IX. The strife grows fiercer! ship by ship the proud armada sweeps, Where hot from Sumter’s raging breast the volleyed lightning leaps; And ship by ship, raked, overborne, ere burned the sunset light, Crawls in the gloom of baffled hate beyond the field of fight! X. O glorious Empress of the Main! from out thy storied spires Thou well mayst peal thy bells of joy, and light thy festal fires,-- Since Heaven this day hath striven for thee, hath nerved thy dauntless sons, And thou in clear-eyed faith hast seen God’s angels near the guns! [Southern.] [Illustration] [Illustration] RUNNING THE BATTERIES. (As observed from the anchorage above Vicksburg, April, 1863.) BY HERMAN MELVILLE. A moonless night--a friendly one; A haze dimmed the shadowy shore As the first lampless boat slid silent on; Hist! and we spake no more; We but pointed, and stilly, to what we saw. We felt the dew, and seemed to feel The secret like a burden laid. The first boat melts; and a second keel Is blent with the foliaged shade-- Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made? Unspied as yet. A third--a fourth-- Gunboat and transport in Indian file Upon the war-path, smooth from the North; But the watch may they hope to beguile? The manned river-batteries stretch far mile on mile. A flame leaps out; they are seen; Another and another gun roars; We tell the course of the boats through the screen By each further fort that pours, And we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores. Converging fires. We speak, though low: “That blastful furnace can they thread?” “Why, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego Came out all right, we read; The Lord, be sure, he helps his people, Ned.” How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun A golden growing flame appears-- Confirms to a silvery steadfast one: “The town is afire!” crows Hugh; “three cheers!” Lot stops his mouth: “Nay, lad, better three tears.” A purposed light; it shows our fleet; Yet a little late in its searching ray, So far and strong, that in phantom cheat Lank on the deck our shadows lay; The shining flag-ship stings their guns to furious play. How dread to mark her near the glare And glade of death the beacon throws Athwart the racing waters there; One by one each plainer grows, Then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes. The impartial cresset lights as well The fixed forts to the boats that run; And, plunged from the ports, their answers swell Back to each fortress dun: Ponderous words speaks every monster gun.