Raised, ah me ! by a wretched hand, All outworn on our cruel Land — The withered hand of a slave ! But all along the Levee, In a dark and drenching rain, (By this, 'twas pouring heavy,) Stood a fierce and sullen train — A strange and a frenzied time ! There were scowling rage and pain, Curses, howls, and hisses. Out of haters black abysses — Their courage and their crime All in vain — all in vain ! 2* O 34 For from the hour that the Rebel Stream, With the Crescent City lying abeam, Shuddered under our keel, Smit to the heart with self-struck sting. Slavery died in her scorpion-ring, And Murjier fell on his steel, , 'Tis well to do and dare — But ever may grateful prayer Follow, as aye it ought, When tlie good fight is fought,. When the true deed, is done — Aloft in heaven's pure light, (Deep azure crossed on white) Our fair Church-Pennant waves O'er a thousand thankful braves, ■ Bareheaded in God's bright sun. Lord of mercy and frown. Ruling o'er sea and shore. Send us such scene once more ! All in Line of Battle When the black ships bear down On tyrant fort and town, Mid cannon cloud and rattle — And the great guns once more Thunder back the rpar Of the traitor walls ashore. And the traitor flags come down 1 Flag Ship Hartford, March, 1864. 35 ANNUS MEMORABILIS. (congress, 1860-61.) STAND strong and calm as Fate ! not a breath of scorn or hate — Of taunt for the base, or of menace for the strong — Since our fortunes must be sealed on that old and famous Field, Where the Right is set in battle with the Wrong. 'Tis coming, with the loom of Khamsin or Simoom, The tempest that shall try if we are of God or no — Its roar is in the sky, — and they there be which cry, Let us cower, and the storm may over-blow. Now, nay ! stand firm and fast ! (that was a spite- ful blast !) This is not a war of men, but of Angels Good and 111 — 'Tis hell that storms at heaven — 'tis the black and deadly Seven, Sworn 'gainst the Shining Ones to work their damned will ! 36 How the Ether glooms and burns, as the tide of combat turns, And the smoke and dust above it whirl and float ! It eddies and it streams — and, certes, oft it seems As the Sins had the Seraphs fairly by the throat. But we all have read, (in that Legend grand and dread,) How Michael and his host met the Serpent and his crew — Naught has reached us of the Fight — but, if I have dreamed aright, 'Twas a loud one and a long, as ever thundered through ! Right stifily, past a doubt, the Dragon fought it out. And his Angels, each and all, did for Tophet their devoir — ^ There was creak of iron wings, and whirl of scor- pion stings, Hiss of bifid tongues, and the Pit in full uproar ! But, naught thereof enscroUed, in one brief line 'tis told, (Calm as dew the Apocalyptic Pen,) That on the Infinite Shore their place was found no more. God send the hke on this our earth ! Amen. January 6th, i86i. 37 THE BATTLE SUMMERS. AGAIN the glory of the days ! Once more the dreamy sunshine fills Noon after noon, — and all the hills Lie soft and dim in autumn haze. And lovely lie these meadows low In the slant sun — and quiet broods Above the splendor of the woods All touched with autumn's tenderest glow. The trees stand marshalled, clan by clan, A bannered army, far and near — (Mark how yon fiery maples rear Their crimson colors in the van !) Methinks, these ancient haunts among, A fuller life informs the fall — The crows in council sit and call, The quail through stubble leads her young. 38 The woodcock whirrs by bush and brake, The partridge plies his cedar-search — (Old Andy says the trout and perch Are larger now, in stream and lake.) O'er the' brown leaves, the forest floor, With nut and acorn scantly strewed, The small red people of the wood Are out to seek their winter store. To-day they gather, each and all, '■ To take their last of autumn suns — - E'en the gray Squirrel lithely runs Along the mossy pasture walL By marsh and brook, by copse and hill. To their old quiet haunts repair The feeble things of earth and air, And feed and flutter at their will. The feet that roved this woodland round. The hands that scared the timid race, Now mingle in a mightier chase, Or mould on that great Hunting-Ground. Strange calm and peace ! — ah, who could deem, By this still glen, this lone hill-side. How three long summers, in their pride. Have smiled above that awful Dream ? — 39 Have ever woven a braver green, - And ever arched a lovelier blue ; Yet Nature, in her every hue. Took color from the dread Unseen. The haze of Indian Summer seemed Borne from far fields of sulphury breath — A subtile