And the cannonade of heaven But as we worked along higher, It was one of your long coal barges. (We had often had the like before)'Twas coming down on us to larboard, Well in with the eastern shoreAnd our pilot, to let it pass round (You may guess we never stopped to sound), Giving us a rank sheer to starboard, Ran the Flag hard and fast aground! 'Twas nigh abreast of the Upper Fort; (She was shaped like the devil's dam) Well, for a little it looked bad But these things are, somehow, shorter In the acting than the telling There was no singing-out nor yelling, Nor any fussing and fretting, No stampede, in short But there we were, my lad, All a-fire on our port quarter! Hammocks a-blaze in the netting, Flame spouting in at every portOur fourth cutter burning at the davit (No chance to lower away and save it). In a twinkling, the flames had risen Darting up the shrouds like snakes! And the deep steam-pumps throbbed under, Our top-men, a dauntless crowd, The burning ratlins and strands They quenched with their bare hard hands- Never silenced their thunder! At last, by backing and sounding, But that we fought foul wrong to wreck, For all above was battle, Where our wounded and dying lay, There was scarce a sob or a moan.) And at last, when the dim day broke, And the sullen sun awoke, Drearily blinking O'er the haze and the cannon-smoke, That ever such morning dulls— Now, up the river!-though mad Chalmette Small helm we gave her, our course to steer— Of the burning wrecks that cumbered the stream. The Louisiana, hurled on high, Mounts in thunder to meet the sky! Then down to the depths of the turbid flood The Mississippi comes floating down, A mighty bonfire, from off the town- From stem to stern, how the pirates burn, So to ashes forever turn The suicide wrecks of wrong and guilt! But as we neared the city, By field and vast plantation, What crowds we there espied And on that dolorous strand, In a dark and drenching rain A strange and a frenzied time! There were scowling rage and pain, Out of hate's black abysses- All in vain-all in vain! For from the hour that the rebel stream, With the Crescent City lying abeam, Shuddered under our keel, Smit to the heart with self-struck sting, Slavery died in her scorpion-ring, And Murder fell on his steel. 'Tis well to do and dare- When the true deed is done; Lord of mercy and frown, When the black ships bear down 'Mid cannon cloud and rattle- Of the traitor walls ashore, And the traitor flags come down! HENRY HOWARD BROWnell. ASHBY. [General Turner Ashby, a noted Confederate cavalry officer fell in an engagement at Harrisburg, Va., June, 1862.] To the brave all homage render; Lies our bold dragoon! Well they learned, whose hands have slain him, Braver, knightlier foe Never fought 'gainst Moor or Paynim— Rode at Templestowe : With a mien how high and joyous, 'Gainst the hordes that would destroy us · Went he forth, we know. Nevermore, alas! shall sabre All unheard sweet nature's cadence, |