At last, by backing and sounding, When we were clear of grounding, And under headway once more, The whole rebel fleet came rounding The point;--if we had it hot before, ’Twas now, from shore to shore, One long, loud thundering roar,-- Such crashing, splintering, and pounding, And smashing as you never heard before! For all above was battle, Broadside, and blaze, and rattle, Smoke and thunder alone!-- (But, down in the sick-bay, Where our wounded and dying lay, There was scarce a sob or a moan.) And at last, when the dim day broke, And the sullen sun awoke, Drearily blinking O’er the haze and the cannon-smoke, That ever such morning dulls, There were thirteen hulls On fire and sinking! And on the dolorous strand, To greet the victor-brave, One flag did welcome wave, Raised, ah, me! by a wretched hand, All outworn on our cruel land, The withered hand of a slave! ’Tis well to do and dare,-- But ever may grateful prayer Follow, as aye it ought, When the good fight is fought, When the true deed is done! Aloft in heaven’s pure light, (Deep azure crossed on white) Our fair church-pennant waves O’er a thousand thankful braves, Bareheaded in God’s bright sun. HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. 24 KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES So that soldierly legend is still on its journey,-- That story of Kearny who knew not to yield! ’Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and Birney, Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest, Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine, Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest,-- No charge like Phil Kearny’s along the whole line. When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground, He rode down the length of the withering column, And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound; He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder,-- His sword waved us on and we answered the sign: Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder, “There’s the devil’s own fun, boys, along the whole line!” How he strode his brown steed! How we saw his blade brighten In the one hand still left,--and the reins in his teeth! He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, But his soldier’s glance shot from his visor beneath. Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, Asking where to go in,--through the clearing or pine? “Oh, anywhere! Forward! ’Tis all the same, Colonel: You’ll find lovely fighting along the whole line!”