atmosphere of death Was ever round us as we dreamed. The horizon's dim heat-lightning played Like small-arms, stillj thro' nights of drouth, And the low thunder of the south Was dull and distant cannonade. To us the glory or the gray Had still a stranger, stormier dye, Remembering how we watched the sky Of many a waning battle day, O'er mahy a field of loss or fgme ; How Shiloh's eve to ashes turned, And how Manassas' sunset burned Incarnadine of blood and flame. And how, in thunder, day by day, The hot sky hanging over all, Beneath that sullen, lurid pall, The Week of Battles rolled away ! , 4° " Give me my legions ! " — so, in grief, Like him of Rome, our Father cried : (A Nation's Flower lay down and died In yon fell shade !) — ah, hapless chief — Too late we learned thy star ! — o'erta'en, (Of error or of fate o'erharsh,) Like Varus, in the fatal marsh Where skill and valor all were vain ! All vain — Fair Oaks and Seven Pines ! A deeper hue than dying Fall May lend, is yours ! yet over all The mild Virginian autumn shines. And still a Nation's Heart o'erhung The iron echoes pealed afar. Along a thousand leagues of war The battle thunders tossed and flung. Till, when our fortunes paled the most, And Hope had half forgot to wave Her banner o'er the wearied brave — A morning saw the traitor host Rolled back o'er red Potomac's wave. And the Great River burst his way ! — And all on that dear Summer's Day, Day that our fathers died and gave. 41 Rest in thy calm, Eternal Right ! For thee, though levin-scarred and torn, Through flame and death shall still be borne The Red, the Azure, and the White. We pass — we sink like summer's snow — Yet on the mighty Cause shall move, Though every field a Cannse prove. And every pass a Roncesvaux. Though every summer burn anew A battle-summer, — though each day We name a new Aceldema, Or some dry Golgotha re-dew. . And thou, in lonely dream withdrawn ! What dost thou, while in tempest dies The long drear Night, and all the skies Are red with Freedom's fiery Dawn ! Behold, thy summer days are o'er — Yet dearer, lovelier these that fall Wrapped in red autumn's flag, than all The green and glory gone before. 'Twas well to sing by stream and sod. And they there were that loved thy lays — But lo, where, 'neath yon battle-haze, Thy brothers bare the breast for God 1 42 Reck not of waning force nor breath — Some little aid may yet be thine, Some honor to the All-Divine, — To-day^ where, by yon River of Death,^ His stars on Rosecrans look down — Or, on the morrow, by moat and wall, Once more when the Great Admiral Thunders on traitor fleet and town. O wearied heart ! O darkening eye ! (How long to hope and trust untrue !) What in the hurly can ye do ? Little, 'tis like — yet we can die. October, 1863. 43 SUSPIRIA ENSIS. MOURN no more for our dead, Laid in their rest serene — With the tears a Land hath shed Their graves shall ever be green. Ever their fair, true gloiy Fondly shall fame rehearse — Light of legend and story. Flower of marble and verse ! (Wilt thou forget, O Mother ! How thy darlings, day by day. For thee, and with fearless faces, Journeyed the darksome way — Went down to death in the war-ship. And on the bare hill-side lay ?) For the Giver they gave their breath. And 'tis now no time to mourn — Lo, of their dear, brave death^ A mighty Nation is bom ! 44 But a long lament for others, Dying for Darker Powers ! — Those that once were our brothers, Whose children shall yet be ours. That a People, haughty and brave, (Warriors, old and young !) Should lie in a bloody grave. And never a dirge be sung ! We may look with woe on the dead, We may smooth their lids, 'tis true, For the veins of a common red And the Mother's milk we drew. But alas, how vainly bleeds The breast that is bared for Crime — Who shall dare hymn the deeds That else had been all sublime ? Were it alien steel that clashed, They had guarded each inch of sod — But the angry valor dashed On the awful shield of God 1 (Ah — if for some great Good — On some giant Evil hurled — The Thirty MilHons had stood 'Gainst the might of a banded world !) 