A moonless night — a friendly one; A haze dimmed the shadowy shore As the first lampless boat slid silent on; Hist! and we spake no more;
We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw. We felt the dew, and seemed to feel The secret like a burden laid. The first boat melts; and a second keel
Is blent with the foliaged shade — Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made? Unspied as yet. A third — a fourth — Gun-boat and transport in Indian file
Upon the war-path, smooth from the North; But the watch may they hope to beguile? The manned river-batteries stretch for mile on mile. A flame leaps out; they are seen;
Another and another gun roars; We tell the course of the boats through the screen By each further fort that pours, And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores.
Converging fires. We speak, though low: “That blastful furnace can they thread” “Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego Came out all right, we read;
The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.” How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun A golden growing flame appears — Confirms to a silvery steadfast one:
“The town is afire!” crows Hugh: “three cheers” Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.” A purposed light; it shows our fleet; Yet a little late in its searching ray,
So far and strong, that in phantom cheat Lank on the deck our shadows lay; The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play. How dread to mark her near the glare
And glade of death the beacon throws Athwart the racing waters there; One by one each plainer grows, Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes.
The impartial cresset lights as well The fixed forts to the boats that run; And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell Back to each fortress dun:
Ponderous words speaks every monster gun. Fearless they flash through gates of flame, The salamanders hard to hit, Though vivid shows each bulky frame;
And never the batteries intermit, Nor the boats huge guns; they fire and flit. Anon a lull. The beacon dies: “Are they out of that strait accurst”
But other flames now dawning rise, Not mellowly brilliant like the first, But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst. A baleful brand, a hurrying torch
Whereby anew the boats are seen — A burning transport all alurch! Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean.
The effulgence takes an amber glow Which bathes the hill-side villas far; Affrighted ladies mark the show Painting the pale magnolia —
The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War. The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one. Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly. But the gauntlet now is nearly run,
The spleenful forts by fits reply, And the burning boat dies down in morning's sky. All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs! Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun.
So burst we through their barriers And menaces every one: So Porter proves himself a brave man's son. Stonewall Jackson.
Mortally wounded at Chancellorsville. ( May, . ) The Man who fiercest charged in fight, Whose sword and prayer were long —
Stonewall! Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, How can we praise? Yet coming days Shall not forget him with this song.
Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, Vainly he died and set his seal — Stonewall! Earnest in error, as we feel;
True to the thing he deemed was due, True as John Brown or steel. Relentlessly he routed us; But we relent, for he is low —
Stonewall! Justly his fame we outlaw; so We drop a tear on the bold Virginian's bier, Because no wreath we owe.
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