The locusts pipe, the crickets sing
Among the falling leaves,
And wandering breezes sigh, and bring
The harp-notes of the sheaves.

Peace smiles upon the hills and dells;
Peace smiles upon the seas;
And drop the notes of happy bells
Upon the fruited trees.

The broad Missouri stretches far
Her commerce-gathering arms,
And multiply on Arkansas

The grain-encumbered farms.

Old Chattanooga, crowned with green,
Sleeps 'neath her walls in peace;
The Argo has returned again,
And brings the Golden Fleece.
O nation! free from sea to sea,
In union blessed forever,
Fair be their fame who fought for thee
By Chickamauga River.

"The autumn winds were piping low,
Beneath the vine-clad eaves;
'We heard the hollow bugle blow
Among the ripened sheaves.
And fast the mustering squadrons passed
Through mountain portals wide,
And swift the blue brigades were massed
By Chickamauga's tide.

It was the Sabbath; and in awe
We heard the dark hills shake,
And o'er the mountain turrets saw

The smoke of battle break.

And 'neath the war-cloud, gray and grand,
The hills o'erhanging low,
The Army of the Cumberland,
Unequal, met the foe!

Again, O fair September night!

Beneath the moon and stars,

I see, through memories dark and bright,
The altar-fires of Mars.

The morning breaks with screaming guns
From batteries dark and dire,
And where the Chickamauga runs
Red runs the muskets' fire.

I see bold Longstreet's darkening host
Sweep through our lines of flame,
And hear again, "The right is lost!"
Swart Rosecrans exclaim.

"But not the left!" young Garfield cries;
"From that we must not sever,

While Thomas holds the field that lies On Chickamauga River!"

Oh! on that day of clouded gold,
How, half of hope bereft,
The cannoneers, like Titans, rolled
Their thunders on the left!

I see the battle-clouds again,

With glowing autumn splendors blending: It seemed as if the gods with men Were on Olympian heights contending.

Through tongues of flame, through meadows brown,

Dry valley roads concealed, Ohio's hero dashes down

Upon the rebel field.

And swift, on reeling charger borne,
He threads the wooded plain,
By twice a hundred cannon mown,
And reddened with the slain.

But past the swathes of carnage dire,
The Union guns he hears,
And gains the left, begirt with fire,
And thus the heroes cheers
"While stands the left, yon flag o'erhead,
Shall Chattanooga stand!"

"Let the Napoleons rain their lead!"
Was Thomas's command.

Back swept the gray brigades of Bragg;
The air with victory rung;
And Wurzel's "Rally round the flag!"
'Mid Union cheers was sung.
The flag on Chattanooga's height

In twilight's crimson waved,
And all the clustered stars of white
Were to the Union saved.

O chief of staff! the nation's fate

That red field crossed with thee, The triumph of the camp and state, The hope of liberty!

O nation! free from sea to sea,
With union blessed forever,
Not vainly heroes fought for thee
By Chickamauga River.

In dreams I stand beside the tide
Where those old heroes fell:
Above the valleys long and wide
Sweet rings the Sabbath bell.
I hear no more the bugle blow,
As on that fateful day!

I hear the ringdove fluting low,

Where shaded waters stray.

On Mission Ridge the sunlight streams
Above the fields of fall,
And Chattanooga calmly dreams
Beneath her mountain-wall.

Old Lookout Mountain towers on high,
As in heroic days,

When 'neath the battle in the sky
Were seen its summits blaze.

'Twas ours to lay no garlands fair

Upon the graves "unknown":
Kind Nature sets her gentians there,
And fall the sear leaves lone.
Those heroes' graves no shaft of Mars
May mark with beauty ever;
But floats the flag of forty stars
By Chickamauga River.

HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.

