And Nature, all tranquil and lovely, wore Little by little, as daylight increased, Two long glittering lines of steel; Where two hundred thousand bayonets gleam, All of a sudden, ere rose the sun, Down on the left of the Rebel lines, Where a breast work stands in a copse of pines, Stars and Stripes on the salient wave, And the gallant Confederates strive in vain The ground they have drenched with their blood, to regain. Yet louder the thunder of battle roared- Not far off, in the saddle there sat A gray-bearded man in a black slouched hat; Quick and watchful he kept his eye Reserves that were standing (and dying) at ease, For still with their loud, deep, bull-dog bay, The grand old graybeard rode to the space Where Death and his victims stood face to face, And silently waved his old slouched hat A world of meaning there was in that! "Follow me! Steady! We'll save the day!" This was what he seemed to say; And to the light of his glorious eye The bold brigades thus made reply: "We'll go forward, but you must go back ”— And they moved not an inch in the perilous track : "Go to the rear, and we 'll send them to hell!" And the sound of the battle was lost in their yell. Turning his bridle, Robert Lee Rode to the rear. Like waves of the sea, Madly his veterans dashed on the foe. And backward in terror that foe was driven, Over the Wilderness, wood and wold. Sunset out of a crimson sky Streamed o'er a field of ruddier dye, Seasons have passed since that day and year- Hushed is the roll of the Rebel drum, The sabres are sheathed, and the cannon are dumb; And Fate, with his pitiless hand, has furled The flag that once challenged the gaze of the world; But the fame of the Wilderness fight abides ; Calm and unmoved as in battle he sat, The gray-bearded man in the black slouched hat. [Southern.] T was early Sunday morning, in the year of sixty-four, The Alabama she steam'd out along the Frenchman's shore. Long time she cruised about, Long time she held her sway, But now beneath the Frenchman's shore she lies off Hoist up the flag, and long may it wave God bless America, the home of the brave! The Yankee cruiser hove in view, the Kearsarge was her name, It ought to be engraved in full upon the scroll of fame ; Her timbers made of Yankee oak, And her crew of Yankee tars, |