O the fury of the fight Even then was at its height! Yet no breath from noon till night Reached us here; We had almost ceased to wonder, And the day had faded under, When--the echo of the thunder Filled each ear! Then our hearts more fiercely beat, As we crowded on the street, Hot to gather and repeat All the tale; All the doubtful chances turning, Till our souls with shame were burning, As if all our bitter yearning Could avail! Who had fired the earliest gun? Was the fort by traitors won? Was there succor? What was done, Who could know? And once more our thoughts would wander To the gallant, lone commander, On his battered ramparts grander Than the foe. Not too long the brave shall wait: On their own heads be their fate, Who against the hallowed State Dare begin; Flag defied and compact riven! In the record of high Heaven, How shall southern men be shriven For the sin! [Illustration] [Illustration] MEN OF THE NORTH AND WEST. BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. [This poem was the second piece that appeared in print after the fall of Fort Sumter. It was published in the _World_ on the day after the appearance of Mr. Stedman's "The Twelfth of April."--EDITOR.] Men of the North and West, Wake in your might. Prepare, as the rebels have done, For the fight! You cannot shrink from the test; Rise! Men of the North and West! They have torn down your banner of stars; They have trampled the laws; They have stifled the freedom they hate, For no cause! Do you love it or slavery best? Speak! Men of the North and West! They strike at the life of the State: Shall the murder be done? They cry: "We are two!" And you? "We are one!" You must meet them, then, breast to breast; On! Men of the North and West! Not with words; they laugh them to scorn, And tears they despise; But with swords in your hands, and death In your eyes! Strike home! leave to God all the rest; Strike! Men of the North and West! [Illustration] [Illustration] RHODE ISLAND TO THE SOUTH. BY GENERAL F. W. LANDER. Once, on New England's bloody heights, And o'er a southern plain, Our fathers fought for sovereign rights, That working men might reign. And by that only Lord we serve, The great Jehovah's name; By those sweet lips that ever nerve High hearts to deeds of fame; By all that makes the man a king, The household hearth a throne,-- Take back the idle scoff ye fling, Where freedom claims its own. For though our battle hope was vague Upon Manassas' plain, Where Slocum stood with gallant Sprague And gave his life in vain,--