This defeat brought Grant into the field again, though he was still on crutches. The Confederates held a strong position on Missionary Ridge and Lookout Mountain, and Grant prepared to attack. On November 24, 1863, Hooker's brigade moved forward to the northern face of Lookout Mountain, drove the enemy from their rifle pits and intrenchments, and then started after them up the slope. The mountain was enveloped in a dense fog, and into this Hooker's men disappeared. During the night the Confederates delivered a savage assault, but were beaten off. At dawn, when the Union troops scaled the palisades, they found the intrenchments at the top deserted, and unfurled the Stars and Stripes from the summit of Pulpit Rock. The Confederates were dislodged next day from Missionary Ridge and were soon in full retreat.

THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN

[November 24, 1863]

"GIVE me but two brigades," said Hooker, frowning at fortified Lookout;

"And I'll engage to sweep yon mountain clear of that mocking rebel rout." At early morning came an order, that set the General's face aglow: "Now," said he to his staff, "draw out my

soldiers! Grant says that I may go."

Hither and thither dashed each eager Colonel, to join his regiment,

While a low rumor of the daring purpose ran on from tent to tent.

505

For the long roll was sounding through the valley, and the keen trumpet's bray. And the wild laughter of the swarthy veterans, who cried, "We fight to-day!"

The solid tramp of infantry, the rumble of the great jolting gun,

The sharp, clear order, and the fierce steeds neighing, "Why's not the fight begun?"

All these plain harbingers of sudden conflict broke on the startled ear;

And last arose a sound that made your blood leap, the ringing battle-cheer.

The lower works were carried at one onset; like a vast roaring sea

Of steel and fire, our soldiers from the trenches swept out the enemy;

And we could see the gray-coats swarming up from the mountain's leafy base, To join their comrades in the higher fastness, - for life or death the race!

Then our long line went winding up the mountain, in a huge serpent-track,

And the slant sun upon it flashed and glimmered as on a dragon's back.

Higher and higher the column's head pushed onward, ere the rear moved a man; And soon the skirmish-lines their straggling volleys and single shots began.

Then the bald head of Lookout flamed and bellowed, and all its batteries woke, And down the mountain poured the bomb

shells, puffing into our eyes their smoke; And balls and grape-shot rained upon our

column, that bore the angry shower As if it were no more than that soft dropping which scarcely stirs the flower.

Oh, glorious courage that inspires the hero, and runs through all his men! The heart that failed beside the Rappahannock, it was itself again!

The star that circumstance and jealous faction shrouded in envious night Here shone with all the splendor of its nature, and with a freer light!

Hark, hark! there go the well-known crashing volleys, the long-continued roar That swells and falls, but never ceases wholly until the fight is o'er.

Unseen, beside the flood, Like tigers in some Orient jungle crouched, That wait and watch for blood.

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Ships, through a hundred foes, from Saxon

lands

And spicy Indian ports,

Bring Saxon steel and iron to her hands, And summer to her courts.

But still, along yon dim Atlantic line,
The only hostile smoke

Creeps like a harmless mist above the brine,
From some frail floating oak.

Shall the spring dawn, and she, still clad in smiles,

And with an unscathed brow,

Rest in the strong arms of her palm-crowned isles,

As fair and free as now?

We know not; in the temple of the Fates
God has inscribed her doom:
And, all untroubled in her faith, she waits
The triumph or the tomb.

HENRY TIMROD.

On April 7, 1863, a strong squadron under Admiral Dupont attempted to enter the harbor and reduce Fort Sumter, but got such a warm reception that it was forced to withdraw. One ship was sunk and the others badly damaged.

THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR

[April 7, 1863]

Two hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe April day,

The Northmen's mailed

"Invincibles" steamed up fair Charleston Bay; They came in sullen file, and slow, lowbreasted on the wave,

Black as a midnight front of storm, and silent as the grave.

A thousand warrior-hearts beat high as those dread monsters drew

More closely to the game of death across the breezeless blue,

And twice ten thousand hearts of those who watch the scene afar,

Thrill in the awful hush that bides the battle's broadening star.

Each gunner, moveless by his gun, with rigid aspect stands,

The reedy linstocks firmly grasped in bold, untrembling hands,