45 But now, to the long, long Night They pass, as they ne'er had been — A stranger and sadder sight Than ever the sun hath seen. For his waning beams illume A vast and a sullen train Going down to the gloom — One wretched and drear refrain The only line on their tomb, — " They died — and they died in vain ! " Gone — ay me ! — to the grave, And never one note of song — The Muse would weep for the brave, But how shall she chant the wrong ? For a wayward Wench is she — One that rather would wait With Old John Brown at the tree Than Stonewall dying in state. When, for the wrongs that were. Hath she lilted a single stave ? Know, proud hearts, that, with her, 'Tis not enough to be brave. By the injured, with loving glance, Aye hath she lingered of old, And eyed the Evil askance,* Be it never so haught and bold. 46 With Homer, alms-gift in hand, With Dante, exile and free, With Milton, blind in the Strand, With Hugo, lone by the sea ! In the attic, with Berang^r, She could carol, how blithe and free ! Of the old, worn Frocks of Blue, (All threadbare with victory ! ) ° But never of purple and gold. Never of Lily or Bee ! And thus, though the Traitor Sword Were the bravest that battle wields — Though the fiery Valor poured Its life on a thousand fields — The sheen of its ill renown All tarnished with guilt and blame, No Poet a deed may crown. No Lay may laurel a name. Yet never for thee, fair Song ! The fallen brave to condemn ; They died for a mighty Wrong — But their Demon died with them. (Died, by field and by city !) — Be thine on the day to dwell, When dews of peace and of pity Shall fall o'er the fading hell — , 47 And the dead shall smile in Heaven - And tears, that now may not rise, Of love and of all forgiveness, Shall stream from a million eyes. Flag Ship Hartford, at Sea, January, 1864, DOWN! (April, 1865.) YARD-ARM to yard-arm we lie Alongside the Ship of Hell -~ And still through the sulphury sky The terrible clang goes high, Broadside and battle cry, And the pirates' maddened yell ! Our Captain's cold on the deck, Our brave Lieutenant's a wreck — He lies in the hold there, hearing The storm of fight going on overhead, Tramp and thunder to wake the dead 1 The great guns jumping overhead, And the whole ship's company cheering 1 48 Four hours the Death-Fight has roared, (Gun-deck and berth-deck blood-wet 1) Her mainmast's gone by the board, Down come topsail and jib ! We're smashing her, rib by rib. And the pirate yells grow weak — But the Black Flag flies there yet. The Death's Head grinning a-peak ! Long has she haunted the seas, Terror of sun and breeze ! Her deck has echoed with groans, Her hold is a horrid den Piled to the orlop with bones Of starved and of murdered men — They swarm 'mid her shrouds in hosts, The smoke is murky with ghosts I But to-day, her cruise shall be short — She's bound to the Port she cleared from, She's nearing the Light she steered from — Ah, the Horror sees her fate ! Heeling heavy to port. She strikes, but all too late ! Down, with her cursdd crew, Down, with her damned freight, To the bottom of the Blue, Ten thousand fathom deep ! With God's glad sun o'erhead — That is the way to weep. So will we mourn our dead 1 49 WORDS THAT CAN BE SUNG TO THE "HALLELUJAH CHORUS." OLD John Brown lies a-mouldering in the grave, Old John Brown lies slumbering in his grave — But John Brown's soul is marching with the brave, His soul is marching on> Glory, glory, hallelujah ! Glory, glory, hallelujah ! , Glory, glory, hallelujah I His soul is marching on. He has gone to be a soldier in the- Army of the Lord, He is sworn as a / private in the ranks of the Lord — He shall stand at Armageddon with, his brave old sword, When. Heaven is marching on. Glory, etc. For Heaven is marching on. 3 » 5° He shall file in front where the lines of battle form, He shall face to front when the' squares of battle form — Time with the column, and charge in the storm, Where men are marching on^ Glory, etc. True men are marching on. Ah, foul t3frants ! do ye hear him where he comes ? Ah, black traitors ! do ye know him as he comes ? In thunder of the cannon and roll of the drums, As we go marching on. Glory, etc. We all are marching on. Men may die, and moulder in the dust — Men may die, and arise again from dust. Shoulder to shoulder, in the ranks of the Just, When Heaven is marching on. Glory, etc. The Lord is marching on. April xTth, 1862. SI THE EAGLE OF CORINTH." DID you hear of the Fight at Corinth, How we whipped out Price and Van Dorn ? Ah, that day we earned our rations — (Our cause was God's and the Nation's, Or we'd have come out forlorn !) A long and a terrible day ! And, at last, when night grew gray. By the hundred, there they lay, (Heavy sleepers, you'd say,) That wouldn't wake on the morn. Our staff was bare of a flag, We didn't carry a rag In those brave marching days — Ah, no — but a finer thing ! With never a cord or string. An Eagle, of ruffled wing, And an eye of awful gaze ! The grape it rattled like hail, The minies were dropping like rain. ■ 52 :;• The first of a thunder-shower — The wads were blowing like chaff, (There was pounding, like floor and flail, All the front of our line !) So we stood it, hour after hour^- But our eagle, he felt fine ! 