The Fall of Richmond. The tidings received in the Northern Metropolis. (April, 1865.) What mean these peals from every tower, And crowds like seas that sway? The cannon reply; they speak the heart Of the People impassioned, and say-- A city in flags for a city in flames, Richmond goes Babylon’s way-- _Sing and pray._ O weary years and woeful wars, And armies in the grave; But hearts unquelled at last deter The helmed dilated Lucifer-- Honor to Grant the brave, Whose three stars now like Orion’s rise When wreck is on the wave-- _Bless his glaive._ Well that the faith we firmly kept, And never our aim forswore For the Terrors that trooped from each recess When fainting we fought in the Wilderness, And Hell made loud hurrah; But God is in Heaven, and Grant in the Town, And Right through might is Law-- _God’s way adore._ The Surrender at Appomattox. (April, 1865.) As billows upon billows roll, On victory victory breaks; Ere yet seven days from Richmond’s fall And crowning triumph wakes The loud joy-gun, whose thunders run By sea-shore, streams, and lakes. The hope and great event agree In the sword that Grant received from Lee. The warring eagles fold the wing, But not in Cæsar’s sway; Not Rome o’ercome by Roman arms we sing, As on Pharsalia’s day, But Treason thrown, though a giant grown, And Freedom’s larger play. All human tribes glad token see In the close of the wars of Grant and Lee. A Canticle: Significant of the national exaltation of enthusiasm at the close of the War. O the precipice Titanic Of the congregated Fall, And the angle oceanic Where the deepening thunders call-- And the Gorge so grim, And the firmamental rim! Multitudinously thronging The waters all converge, Then they sweep adown in sloping Solidity of surge. The Nation, in her impulse Mysterious as the Tide, In emotion like an ocean Moves in power, not in pride; And is deep in her devotion As Humanity is wide. Thou Lord of hosts victorious, The confluence Thou hast twined; By a wondrous way and glorious A passage Thou dost find-- A passage Thou dost find: Hosanna to the Lord of hosts, The hosts of human kind. Stable in its baselessness When calm is in the air, The Iris half in tracelessness Hovers faintly fair. Fitfully assailing it A wind from heaven blows, Shivering and paling it To blankness of the snows; While, incessant in renewal, The Arch rekindled grows, Till again the gem and jewel Whirl in blinding overthrows-- Till, prevailing and transcending, Lo, the Glory perfect there, And the contest finds an ending, For repose is in the air.