Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War Part 4

But night is treacherous, Grant is wary; Of brave blood be a little chary.

Patience! the Fort is good as won; To-morrow, and into Donelson._

LATER AND LAST.

THE FORT IS OURS.

_A flag came out at early morn Bringing surrender. From their towers Floats out the banner late their scorn.

In Dover, hut and house are full Of rebels dead or dying.

The national flag is flying From the crammed court-house pinnacle.

Great boat-loads of our wounded go To-day to Nashville. The sleet-winds blow; But all is right: the fight is won, The winter-fight for Donelson.

Hurrah!

The spell of old defeat is broke, The Habit of victory begun; Grant strikes the war's first sounding stroke At Donelson.

For lists of killed and wounded, see The morrow's dispatch: to-day 'tis victory._

The man who read this to the crowd Shouted as the end he gained; And though the unflagging tempest rained, They answered him aloud.

And hand grasped hand, and glances met In happy triumph; eyes grew wet.

O, to the punches brewed that night Went little water. Windows bright Beamed rosy on the sleet without, And from the deep street came the frequent shout; While some in prayer, as these in glee, Blessed heaven for the winter-victory.

But others were who wakeful laid In midnight beds, and early rose, And, feverish in the foggy snows, s.n.a.t.c.hed the damp paper--wife and maid.

The death-list like a river flows Down the pale sheet, And there the whelming waters meet.

Ah G.o.d! may Time with happy haste Bring wail and triumph to a waste, And war be done; The battle flag-staff fall athwart The curs'd ravine, and wither; naught Be left of trench or gun; The bastion, let it ebb away, Washed with the river bed; and Day In vain seek Donelson.

The c.u.mberland.

(March, 1862.)

Some names there are of telling sound, Whose voweled syllables free Are pledge that they shall ever live renowned; Such seem to be A Frigate's name (by present glory spanned)-- The c.u.mberland.

Sounding name as ere was sung, Flowing, rolling on the tongue-- c.u.mberland! c.u.mberland!

She warred and sunk. There's no denying That she was ended--quelled; And yet her flag above her fate is flying, As when it swelled Unswallowed by the swallowing sea: so grand-- The c.u.mberland.

Goodly name as ere was sung, Roundly rolling on the tongue-- c.u.mberland! c.u.mberland!

What need to tell how she was fought-- The sinking flaming gun-- The gunner leaping out the port-- Washed back, undone!

Her dead unconquerably manned The c.u.mberland.

n.o.ble name as ere was sung, Slowly roll it on the tongue-- c.u.mberland! c.u.mberland!

Long as hearts shall share the flame Which burned in that brave crew, Her fame shall live--outlive the victor's name; For this is due.

Your flag and flag-staff shall in story stand-- c.u.mberland!

Sounding name as ere was sung, Long they'll roll it on the tongue-- c.u.mberland! c.u.mberland!

In the Turret.

(March, 1862.)

Your honest heart of duty, Worden, So helped you that in fame you dwell; You bore the first iron battle's burden Sealed as in a diving-bell.

Alcides, groping into haunted h.e.l.l To bring forth King Admetus' bride, Braved naught more vaguely direful and untried.

What poet shall uplift his charm, Bold Sailor, to your height of daring, And interblend therewith the calm, And build a goodly style upon your bearing.

Escaped the gale of outer ocean-- Cribbed in a craft which like a log Was washed by every billow's motion-- By night you heard of Og The huge; nor felt your courage clog At tokens of his onset grim: You marked the sunk s.h.i.+p's flag-staff slim, Lit by her burning sister's heart; You marked, and mused: "Day brings the trial: Then be it proved if I have part With men whose manhood never took denial."

A prayer went up--a champion's. Morning Beheld you in the Turret walled by adamant, where a spirit forewarning And all-deriding called: "Man, darest thou--desperate, unappalled-- Be first to lock thee in the armored tower?

I have thee now; and what the battle-hour To me shall bring--heed well--thou'lt share; This plot-work, planned to be the foeman's terror, To thee may prove a goblin-snare; Its very strength and cunning--monstrous error!"

"Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter If here thou seest thy welded tomb?

And let huge Og with thunders batter-- Duty be still my doom, Though drowning come in liquid gloom; First duty, duty next, and duty last; Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!--"

So nerved, you fought wisely and well; And live, twice live in life and story; But over your Monitor dirges swell, In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory.

The Temeraire.[3]

_(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)_

The gloomy hulls, in armor grim, Like clouds o'er moors have met, And prove that oak, and iron, and man Are tough in fibre yet.

But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields No front of old display; The garniture, emblazonment, And heraldry all decay.

Towering afar in parting light, The fleets like Albion's forelands s.h.i.+ne-- The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show Of s.h.i.+ps-of-the-Line.

The fighting Temeraire, Built of a thousand trees, Lunging out her lightnings, And beetling o'er the seas-- O s.h.i.+p, how brave and fair, That fought so oft and well, On open decks you manned the gun Armorial.[4]

What cheering did you share, Impulsive in the van, When down upon leagued France and Spain We English ran-- The freshet at your bowsprit Like the foam upon the can.

Bickering, your colors Licked up the Spanish air, You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- Your challenge, Temeraire!

The rear ones of our fleet They yearned to share your place, Still vying with the Victory Throughout that earnest race-- The Victory, whose Admiral, With orders n.o.bly won, Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- The angel in that sun.

Parallel in story, Lo, the stately pair, As late in grapple ranging, The foe between them there-- When four great hulls lay tiered, And the fiery tempest cleared, And your prizes twain appeared, Temeraire!

But Trafalgar' is over now, The quarter-deck undone; The carved and castled navies fire Their evening-gun.

O, t.i.tal Temeraire, Your stern-lights fade away; Your bulwarks to the years must yield, And heart-of-oak decay.

A pigmy steam-tug tows you, Gigantic, to the sh.o.r.e-- Dismantled of your guns and spars, And sweeping wings of war.

The rivets clinch the iron-clads, Men learn a deadlier lore; But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- Your ghost it sails before: O, the navies old and oaken, O, the Temeraire no more!

A Utilitarian View of the Monitors Fight.

Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, More ponderous than nimble; For since grimed War here laid aside His Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit Overmuch to ply The Rhyme's barbaric cymbal.

Hail to victory without the gaud Of glory; zeal that needs no fans Of banners; plain mechanic power Plied cogently in War now placed-- Where War belongs-- Among the trades and artisans.