Thus forty hours red cannon throats Utter their fiendish cry,

While Sumter with her thunder notes Makes resolute reply.

But ah! those brave, how feeble they,
Before such circling hosts,
However well their part they play,
Or confident their boasts!

Hot balls upkindle angry flames,
And stifled grows the air;

The foe still closer press their claims,
Nor heed their known despair!

Yet no vain murmurs pass their lips,
When shines no more a star,
Nor succor comes from friendly ships,
Without the harbor bar!

Calmly they run the white flag up,
The all now left the brave,

In silence drink the bitter cup,
From which no arm can save!

If mercy comes not from the foe,
Kind Heaven deals tenderly,

No dead ones from their presence go, No blood-stains scar the free!

The God-the Holy One and Just, Who gave them hearts so true; The God in whom they meekly trust, Preserves the gallant few!

While hundreds of the traitor band

Hear now no signal drum, From out the rage of fire and brand Alive, unharmed they come!

Their hearts are full of filial love,
For all this guardian care,
But tears will flow to feel, above
Scarred Sumter, now the fair,

The stainless banner of the free,
No more shields Freedom's brave

And eager eyes no longer see
Its triumph from the wave!

To sternest need they only yield;
Their hearts, unconquered still,
Salute the flag and leave the field
For Treason's hordes to fill !

But while the world delights to own
Her few, immortal names,
Shall gallant Anderson's be known
As one such honor claims!

And millions yet unborn shall hear
From aged lips the tale,

How those true hearts knew not a fear

Storming the fiery gale!

FORT SUMTER.

A HEROIC POEM, IN THREE CANTOS

BY CHARLES EDWARD LEVERETT, JR.

CANTO I.

NOW glory be to Uncle Abe, and Scott, his

lion pet,

And Seward, the righteous pontifex, who rules the Cabinet;

And glory to the mighty fleet that stood off Charleston Bar,

And left the dauntless Anderson to bear the brunt of war.

The Patriarch in Washington had summoned to his side

His squad of Solons, brilliant men, the rabble's joy and pride,

And some were looking very black, and some were looking blue,

The nation was at loggerheads, and none knew what to do;

And little light had yet been thrown upon the States' affairs,

For Abe, though good at splitting rails, was bad at splitting hairs.

Then up arose that valiant man, Lieutenant-General Scott,

And drew his sword, like Philip's son, and cut the Gordian knot.

"Now, by this waxed moustache," he said, and looked around the group,

"And by these lips that tasted once a 'hasty plate of soup,'

I raise my voice for horrid war, 'tis just the thing for me;

Too long it is since I have had a military spree, With all our gallant peddlers, our knack at making clocks,

Our taste for wooden nutmegs, and glorious Plymouth Rocks,

Our reverence for a Higher Law, our godly pulpit rant,

With all the talents which in Yankee land are now extant,

A generalissimo, like me, would find it no great

thing

To gallop through the South, and whip the Chivalry, by Jing!"

He said, the hero whose chief joy was hearing bullets whiz,

And drew a red bandana forth, and wiped his warlike phiz;

Around the room a stifled buzz of admiration went, When on his trembling knees arose the doughty

President.

"Now, by old Andrew Jackson's shade, and by the oaths he swore,

And by his hickory stick, and by the thunder of his snore,.

And by the proud contempt he showed for Carolina gents,

And English grammar," quoth old Abe," them's jist my sentiments.

Great Seward shall gull the Southrons, like a wily diplomat,

With promises and flummery, with 'tother, this and that;