XVI.

At last, incontinent of fire, The cloud of menace belched its brand; And every state and every shire, And town and hamlet in the land,

Shook with the smiting of its ire! Men looked each other in the eyes, And beat their burning breasts and cursed! At last the silliest were wise;

And swift to flash and thunder-burst Fashioned in anger their replies. The smoke of Sumter filled the air. Men breathed it in in one long breath;

And straight upspringing everywhere, Life burgeoned on the mounds of death, And bloomed in valleys of despair. The fire of Sumter, fierce and hot,

Welded their purpose into one; And discord hushed, and strife forgot, They swore that what had thus begun With sacrilegious cannon-shot,

Should find in analogue of flame Such answer of the nation's host, That the old flag, washed clean from shame In blood, should wave from coast to coast,

Over one realm in heart and name! Pale doubters, scourged by countless whips, Fled to their refuge, or obeyed The motives and the masterships

That time and circumstance betrayed Through Patriotism's apocalypse, And, sympathetic with the spasm Of loyal life that thrilled the clime,

Lost in the swift enthusiasm The loose intention of their crime, And leaped in swarms the awful chasm That held them parted from the mass.

The North was one in heart and thought; And that which could not come to pass Through loyal eloquence, was wrought By one hot word from lips of brass!