The shock of ships, the jar of walls, The rush through thick and thin-- The flaring fire-rafts, glare and gloom-- Eddies, and shells that spin-- The boom-chain burst, the hulks dislodged, The jam of gun-boats driven, Or fired, or sunk--made up a war Like Michael’s waged with leven. The manned Varuna stemmed and quelled The odds which hard beset; The oaken flag-ship, half ablaze, Passed on and thundered yet; While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame, The Ram Manassas--hark the yell!-- Plunged, and was gone; in joy or fright, The River gave a startled swell. They fought through lurid dark till dawn; The war-smoke rolled away With clouds of night, and showed the fleet In scarred yet firm array, Above the forts, above the drift Of wrecks which strife had made; And Farragut sailed up to the town And anchored--sheathed the blade. The moody broadsides, brooding deep, Hold the lewd mob at bay, While o’er the armed decks’ solemn aisles The meek church-pennons play; By shotted guns the sailors stand, With foreheads bound or bare; The captains and the conquering crews Humble their pride in prayer. They pray; and after victory, prayer Is meet for men who mourn their slain; The living shall unmoor and sail, But Death’s dark anchor secret deeps detain. Yet glory slants her shaft of rays Far through the undisturbed abyss; There must be other, nobler worlds for them Who nobly yield their lives in this. Malvern Hill. (July, 1862.) Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill In prime of morn and May, Recall ye how McClellan’s men Here stood at bay? While deep within yon forest dim Our rigid comrades lay-- Some with the cartridge in their mouth, Others with fixed arms lifted South-- Invoking so The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe! The spires of Richmond, late beheld Through rifts in musket-haze, Were closed from view in clouds of dust On leaf-walled ways, Where streamed our wagons in caravan; And the Seven Nights and Days Of march and fast, retreat and fight, Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight-- Does the elm wood Recall the haggard beards of blood? The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed, We followed (it never fell!)-- In silence husbanded our strength-- Received their yell; Till on this slope we patient turned With cannon ordered well; Reverse we proved was not defeat; But ah, the sod what thousands meet!-- Does Malvern Wood Bethink itself, and muse and brood? _We elms of Malvern Hill Remember every thing; But sap the twig will fill: Wag the world how it will, Leaves must be green in Spring._ The Victor of Antietam.[5] (1862.) When tempest winnowed grain from bran; And men were looking for a man, Authority called you to the van, McClellan: Along the line the plaudit ran, As later when Antietam’s cheers began.