Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War | Page 3

the crimson corse of Lyon.
This seer foresaw his soldier-doom,
Yet willed the fight.
He never turned; his only flight
Was up to Zion,
Where prophets now and armies greet brave Lyon.
Ball's Bluff.
A Reverie.
(October, 1861.)
One noonday, at my window in the town,
I saw a sight--saddest that

eyes can see--
Young soldiers marching lustily
Unto the wars,
With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;
While all the porches, walks, and doors
Were rich with ladies
cheering royally.
They moved like Juny morning on the wave,
Their hearts were fresh
as clover in its prime
(It was the breezy summer time),
Life throbbed so strong,
How should they dream that Death in a rosy
clime
Would come to thin their shining throng?
Youth feels immortal, like
the gods sublime.
Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,
By night I mused, of
easeful sleep bereft,
On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft);
Some marching feet
Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;
Wakeful I mused, while in the street
Far footfalls died away till none
were left.
Dupont's Round Fight.
(November, 1861.)
In time and measure perfect moves
All Art whose aim is sure;

Evolving ryhme and stars divine
Have rules, and they endure.
Nor less the Fleet that warred for Right,
And, warring so, prevailed,

In geometric beauty curved,
And in an orbit sailed.
The rebel at Port Royal felt
The Unity overawe,
And rued the spell.
A type was here,
And victory of Law.
The Stone Fleet.[2]
An Old Sailor's Lament.
(December, 1861.)

I have a feeling for those ships,
Each worn and ancient one,
With
great bluff bows, and broad in the beam;
Ay, it was unkindly done.
But so they serve the Obsolete--
Even so, Stone Fleet!
You'll say I'm doting; do but think
I scudded round the Horn in one--

The Tenedos, a glorious
Good old craft as ever run--
Sunk (how all unmeet!)
With the Old Stone Fleet.
An India ship of fame was she,
Spices and shawls and fans she bore;

A whaler when her wrinkles came--
Turned off! till, spent and
poor,
Her bones were sold (escheat)!
Ah! Stone Fleet.
Four were erst patrician keels
(Names attest what families be),
The
Kensington, and Richmond too,
Leonidas, and Lee:
But now they have their seat
With the Old Stone Fleet.
To scuttle them--a pirate deed--
Sack them, and dismast;
They sunk
so slow, they died so hard,
But gurgling dropped at last.
Their ghosts in gales repeat
_Woe's us, Stone Fleet!_
And all for naught. The waters pass--
Currents will have their way;

Nature is nobody's ally; 'tis well;
The harbor is bettered--will stay.
A failure, and complete,
Was your Old Stone Fleet.
Donelson.
(February, 1862.)
The bitter cup
Of that hard countermand
Which gave the Envoys up,

Still was wormwood in the mouth,
And clouds involved the land,

When, pelted by sleet in the icy street,
About the bulletin-board a

band
Of eager, anxious people met,
And every wakeful heart was
set
On latest news from West or South.
"No seeing here," cries
one--"don't crowd--"
"You tall man, pray you, read aloud."
IMPORTANT.
_We learn that General Grant,
Marching from Henry overland,
And
joined by a force up the Cumberland sent
(Some thirty thousand the
command),
On Wednesday a good position won--
Began the siege
of Donelson.
The stronghold crowns a river-bluff,
A good broad mile of leveled
top;
Inland the ground rolls off
Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken
up--
A wilderness of trees and brush.
The spaded summit shows the
roods
Of fixed intrenchments in their hush;
Breast-works and
rifle-pits in woods
Perplex the base.--
The welcome weather
Is clear and mild; 'tis much like May.
The
ancient boughs that lace together
Along the stream, and hang far forth,

Strange with green mistletoe, betray
A dreamy contrast to the
North.
Our troops are full of spirits--say
The siege won't prove a creeping
one.
They purpose not the lingering stay
Of old beleaguerers; not
that way;
But, full of _vim_ from Western prairies won,
They'll
make, ere long, a dash at Donelson._
Washed by the storm till the paper grew
Every shade of a streaky
blue,
That bulletin stood. The next day brought
A second.
LATER FROM THE FORT.
_Grant's investment is complete--
A semicircular one.
Both wings the Cumberland's margin meet,

Then, backwkard curving, clasp the rebel seat.
On Wednesday this
good work was done;
But of the doers some lie prone.
Each wood,

each hill, each glen was fought for;
The bold inclosing line we
wrought for
Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost
A limb or
life. But back we forced
Reserves and all; made good our hold;
And
so we rest.
Events unfold.
On Thursday added ground was won,
A long bold
steep: we near the Den.
Later the foe came shouting down
In sortie,
which was quelled; and then
We stormed them on their left.
A
chilly change in the afternoon;
The sky, late clear, is now bereft
Of
sun. Last night the ground froze hard--
Rings to the enemy as they
run
Within their works. A ramrod bites
The lip it meets. The cold
incites
To swinging of arms with brisk rebound.
Smart blows
'gainst lusty chests resound.
Along the outer line we ward
A crackle of skirmishing goes on.
Our
lads creep round on hand and knee,
They fight from behind each
trunk and stone;
And sometimes, flying for refuge, one
Finds 'tis an
enemy shares the tree.
Some scores are maimed by boughs shot