O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, We can never forget that our hearts have been one,-- Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name, From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame! You were always too ready to fire at a touch; But we said: "She's a beauty--she does not mean much." We have scowled when you uttered some turbulent threat; But Friendship still whispered: "Forgive and forget." Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown cold? Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold? Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain That her petulant children would sever in vain. They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil,-- Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil, Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their caves, And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the waves: In vain is the strife! When its fury is past, Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last, As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow Roll mingled in peace in the valleys below. Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky; Man breaks not the medal when God cuts the die! Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with steel, The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal! O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, There are battles with fate that can never be won! The star-flowering banner must never be furled, For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world! Go, then, our rash sister, afar and aloof,-- Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof; But when your heart aches and your feet have grown sore, Remember the pathway that leads to our door! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TWELFTH OF APRIL. A.D., 1861. BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. [Peculiar interest attaches to this piece as the first poem written after the actual outbreak of the Civil War and inspired by its events. The poem appeared in the evening edition of the New York _World_, on April 16, 1861.--EDITOR.] Came the morning of that day, When the God to whom we pray, Gave the soul of Henry Clay To the land; How we loved him--living, dying! But his birthday banners flying, Saw us asking and replying, Hand to hand. For we knew that far away, Round the fort at Charleston bay, Hung the dark impending fray, Soon to fall; And that Sumter's brave defender Had the summons to surrender: Seventy loyal hearts and tender-- That was all. [Illustration] And we knew the April sun Lit the length of many a gun-- Hosts of batteries to the one Island crag; Guns and mortars grimly frowning, Johnson, Moultrie, Pinckney, crowning, And ten thousand men disowning The old flag.