A SOUTHERN PEAN.

AIR-Kitty Tyrrell.

I'LL sing you a song, worth the singing,
Of Sumter chivalrously won,

By the brave chiefs who brought to the contest
Just seventy hundred to one!

Fair odds was the good Saxon usage,
When men boasted of worsting a foe;
But such musty old saws are exploded,
And we are all heroes, you know.

With such an array, how surprising

That they had the worst of the game!
Though we poured down our hot shot in torrents,
Till the fort was enveloped in flame;

With one hand to put out the fire,
The other might still point a gun,
For, after such stern preparation,
The work seems too easily done!

The details may well excite wonder,
Though folks differ about the disgrace;
Had we not stolen Uncle Sam's thunder,
His flag might still float in its place.

But a Beauregard, Hamilton, Davis, Cannot always be had for the call; Arnold's memory paled in their splendor, Until Twiggs flamed forth Phoenix of all.

But a truce to all questions of reason,
Fort Sumter is gloriously won.
And who cares a jot for the treason,
If the black-hearted North is undone?
'Tis true this may rouse indignation,
And parties may possibly jar,

But we can defy the whole nation,

Since we've taken Fort Sumter-hurrah!

But hark! as the news flies to Northward,
The sound of discussion is hushed,
Each man vowing aid to the vanguard,
Until treason and traitors are crushed;
From all sides they rush to the struggle,
One strong pulse is felt through the land;
Twenty millions of freemen and patriots
United in heart and in hand!

So the song that I deemed worth the singing
May possibly sound out of time,

And our bells, now for victory ringing,
Soon slowly and mournfully chime

We may learn more respect for our country,
And find that, though loudly we crow,
Seven thousand men worsting one hundred
Does not prove them all heroes, you know!

A. E.

I

THE SPECTRE AT SUMTER.

STOOD on the walls of Sumter

As the solemn night came down
On the lone, beleaguered fortress,
On the traitor camp and town;
While through the lurid heavens
Sped the red-hot shot and shell,
As if by mad fiends driven

From the open mouths of hell;
While the flag of a sovereign nation,
On the palpitating air,

Still waved from its lofty station
Amid the fiery glare.

And I saw where fiercest, direst,

Raged the terrible battle-storm

Where the bursting shells fell hottest,
There towered a spectral form;

I knew by its proud erectness,
By its calm, determined mien,
By the strong arms, sternly folded,
By the deep, clear eye serene,
"Twas that old man, lion-hearted,
Of the dark and terrible frown,
The Genius of Retribution-
Old OSAWATOMIE BROWN.

""Tis well!" he murmured softly, "O traitorous, coward band! Ply your engines fiercer, faster, 'Gainst the flag of your native land! Rain deathful hail more hotly

your

On the heads of that faithful few, Stifled, and faint, and famished, With their flag of truce in view!

"Roar louder, ye murderous cannon! With every echoing boom

O'er the hills of the sturdy Northland Sweeps the story of Sumter's doom

And I hear above your thunder

The shout of a warrior band, Waked suddenly from slumber, To strike for their native land.

"As the lion of the desert

Leaps fiercely from his lair, And gazes down the distance With fixed and fiery glare— As the bolt along the storm-cloud Quivers in fierce unrest,

Ere it burst in triple vengeance

On earth's rent and quivering breastE'en so the sons of freedom

For one dreadful moment stand,

Till

your

murderous hand uplifted

Is struck at your native land.

"Strike fiercer, faster, murderers, Steeped to the core in sin,

See the flag of your country drooping— Aim at it once again!

All Sumter's guns are voiceless,

And the flames are hot within,

And faint are her brave defenders-
Aim at her once again!

Ha! dastards, cravens, cowards,

Ye are brave and knightly men!
Your foes disabled, silenced-
Fire on them once again!