'Twould have made you cheer and laugh, To, see, through that iron gale. How the Old FelloW'd swoop and sail Above the racket and roar — To right and to left. he'd soar, But ever came back, without fail, A;id perched : on his , standard-staff. All that day, I tell you true. They had pressed us, steady and fair. Till we fought in street and square — (The affair, you might think, looked blue,) But we knew we had them there ! Our works and batteries were few, Every gun, they'd have sworn, they knew — But, you see, there was one or two We had fixed for them, unaware. They recko» they've got us now ! For the next half hour 'twill be warm — Aye, aye, look yonder ! — I vow. If they weren't Secesh, how I'd love them ! Only see how grandly they form, (Our eagle whirling above them,) To take Robinett by storm 1 S3 They're timing ! — it can't be long — Now for the nub of the fight ! (You may guess that we held our' breath,) By the Lord, 'tis a splendid sight ! A column two thousand strong - , Marching square to the death ! On they came, in solid column. For once, no whooping nor yell — (Ah, I dare say they felt solemn.) Front and fliank — gt'ape and shell -^ Our batteries pounded away I And the mirties hummed to rehiihd 'em They had started on no child's play ! Steady they kept a-gding, , But a grim wake settled behind 'em -^ From the. edge of the abaitis, (Where our dead and dying lay Under fence and fallen tree,) Up to Robinett, a!ll the way The dreadful swath kept growing; !j,.;r\ 'Twas butternut, flecked with gl'ay. Now for it, at Robinett ! Muzzle to muzzle, we met— ; (Not a breath of bluster or brag, '' . Not a lisp for quarter or favor) ^^ ■ Three times, there, by Robinett, With a rush, their feet they set Oh the logs of our parapet, 54 And waved their bit of a ftag — What could be ifiner or braver ! But our cross-fire stunned them in flank, They melted, rank after rank — (O'er them, with terrible poise. Our Bird did circle and wheel !) Their whole line began to waver — Now for the bayonet, boys ! On them with the cold steel ! Ah, well — you know how it ended — We did for them, there and then. But their pluck, throughout, was splendid. (As I said before, I could love them !) They stood, to the last, like men — Only a handful of them Found the way back again. Red as blood, o'er the town. The angry sun went down, Firing flagstaff and vane — And our eagle, — as for him, There, all rufiled and grim, He sat, o'erlooking the slain ! Next morning, you'd have wondered How we had to drive the spade ! There, in great trenches and holes, (Ah, God rest their poor souls !) We piled some fifteen hundred. Where that last charge was made ! 55 Sad enough, I must say. No mother to mourn and search, No priest to bless or to pray — We buried them where they lay, Without a rite of the church — But our eagle, all that day, Stood solemn and still on his perch. 'Tis many a stormy day Since, out of the cold, bleak North, Our great War-Eagle sailed forth To swoop o'er battle and fray. Many and many a day O'er charge and storm hath he wheeled. Foray and foughten field, Tramp, and volley, and rattle ! — Over crimson trench and turf, Over climbing clouds of surf. Through tempest and cannon-rack. Have his terrible pinions whirled — (A thousand fields of battle ! A million leagues of foam !) But our Bird shall yet come back, He shall soar to his Eyrie-Home — And his thundirous wings be furled. In the gaze of a gladdened world. On the Nation's loftiest Dome. December, 1862. S6 THE COLOR-BEARER/ (VicKSBURG, May 32, 1863.) LET theril go ! — - they are brave, I know — But a berth, like this, why it suits me best ; I can't carry back the Old Colors to-day, We've corne together a long, rough way — Here's as good a spot as aily to rest. No look, I reckon, to hold them long ; So here, in the turf, with my bayonet, To dig for a Bit, and plant them strong — (Look out for the point — - we may want it yet !) Dry work ! — ^ but the old canteen holds fast A few drops 'of water — not over-fresh -^ So, for a drink ! — it may be the last — My respects to you, Mr. Secesh ! No great shov/ for the snakes to sight ; Our boys keep 'em busy yet, by the powers ! — Hark, what a row going on, to the Right ! ■^ Better luck there, I hope, than ours. 57 Half an Hour ! — ^ (and you'd swear 'twas three) — Here, by the bully old staif, I've sat — Long enough, as it seems to me, ^